The Princess and the Player (Royally Pitched 1)

Ele didn’t even try to hide her smile. It was thrilling to be here. The atmosphere was electric. Seeing her country’s colors flying in the air as people waved scarves and flags filled her with pride. Then, the pageantry began. The two lines of players with their tiny child escorts walked onto the pitch. The flags were unfurled. When their anthem was announced, it seemed as if the whole stadium turned toward the royal box, honoring them. At the end of the song, both Juliana and Ele raised their hands and waved, prompting another roar. Then, suddenly, the game started.

And her calm fled. But it had nothing to do with her fear of being in public or the press. It was all about wanting to win. She wasn’t a competitor, but she didn’t want to have come this far and not win it all. It made the game more stressful than the rest. It also seemed to be the most competitive game they’d played. And at the end of the first period, they were deadlocked, zero to zero.

Millie s

lipped in behind Ele and tapped her on the shoulder. She leaned close and whispered, “You’re trending on social media.”

Ele’s eyes widened. “Uh, how?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the jersey and maybe your complete attention on the game. When we almost scored, you jumped up, and people caught it. It’s kind of viral.”

Ele swallowed hard and pulled lightly on the collar of the shirt. Millie handed her the iPad, and Ele tucked it into her lap, inconspicuous. One perk of the life she led was there were very few candid photos of her. She managed to escape the wandering eye of the press, which meant there were no pictures floating in cyberspace or printed anywhere with black boxes covering parts of her body or the word don’t captioned above her. The other side was that she rarely saw herself through someone else’s lens. In just the last couple of weeks, she’d taken a picture with Annalise and with Tristan, but she’d been prepared for both of those. The finished product merely an immortalized memory from her head. The picture she stared down at though was anything but. In fact, she had no recollection of the fanatic who was clearly a fan, jumping out of her seat, a zealous look in her eyes. Then, the crushing defeat etched onto her face when the outcome she had cheered for didn’t come to pass.

A discreet chuckle drew her eye. Robert stood behind them, peering over her shoulder. Ele’s gaze met his, and he wiped all expression from his face but not before she read the amusement there.

“Made a football fan out of ya,” Robert said low.

But she heard the unspoken part too—the, Didn’t he?

She glanced up and she rolled her eyes. Robert smirked.

Then, he nodded his head to an open space at the top of the box. Ele stood and followed them.

“At the end of the game, we’ll take the elevator down to the field level. The stage will take twelve and a half minutes to assemble. There is a room right off the hallway where we will wait. Michael will lead you and Juliana out as part of the delegation. As we discussed, you will help with the presentation—win or lose.” He paused, letting Ele digest this part of the plan, which they’d reviewed on the way to the stadium earlier. Multiple verbal run-throughs helped.

She nodded.

“Noah and I will be behind you. You will be either on the left or the right of the prime minister, depending on who wins. Losers go first. Individual awards. You will congratulate each player. Whatever is comfortable for you.” Robert stopped abruptly.

The absence of movement highlighted Ele’s constant head nodding. She closed her eyes, took a calming breath, and stopped moving like a bobblehead.

“When the last player comes through, we will depart the stage, back the way we came. We will go directly to the hallway, enter the elevator, and go to the motorcade.”

Ele reached out, her hand landing on his arm, surprising both of them. Robert’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. Ele snatched her hand away.

“What?” he asked gently.

She didn’t really know how to ask for what she wanted. Throwing off a precise timeline was delicate. Her hands landed on her thighs, rubbing away the sudden dampness. “Can I wait for him?” She could have cajoled, told him she didn’t want to walk away without a good-bye, or even cited royal duty to say something to the team. But those five words seemed to be all Robert needed.

He smiled at her like a proud father before he donned his security face. “Plan B timeline is slightly different. Following the awards ceremony, we will head back to the room and wait as the teams exit the field. There is a press room directly across the hall from where we will be. As the postgame interviews take place, you’ll be able to meet with any players you want. After the media departs, we will walk directly to the elevators to the motorcade on our way to the airfield.”

Ele’s eyes welled. She looked away from him and then up, trying to keep the tears of gratitude from falling. Finally, she returned his gaze.

“Thank you, Robert,” she said.

He bowed. “Your Highness.”

Shakily, Ele made her way down the steps. Admitting she wanted to see Tristan after the game hadn’t been a big deal. But it was like she’d handed Robert her heart, and he’d packaged it with the greatest care.

25

15 July

SeatGeek Stadium

The sideline ref held the placard above his head. Plus three. Tristan glanced around the pitch, taking stock. He had passed exhaustion ten minutes ago. With the threat of another thirty minutes hanging over them like a forbidden promise, Tristan summoned his measly reserves. His gaze connected with Rowan’s as France made a substitution. The strategist in him knew the longer the game wore on, their chance at winning diminished. They were good, but France was better. In extra time, the fatigue would showcase the differences. If they didn’t create an opportunity in the next three minutes, they would need a miracle.

He saw movement from their bench and realized Caleb was about to come into the game. The youngest member of the squad, he’d seen limited minutes, mostly because he was more raw talent than seasoned finesse. This might be football’s version of American football’s Hail Mary. Tristan smiled shrewdly. This could work, and when Rowan displayed a similar look, excitement coursed through Tristan, pumping him up.