The Princess Finds Her Match

Nic studied the Prince first. He was younger than he had thought. He was tall and lean and had an ascetic air about him. His face was devoid of any expression. Beside him was the Princess, who was wearing a cream-colored dress suit and wearing sunglasses. She looked a lot younger than the Prince. Nic stiffened at the familiar way she moved, her long, stockinged legs gliding over the grass. She paused to remove her shades and handed it to a hovering woman beside her. Her profile was burned into Nic’s mind that even before she had turned to the organizer who was handing her the Cup, Nic knew it was her.

His breath seized momentarily. He felt like he had been kicked on the chest by a horse. What the fuck! His sweet Lexie was Princess Alexandria? His eyes never left her as she made her way to the far end of the stage. It was a crime how her beautiful red hair was tightly bundled up. Nic longed to let it loose and run his fingers through the tresses. He had found her, he thought as mind-blowing relief surged through him. Just as swiftly, anger flooded him at her duplicity and the bitter realization that she in all likelihood didn’t want to be found. She knew where he had been staying. She could have called but had remained silent, fucking with his concentration ever since she had left him standing like a fool at the hotel lobby. And fool that he was, he had pestered the operator several times to check if anybody had called for him.

He was nothing but a casual dalliance for her, a spur-of-the-moment hook-up on her wild night in Las Vegas. He felt acid seeping into his stomach at her dismissal of what could have been something profound. He watched her smiling at the crowd, a fake one, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He felt something close to disgust that even though he had only known her for a few hours, he could already distinguish the façade she presented to the world. Was the connection that night just pretense on her part as well?

“This way, Your Highnesses.” The announcer and master of ceremonies positioned the royals in the middle of the two opposing teams. Facing the audience comprised of the media, corporate sponsors, relatives, supporters, and a handful of spectators who had stayed after the game, Nic stared straight ahead, his blood churning. The Black Cavalier players were presented with their corporate prizes first, which included several champagne bottles and luxury watches from a major sponsor.

The master of ceremonies then announced Team Arion as the official winner of this year’s Gallagher Cup. Tansy drunk-screamed excitedly, her voice rising above the applause, and Nic spotted her pink, wide-brimmed hat bobbing in the crowd. “That’s my fuckin’ team, you assholes!”

Tansy’s fuckin’ team alright, Nic thought sardonically, and good thing he was spared that distinction.

He saw Lexie, assisted by an event organizer, handing the miniature gold cups to each of the players. She was smiling and shaking each of the team member’s hands, followed by the Prince, who was engaging in small talk with each of the players.

Beside him, Rupert Butler whispered with a leer, “She’s one fine-looking filly, if you ask me. With all the inbreeding among the royals, it’s a wonder she’s a beauty. ” Nic’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened into fists. “Guess she takes after her mother. Colleen Gallagher was a flake, but you can’t deny she was something in the looks department.”

A small breeze wafted on stage, and Nic was assailed by a familiar hint of lavender before he heard her lilting contralto congratulating Butler on that last deciding goal. She sure knew how to charm them, he thought with some bitterness. The Prince then admired Butler’s pony, purchased from Nic’s farm, which had won Best Horse.

“May I present to Your Highnesses the team captain of Arion?” the announcer introduced, sounding self-important, “Ten-goal handicap player and winner of the Triple Argentine Open, Mr. Nicolas Fernandez.”

She was already reaching her hand out to shake his, a smile plastered on her lips, when she lifted her cat eyes and they intersected with his. All hope that he had imagined her effect on him two nights ago vanished like a polo ball in the middle of the high goal Argentine Open. She froze, her smile died, and her extended hand remained extended. A few awkward seconds ticked by. The announcer cleared his throat.