The Princess and the Player (Royally Pitched 1)

“He’s a professional footballer. Do you think he’s prepared to give up his career for you?”

Ele’s eyes widened. Of course, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “He can choose to not take a title.”

“And you are willing to give up your place in the line of succession by marrying a commoner?”

Ele sputtered, “What are you talking about?”

“You are further willing to leave the crown without an heir?”

“Jamie …” she pleaded.

“You know the chances of me being able to father a child are slim. And we vowed, long ago, to protect Juliana’s secrets. Illegitimacy is far from the scandal it used to be but for her, to be exposed like that – “

“I know,” Ele reassured him.

“If you marry Tristan, the continuation of the line will become more complicated.”

“You are getting ahead of yourself.”

“Ele”—she could hear the pity in his voice, and she averted her gaze in an attempt to lessen the blow of his words—“his family is from Nava. One half of his family is from a part of our country that threatens to succeed from us on an annual basis, who is building a government to oppose us, who is even now pushing a vote on succession. And … he’s a footballer.”

“You love football,” she said plaintively, a terrible defense but a defense.

“Yes. And for what it’s worth, I like him. And I like you with him. But even if none of these things stood in the way, he relishes media attention. Thrives on it in fact. How would you handle it, day in and day out?”

She shrugged.

He picked up the tablet and handed it to her. Before she looked, she knew what she would see. Endless selfies of Tristan, some with random people, some with friends. Some with elaborate captions, some with simple titles.

Of all the reasons, this perhaps was the most difficult for her. The other stuff, she knew were issues, but truth be told, none of that had crossed her mind. Ele wasn’t sure she could handle Tristan’s pace. If she really considered it, she figured Tristan would get bored with her quickly. She was too much. Too much history, too much baggage, too much worry. Ele wanted to carve out more time for herself with Tristan. She longed for those carefree hours, and she wasn’t ready for it to be over. She knew if she wanted that, she would have to figure out a way to navigate the media. Or at least survive it.

“If …” Jamie cleared his throat. “If there were a way, I would find it for you.”

She studied her twin, appreciating and resenting him all at once. Standing from the chair, some resolution straightened her spine. “The thing is, Jamie, I don’t need you to find a way for me. I wasn’t asking you to aid and abet. I was asking if you believed in the possibility. You don’t, and that’s actually okay. I don’t need your approval.”

She walked to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. In her mind, Tristan was standing across the way, enjoying her tiara moment. It was appropriate.

Jamie looked up at her, the crown prince in supplication to his twin, and she glimpsed his pride and appreciation.

“I can find my own way.”

27

4 August

Celebration Gala

Tristan unzipped the garment bag and removed his tuxedo. He held it up, inspecting it for stray lint.

“Chap, are you sure it fits you? Looks like my fifteen-year-old cousin could wear it,” Rowan remarked dryly.

“You’re just jealous because your thunder thighs can’t pull off the skinny look.”

“Right. I want to wear tapered pants and a skinny tie.”

Tristan snickered. “If you could pull off a tapered suit, you’d look like something that belonged on a foosball table.”

Every once in a great while, Tristan could lob a zinger in Rowan’s direction, and it would break the serious Skipper. Rowan cracked up, probably picturing a stiff foosball player with wide shoulders but ramrod straight and ultimately stone-faced. Tristan made a mental note to try and buy an individual one and stow it in Rowan’s locker.