Vaguely, he worried if giving in to this request would change something. He had a sense it would. It reminded him of the feeling he’d experienced when he was offered his first contract by his favorite club—equally a sense of awe and accomplishment, trepidation and oh fuck.
Robert scrutinized him. “What, if anything, do you know about Princess Eleanor?”
“I suppose what everyone else knows. What the palace lets us know.” He paused like he was thinking, even as he knew he was going to be an ass with his next statement. “Oh, and that she suffers from some nasty panic attacks.”
Robert shook his head like he was disappointed in Tristan. It was reminiscent of an action Rowan would employ. Like two weeks ago, when Tristan had taken a woman home with him from a mate’s party.
Robert held out his hand, and a folder was placed into it. Robert tapped the folder against his opposite hand, obviously studying Tristan. Robert was a big guy, bigger even than Rowan. Tristan knew Robert could kill him with one well-placed hit. But he also sensed that Robert liked him for some crazy reason, even with the shin kick.
“It’s been going on for a number of years,” Robert began. “But the day at St. Peter’s was especially horrible. It hit her quick, and I think she didn’t have time for the normal calming techniques she’d learned. Maybe her defenses were down, or she was embarrassed about her greatest weakness being exposed to you. I have theories.” He shrugged. “Millie told me later she was afraid it was the worst one she’d experienced, and even Millie was helpless. But then you walked in, and you teased her out of it. She let you put your hands on her—which she never allows—and she immediately calmed. It was a miraculous recovery really.”
Tristan took in all of what Robert had said. He’d never been a royal-watcher. But he was pretty damn certain Princess Eleanor’s panic attacks were a well-kept secret.
“No one knows, except her immediate family and her staff. I’m sure Prince James’s staff knows something is going on, but they have no idea what. I share this o
nly to give you some context for the way she acted that day.”
Robert shuffled the folder to his other hand, drawing Tristan’s gaze. He was curious about her even though he pretended disinterest with Robert and with Rowan when he asked. Ele seemed like a distant memory most days. But some days, his fingertips itched to smooth over the soft skin of her face, to tangle in and mess up the prissy braid in her hair, to rub up and down the nape of her neck. His lips craved the warmth of hers, and his tongue wanted to dip back into the depths of her mouth, to taste every single part of her. He wanted to muss up her perfect clothes. He longed to kneel before her as a subject before his queen and then to worship her as a man would a woman. And holy fuck, did he want her to kneel before him. He shifted, uncomfortable with the nefarious thoughts of Ele while in the presence of her bodyguard. He would like to survive to play in the World Championship Cup.
“I guessed most of that on my own,” Tristan said.
“Of course,” Robert responded. “I figured as much. But what you probably have no idea about is, her immediate comfort with you is rare. And maybe more helpful than any of us imagined. She’d been quite the loner for years. But since then, she’s allowed herself to get out more.”
Tristan had noticed. Because the magazines he’d inadvertently looked at now showed her more than they had previously, and the press seemed to be warming to her, if the headlines were any indication.
“THE ICE PRINCESS THAWS!”
“IS GLOBAL WARMING RESPONSIBLE FOR THE THAW?”
“THE ICE MELTS!”
He’d seen them all. And the pictures of her out and looking happy had pissed him off. But now, with Robert’s explanation ringing in his ears, his ire faded. If he’d helped her in any way, he was glad.
“She’s also become somewhat of a Hartesfield United fan.”
Tristan couldn’t contain his smile. “Really?”
“Yes, but if you tell her that, I will hurt you. And since I owe you one, it won’t be pleasant.”
Tristan laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Will you see her?” The timing of the question was impeccable.
When the conversation had begun, Tristan had been sure he would refuse. But now, he didn’t want to fight the urge to spend some more time with her—whatever that meant.
He nodded. “How’s it going to work?”
“We’ll be staying at the same hotel. We have the penthouse suite with private access. At the designated time, you’ll take the elevator from your floor to the lobby. There is another elevator that goes to the parking garage. You’ll take that to the valet floor, which is marked with a V. Michael, my second-in-command”—Robert stopped and pointed to his right, where Michael had stepped into the open—“will meet you and take you up the private elevator to the penthouse.”
Tristan felt like he was being briefed for a mission. He nodded because it was expected.
“Do not bring your cell phone. Do not share with your mates. You’ll have to figure that part out on your own.”
Tristan nodded again but knew ditching Rowan and Caleb would present problems. It wasn’t like they didn’t leave each other’s side, but their schedule was tight, and it would be difficult to disappear.
“Are you up for this, Mr. Davenport?” The question was asked casually, that how’s the weather vibe, but Tristan sensed the weight of it and the implications of his answer.
“I am.” It wasn’t the promise he thought Robert wanted, but it was the best he could do.