“Close it, big mouth,” Rowan said softly, laughter woven through his words.
Tristan was unable to tear his gaze from her as she stepped up onto the stage.
He’d watched the World Championship Cup, every four years, gathered around his family television. He’d dreamed of this moment, pictured himself standing in line with the members of his team, waiting for the medal to be placed around his neck.
The noise buffeted the proceedings. The speakers muffled rather than amplified, so the disembodied voice was indistinguishable. The individual awards were announced. Tris watched as Ele hugged and spoke to the recipients. Then the officials. She was all princess and it was a gut check for him. He’d never seen her as she was right at this time, and he realized he only understood one tiny facet of her large life. He watched the French team claim their prizes with a more discerning eye. These were the last minutes he would see Princess Eleanor in person.
Rowan was first. Tristan followed behind his Skipper and best friend. He was ever cognizant of making his way toward Ele. He accepted hugs, congratulations, and his medal until he reached her. Her smile shifted when their eyes met. It had been blinding before, but Tristan realized it had been impersonal. The one she graced him with was for him only. He’d seen it the night she snuck out of her room, at Navy Pier, after almost every kiss. As he stared up at her, he remembered and appreciated it. It grounded him.
Then, she leaned toward him, but rather than the stiff, proper hug she’d been dealing out, she embraced him. Her hands rested momentarily on the nape of his neck, her nails digging in hard for a split second before she returned them to his shoulders.
Her voice filtered into his rattled brain. “So proud of you. And happy for you.”
He should have taken into consideration the crowd, the cameras, her fears. But in that moment, he could only think about celebrating this victory with her. Without any thought, his hands slipped to her waist, and he picked her up off the raised stage and spun her around. She must have forgotten about everything around them, too, because she merely laughed. He set her back down. He was allowed one more hug.
“I’m glad you were here,” he told her before the line forced him forward.
As he stepped from the stage, he caught Robert’s penetrating gaze and fierce frown. Tristan was already berating himself for his impulsiveness, but then Robert winked at him. It was so quick and unexpected that Tristan laughed. He joined his team for the party, basking in the win, Robert’s approval, and Ele’s presence.
And suddenly, it was over. The fans exited the stadium, and their contingent gradually dwindled.
“Ready?” Rowan asked. “I’ve got to do some press.”
Tristan indulged in another look around. Confetti littered the pitch, and there were stragglers in the stands. The dignitaries had long exited.
“Don’t you have someone to see?”
Tristan glanced back at Rowan. “No.”
“That’s it then?”
“Yeah,” he said before he turned and headed off the pitch.
Rowan followed. It was difficult to reconcile his overwhelming happiness of their win and the crushing disappointment of Ele’s departure. Made sense. Tomorrow, the team had interviews and TV appearances. They would head home the following day. There was no time and zero opportunity for a final meeting. He’d known it when they said their private good-bye the night before. He’d given it a passing thought this morning, but then he’d had the most important game of his career to prepare for, and he’d shoved the thought of her away. He knew she couldn’t risk an encounter with him in an uncontrolled space. So, yeah, that was it then.
Fuck!
He kept walking to the tunnel. It seemed the party had moved inside. There were cameras and people everywhere. He maneuvered his way through, Rowan on his heels. They reached the media room, and Rowan ducked inside. Tristan lingered in the hall for a few minutes. It felt like the second he entered the changing room, the night would be over, the victory just another to tally in his career. He wasn’t quite ready for that. The clicking of cameras drifted from the interviews, and he listened with half an ear as questions were lobbed in Rowan’s direction. He leaned against the wall just as the door across from him opened. He glanced up and almost jumped in surprise as Robert’s large frame filled the space.
“Took you long enough.”
Tristan pushed away from the wall and darted through the open door with a quickness that would have done his manager proud. Ele was seated in a rickety folding chair. She jumped up as he appeared, and the chair clattered to the floor. Tristan wasted no time in scooping her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her closer against him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She leaned away from him, and he felt the loss immediately.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying a proper good-bye.”
“E,” he groaned, looking around the room at Millie and Michael and Robert. “We can’t really have a proper good-bye here.”
She laughed, and he smiled at her. He knew they were surrounded by her people, but he couldn’t resist. His lips met hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. When he came up for air, Ele stepped away from him. A wicked glint appeared in her eyes. The look held a confidence he hadn’t seen from her unless she was in tiara mode.
“Clear the room,” she said. Her eyes didn’t veer from Tristan’s even as her command flew from her mouth.
Tristan didn’t see anyone leave, didn’t detect any movement, because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. But suddenly, the door clicked shut, and they were alone. He reached out, his hand cupping her jaw. His hold was possessive as he stepped toward her.
“Thank you,” he said. He left space, but his other hand gripped her hip.
Her gaze softened. “For what?”
“For this.”
He’d locked it all away. But with her standing here, he couldn’t hide from it anymore. His feelings for her ran deep. His disappointment in the end of their affair was immense. He would miss her forever. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and his eyes cataloged her features. He loved his final in-person image of Ele, including her in a football jersey.
“I hated leaving you the other night, knowing it was the end.”
Her hand flew to his mouth, and her fingers landed on his lips, stifling any other words. “None of that,” she whispered. “You have given me so much.”
He cocked a brow at her.
“You have. You’ll never know what these four weeks have meant to me, what your presence in my life has meant. And I’ll never be able to put words to it. But I need you to know, I’ll never forget you or the time we were together.”
She leaned forward, and her fingers left his lips, so her mouth could settle there. One, two gentle touches. Tristan’s hands tightened, nudging her forward until she was flush against him. Then, her kiss changed, becoming frantic, desperate. Tristan gave in to it, pouring all of his latent sorrow into their exchange. If she was trying to communicate to him the importance of their time, he was trying to express his disappointment at their ending. As if every word and feeling had been shared, they began to retreat. When they pulled apart, Tristan dropped his forehead to hers. His hands remained on her jaw, on her hip, reluctant to release their hold.