Ele grinned. “Yes, I suppose I have to deal with Jamie when I get back. Among other things. But to answer your question, I think I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll really know until I know. I have tools. That’s what my therapist calls it. But it’s almost like being an addict. You can think you are recovered, but you really don’t know until there’s a pint in front of you and you are able to resist. Or perhaps that’s too simple an explanation for both addicts and anxiety disorders.”
“Is it all right if I give you a week?”
“Yes. That’s plenty sufficient.”
They spoke about details for her departure and for the gala before wrapping up.
Ele was left to wonder about the inciting incident with Tristan. She hadn’t wanted to hear it from Millie. The judgment had already seeped into Millie’s tone and words. But now that Ele was alone in her tiny garden, the curiosity was overwhelming.
She turned around and strode into her office space. Without giving any thought to her actions, she Googled T-Dav—something she hadn’t done since they’d spoken on the phone all those weeks ago. She’d been expecting game stats, images of him on the pitch. He’d had a great game the day before, so when a link for a photo shoot was the first to populate the page, she pursed her lips. With one hand rubbing her thigh, she clicked the link with her other one.
At first, she thought it was the picture of Tristan and her, the fantasy one where he whimsically spun her around. The snapshot of her summer. She’d spent stupid hours captioning it. Summer lovin’—not very original or hip. Pure romance—because it was. Look, Mom, I won—because he had just won. I love this girl—her personal favorite. She studied him in a blissful haze. One hand was clasped around her back while the other stayed buried in her hair. The heat of his hand made her hot, and the tug of her hair made her want to drop to the ground with him looming all around her.
Blinking away the sudden burst of lust, she began to notice the differences. The woman in the photo was a brunette. And his hands weren’t quite right. While the provocative image conjured up just the right amount of sweet and sexy, it missed the mark on re-creating a moment so incredibly spontaneous and natural.
She shouldn’t be mad and hurt. But she was totally mad and hurt.
Those feelings shadowed her while she waited to hear from Tristan. To occupy her mind, she began to pack up her clothes. She had a week, but there were things she’d brought with her still hanging forlornly in the closet, clothes from a life separate from the one she’d been experiencing here. She’d expected the queen to insist she attend to some duty while abroad, but for some reason, Ele had been left alone. Musing over her reception when she returned home, she almost missed the call.
“Hello?” She still didn’t know how to handle the situation with Tristan, but the remoteness of her greeting was apparent.
“E,” he practically gushed.
His perennial joviality was both a blessing and a curse. He didn’t seem to take to the world like other people. She would call him a total optimist, but the descriptor didn’t quite hit the mark. He saw obstacles and problems; he just refused to let them faze him. He was the perfect foil for a girl who struggled to see the end because she got caught up in the treacherous middle.
“You good?”
It was never how are you with Tristan. He refused to allow her the opportunity to use the word fine.
“Been better.” She toyed with a pen on the desk, still not quite sure how to launch into her concerns. She was complete rubbish at relationships. As a person whose every need was met before putting voice to it, she was used to expressing her displeasure with a scowl, a look, or a direct cut.
“Have the summons come then?”
“Yes,” she said distractedly.
The quiet from his side of the line was unexpected. Her homecoming was one of those things they didn’t discuss. A line they didn’t cross. He probed for her thoughts and opinions on everything, except her real life. Or maybe she avoided mentioning what waited for her because there were battles she would have to fight, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.
Tristan cleared his throat after the silence lingered a bit too long. Silences were few for them. “We need to talk about something,” he began.
“Oh?”
Before Millie’s call, Ele might have wondered if he was finally going to broach the subject of what was going to happen when she came back—if they would be together, be friends. What would they be? She knew what she wanted them to be, and she sensed he was patiently waiting for her decision.
“It’s not a big issue. Well, maybe it is. I’m not sure. It felt like it when it happened, and now, I don’t really know.”
Ele was charmed. Tristan Davenport was actually rambling. She couldn’t think of an experience in this life to rattle him, but something obviously had. And damn if she didn’t find herself smiling, her anger fading away.
Ele dropped into the desk chair. “Go on.”
He sighed audibly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered so softly that Ele thought she might have imagined it.
She smiled. It was bad for their future if she couldn’t stay mad at him.
“Look, when we returned from the World Championship Cup this summer, we, all of us, were bombarded with requests for endorsements. Every day, there was something new to do. Some were requests from the Federation and others from my agent. I didn’t vet them as I should have. Mostly because, I mean, I’m me, and I love that shit.”
He sounded chagrined, and Ele’s smile stretched.
This guy. There was something so sexy about someone so self-aware.
“I was at this shoot for a bloody cologne—which I don’t even wear, by the by. And the photographer asked the model and me to re-create the World Cup ‘swing hug.’ Did you know it has its own hashtag? Hashtag swing hug. What?” His voice rose a little, and she imagined him talking to Rowan and Caleb. “Anyway, we did. The model and me.”
“Of course. What else would you have done?” Her voice might have sounded a little sarcastic because, yes, he was ridiculously adorable, but he also could have said no.
“If I’d had any notice, I would have said no. But it seemed spur of the moment, and I didn’t want to be an ass.”
“Are you sure you didn’t want to capitalize on the spotlight?”
“No.”
Ele flinched. “No, you aren’t sure, or no, you didn’t want to capitalize?”
Another sigh. “Look, I’m always going to be honest with you, even when it makes me look like a wanker. I want to be able to say that I didn’t want to take advantage of the limelight, but I can’t do it. Which makes me a complete shit and reinforces all of your doubts about wanting to be in a relationship with me.”
Startled quiet rained down on them.
Isn’t that my worst fear? Tristan using their relationship as a means to be in the public eye constantly. Tristan taking their most private, touching times and wanting to share them with his fans. Or exploiting their spontaneity with canned, preplanned imposters available for public consumption. Ele shuddered. They hadn’t gone there—purposefully, she thought now. Confronting this fundamental issue between them could negate all the good stuff—the friendship, the camaraderie, the sex, the warmth, her safety. Ele had endured some heart-wrenching therapy over the last twelve weeks, delved into all of the fears she’d previously refused to name, worked on ways to combat her paranoia about media exposure.