Robert scrutinized him. He made some internal decision and held the folder out for Tristan. “You should read this.”
“Will it self-destruct afterward?”
“No, but the ink will disappear in twenty-four hours.” He was stone-faced and serious.
“Really, Mr. Bond?” Tristan asked, his voice incredulous, even as he tried to modulate it.
Robert nodded and said, “No,” at the same time.
Tristan cackled. “Good one.”
Robert smiled. “Seriously, nothing in there is top-secret, but it’s all condensed for you. Take care of our girl, Mr. Davenport.”
As quick as Ele’s security detail had appeared, they cleared out of the room. But Tristan stayed where he was, leaning up against the wall, wondering what the hell he had just agreed to.
6
9 June
The Michigan Inn
Ele gazed out at the vastness of Lake Michigan. Although the hotel didn’t boast the opulence Ele was accustomed to, the view and beach below were spectacular. The isolation of the location allowed for easy security, which Robert liked. But it was also close enough to the major airports to make travel to and from convenient. The delegation for the National Football Federation had chosen wisely. The setting was ideal for the meeting Ele had requested, but her nerves were shot. From the moment she’d asked Robert to arrange this meeting, she’d fought both her nervous anticipation and her fascinated dread.
Ele could hold her own in a room full of dignitaries. She engaged in conversations with kings and queens, presidents and prime ministers. She traveled much of the world, albeit on private planes and with escorts, but she’d seen a lot. She’d also experienced a heartbreak most people would struggle to live through. What she didn’t have much experience with were the ordinary rites of passage. She’d never been on a first date. She’d never entered a clothing store to find the perfect outfit. Her car had never broken down, and she’d never been caught in the rain.
Since Tristan Davenport had charmed her into the national team training gear, the predictability of her life had changed. For weeks after her visit to St. Peter’s, she’d been in a bit of a daze, at once elated and surprised by her comfort and boldness with Tristan. He made her feel safe and brave. Although she had destroyed the camaraderie between them with her awkward and rude behavior, she couldn’t help but long for a return to the person she had been in his presence.
Despite the queen’s heavy-handed decrees, Ele was determined to run with the opportunity she’d been given. The queen did nothing without forethought and deliberation, and while Ele wanted to second-guess the orders that had brought her to America, she refused. There was something else at play, she was sure, but for once, she was going to use it to her advantage.
A practiced knock sounded from the door, and Ele sucked in a breath.
This is it.
Smoothing her hands down her legs, she practically ran to let him in. As her hand landed on the elaborate knob, she let herself hope for something she was too afraid to name and then turned the handle.
Her cyberstalking had prepared her for the blond-tipped hair, the slim-fitting jeans, the classic Adidas, and the gray hoodie. What she was unprepared for was the pleasant disassociation, the familiar warmth, the unearned happiness she experienced. Like a heliotropic flower turning toward the sun, Ele blossomed right there. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what attracted her to Tristan Davenport—his normally infectious smile, the mischievous gleam in his eye, the aura of confidence surrounding him. But even now, as he stood before her, unsmiling, Ele was so happy to see him that it was like someone had shoved sunshine up her ass.
Robert cleared his throat. Ele snapped out of her stupor.
“Hello,” she managed.
“Your Highness,” Tristan answered stiffly.
Disappointed in his unenthusiastic and stoic greeting, Ele stepped back, giving him room to enter the suite.
He trod lightly, all athletic grace and sinuous movement. She just watched him, still a little surprised he was here. Robert nudged her forward before grabbing the handle and gently shutting the door.
Tristan continued through the small foyer into the living room, making a direct line to the windows. He stared straight ahead, presumably struck by the vast lake spread out before them.
Ele crept closer, leaving plenty of space. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she remarked.
He practically snorted. Glancing briefly over his shoulder at her, he smirked. “You asked me here
to talk about Lake Michigan?”
Embarrassed, she felt the heat of a blush break out on her neck. “No … of course not,” she stammered, suddenly unsure of what to say.
When something like sympathy flashed in Tristan’s eyes, Ele looked away, needing to regroup. Tristan had seen Ele at her absolute worst, and the last thing she wanted from him was sympathy. She’d spent years hiding her greatest weakness from the world. She hated Tristan’s intimate knowledge of her panic attacks. Of all the people in the world she wished to keep it from, he topped the list. Yet, somehow, his knowing opened up all sorts of possibilities.