“Tris, mate, we need to go.”
Tristan grabbed his keys, his ID. “On it.”
“I’ll drive,” Rowan announced, which only made Tristan roll his eyes.
“Control freak,” he proclaimed.
Rowan grunted.
The next couple of hours passed in a blur. Between the stops to get Alicia and Sheena, the transfer to the bus, the security check at the palace, Tristan allowed himself to get caught up in the magic. Seeing his teammates again, ribbing Caleb, introducing everyone to Sheena, he was in his element. Loose, gregarious, carefree.
He offered Sheena his arm, and they swept up the palatial front steps of Shuffington Palace. As Sheena’s heels clicked along the ivory marble floor, Tristan took in the lavish entryway, the imposing staircase, and the painted ceiling. His eyes bulged at the opulent surroundings. He immediately tried to picture Ele cavorting up and down the stairs as a kid or gracing the hallowed halls now. It was an uneasy reconciliation. He knew it was her home, knew she’d grown up here, but all he could picture was Ele as she loomed over him, straddling him. He shook off the wildly inappropriate image. His head was fucking with him because it was so much easier to imagine her with him than living in this damn castle.
Sheena squeezed his arm. “You okay?”
He offered her his most cavalier smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Okay, tough guy,” she said, calling bullshit. “How about a drink?”
“Yes,” he breathed, relief coursing through him. He needed something to divert his attention from his impending meeting. He followed the herd up the grand staircase and down a hall lined with portraits of Ele’s family dating back to Christ, he was fairly certain. He leaned into Sheena. “How many generations back can we trace our family?”
She snickered. “Maybe our parents’ parents.” With a shrug, she took in the paintings, judging Tristan’s thought. “Thank fuck you can’t trace our crazy.”
Tristan laughed, releasing the rest of his anxiety. He dropped a kiss on her head, whispering, “Thank you.” Then, he really looked at her. “And you look amazing.” She did; he just hadn’t been in a place to notice.
She was dressed in a stunning white dress, probably by a designer he should know. Her hair was natural, the curls wild, spiraling away from her face and down her back. She long ago had stopped trying to tame the hair that had plagued her as a child.
She gave his arm another squeeze. “Well, Tris, I owe you one.”
“You do.”
“I’m going to have to snap some pictures. Mom and the girls will be pissed if I don’t.”
“Their fangirling is over the top.”
“Says the man who is hounded by fans.” Sheena looked around. “Can you believe this place?”
Tristan hadn’t noticed. A vast openness spread out around them, the wood floor sparkling, reflecting the light thrown by the massive crystal chandeliers evenly spaced throughout the room. He envisioned one falling, shaking the foundation of the palace. He didn’t even think it would be possible to count the pieces of crystal strung together. Columns and arches fanned out around the edges, all ornately decorated with gold so they shimmered.
Tristan, who was comfortable in any and all situations, was decidedly uncomfortable. Being here illustrated the gulf between him and Ele. Here, she was Princess Eleanor, and all his thoughts of trying to steal some time away with her wavered.
“I’m ready for that drink,” he said.
Sheena was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She ushered him toward one of the four bars assembled in the space. She didn’t need to ask him what he wanted. She shoved a drink into his hand just as Caleb bounded up to them.
“Can you believe this place?” he asked, eyes and smile wide. “Fucking insane. People actually live here. Dude, if I lived here, I’d have parties in this room every night.”
Caleb’s ridiculousness snapped Tristan out of his funk. Rarely melancholy, Tristan didn’t really know how to pull off a mood. But being around Caleb was a sure way to remain upbeat. Nothing got the kid down. Part of it was just C’s obliviousness, but a greater part was his refusal to be bothered by anything. Rowan and Caleb were complete opposites, balancing the scales of Tristan’s life. Even concerned about what the night would bring, Tristan found himself smiling.
Caleb looked around, obviously searching for something. Then, he leaned in close to Tristan and Sheena. “But that hallway with all those pictures of those ancient people, it was fucking freaky, right? I felt like their eyes were following me, and their spirits were saying, What is this black bloke doing in my house?”
Tristan and Sheena hooted with laughter.
“Already getting out of hand?” Rowan asked as he clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
With wide eyes, Caleb explained, “I was telling them about those creepy portraits.”
Rowan almost smiled but then morphed into Skipper mode. “The procession and ceremony are about to start. We have to assemble by the east door.”
“You know a house is too big when you use north, south, east, and west to explain what door to go to,” Caleb remarked.
Tristan tried to contain his laughter. But then Rowan smiled, and Tristan forgot about holding back.
“Come on,” Rowan commanded as he began to shepherd the men to the east door.
“I’m sure you read the email sent from the palace,” Rowan said to the assembled team, “but in case you missed it, Miss Millie is going to give us the rundown.”
Tristan’s head snapped up, and his eyes met Millie’s. Millie went wherever Ele traveled. If there were six degrees of separation between everyone on Earth, Millie meant Ele was only one degree away. Tristan’s heart kick-started, thumping in anticipation. Millie gave him a brief smile before running through the expectation of meeting the royal family. There were instructions on acknowledging the two princesses, the crown prince, and the queen. Lots of ceremonial actions, both outdated and potentially absurd. He had no qualms with kneeling before his princess; he just preferred for both of them to be naked.
Millie finished. Rowan ushered the group out of the ballroom, down a hall, and toward the great room. He was just about to step into the fray when a hand stopped him. He looked over to see Millie. He stepped out of line and ducked his head to her.
“There’s a hallway off the ballroom, on the west side.”
Tristan snickered.
“At eight thirty, take it and follow it around to a turn. Go left and enter the first door you get to. She’ll be waiting for you.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she melted into the crowd.
And it was a crowd. He hadn’t been sure what to expect. But the room in front of him was adorned with television screens that appeared to be running clips of the greatest plays from their run at the Cup. And there were fans. They didn’t appear to be the wealthy aristocracy Tristan had envisioned. Instead, the room was filled with a variety of people, all sporting blue and gold, cheering. There were kids and moms, elderly grandparents and young men. There was a collection of fans to celebrate with them. It was so unanticipated that Tristan found himself smiling. And then taking selfies with anyone who asked. He was prolonging the moment, the anticipation. He could feel Ele’s presence on some molecular level, and he knew if he saw her, he wouldn’t be able to look away, might be pulled toward her like a ship caught in a tractor beam. So, he continued mixing and mingling, hiding behind his T-Dav persona.