Page 54 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)
W e’re at the stables in the South Downs on a fair day the following spring. Thomas is in a sky-blue shirt with his riding gear, while I’m in a lightweight coral anorak with riding breeches and boots. We’ve led our horses out to the arena. Tufts of cloud drift by overhead.
Thomas gives a meaningful glance to the sturdy wooden mounting block usually used by children, and quite reasonably by most people, for their lessons at the estate.
I shake my head, looking back at my horse from Renaissance Man , Midnight.
I hold him by the bridle and scratch him under the chin with my other hand. He nuzzles my chest.
“Let’s try this the usual way.” I turn to adjust the stirrup to mount my horse in the way I’ve done so many times before.
I’ve kept up my stretching routine through rehab.
That is, before I did my best to end it all during the steeplechase event.
It’s kind of funny that in my years of jumping, I’d never taken a fall before.
It took reality TV to take it to the next level.
I was always praised in the past for having excellent balance.
“Are you sure?” Thomas gives me a concerned look.
“I was Olympic track, remember? Getting on a horse is one of the first things they teach you, believe it or not,” I quip and buckle the chin strap of my helmet. “Also, they point out which end has teeth. And which end poops. Very useful.”
He snorts, holding the reins of his horse.
With a deep breath to fend off any lingering nerves, I climb onto my horse in a practiced, fluid movement. The leather creaks, and Midnight doesn’t protest. And a moment later, I’m looking at the world from between a pair of curved horse ears.
I grin and pat Midnight’s neck.
“Your turn,” I tell Thomas.
He can’t hide the relief, tension leaving his shoulders. “How about I watch you do a lap?”
“Not a chance.” I adjust my stirrups again.
Thomas mounts his horse too. And then a moment later, he’s beside me, also on his horse from the show. “Here I am, my liege.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “We’ll walk this round, alright?”
The middle of the arena is set up with fences at laughably low heights. But I’m good to my word, and we do the slow walk around the arena. Overhead, the early spring sun shines down through the pale apple blossoms in the neighboring orchard. Even the grass smells new.
And I’m grinning till my face hurts, my hands light on the reins.
After I obligingly do a circuit at a walk, we move on to a trot. Old muscles are reawakened as we post. Beside me, Thomas keeps pace till we pull up together at the end of the paddock.
“Right,” I say, looking over at the fences.
“Are you really sure about this?”
“I really, really am. You know the old saying, back in the saddle again?” I say cheerfully.
“Terrible,” Thomas groans, but he smiles, his expression softening in that way he has only for me. “Alright. Come here, then.”
I ride closer to him, our legs pressing, and we lean forward for a kiss on horseback.
“I’ll be back to collect more in a minute,” I drawl, blowing another kiss.
And with that, I turn my attention to the simple course that we walked earlier. It’s literally child’s play. It’s meant for the estate owner’s family. But for Thomas’ sake, I don’t push about raising the jumps.
With a touch of my heels and a shift of my hands on the reins, we’re off. And it’s like no time has passed. With Midnight, we sail easily over the low fences. I keep it simple at an easy pace, nothing fancy.
For all of my banter and bravado, there’s a small part of me that has nerves, even so.
There’s a split moment where the accident comes in a flashback.
I shake my head slightly to clear it. Midnight is steadfast, and when I reach the end, Thomas waits, sitting on the fence.
I slide off Midnight, and Thomas hops down.
I let myself get drawn into his arms for an epic kiss, leaving me weak-kneed.
“Do you think that was alright?” I ask belatedly when we straighten.
“As far as your kisses go, at least adequate,” Thomas teases me. I lightly slap his arse in response. “What, you’re going for subpar now?”
“Sublime, actually.” I hold his gaze.
He brushes his lips against mine and pulls away as I try to kiss him, grinning. “I want to make you so wild that you can’t wait till we get to the cottage.”
“Cleverly, I know where a SUV’s parked. Tinted windows, the whole works. Why wait?”
“That’s not the equestrian event I imagined,” Thomas laughs.
“Oh, but it’s the one you deserve.”
“I love you,” he says impulsively, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. “And especially when you’re ridiculous.”
I laugh. It’s freedom to be with Thomas like this. It’s wild to imagine being with him for more than a handful of weeks. I dare imagine a future we might have together. “I love you too, gorgeous. Even if you worry too much.”
“I worry the right amount.” Thomas shakes his head, sobering for a moment. “Trust me on this one.”
“I’m well enough. And I’m right here. With you.” I catch Thomas’ face, kiss him thoroughly, his stubble delightfully rough against my skin.
“I’m so lucky,” he murmurs. “One day, if you really want to go Olympic track again like you’ve said, I’ll do my best to keep my worrying in check.”
“I’m even luckier.” I draw him into a deep kiss then, our mouths hot, my fingers running over his chest. I can barely believe what he’s said. My heart pounds. And maybe, one day, I’ll actually compete again.
I still have symptoms that linger after the better part of a year since the accident.
Maybe they’ll go away eventually, and maybe they won’t.
When I’m tired, everything becomes more difficult—foggy-headed, mood shifts, clumsiness.
Generally, I’m more prone to headaches, and I have dizzy spells once in a while.
I still go to rehab, usually down to once a week, and I frequently work with my therapist and my trainer.
With Thomas wanting to help me—and others—as he can, we’ve decided to set up a charity to support people with brain injuries, and he’s offered up the Renaissance Man prize money to establish a foundation.
I’ve contributed, too, from my savings. We came up with some ideas when Thomas stayed in London over the winter to be with me.
And I’m slowly starting back on my duties, part-time.
We plan for the new charity. And his social media app’s going to launch this summer after all, with a boost to launch from some of the prize money he won. I’m going to help him do that.
My father’s met Thomas. And, to my delight, likes him. So do my friends. As for Thomas’ father, we have an uneasy truce for Thomas’ sake. I’ve gone to America to meet his family, and his mum gave me a huge hug on sight and thanks for saving Thomas.
“I don’t want to let you out of my arms,” Thomas murmurs against my ear.
“Check that thought for later,” I laugh. “We have horses to deal with first.” We head back to the stables to go through the familiar ritual of cleaning and putting equipment away and grooming the horses.
But most importantly, we’re soon on the way to get keys to our cottage for a week’s secret getaway. Maybe there was an interlude in the SUV first, but I’m not telling.
Thomas drives, drumming his fingers on the wheel. I’m wearing his aviators, and he has on my blue tortoiseshell sunglasses. The sunroof is open, and music blares. We sing along to pop songs at the top of our lungs. It’s a fab beginning to our holiday to celebrate Thomas’ official move to London.
This week, we’re going hillwalking in the South Downs and sneaking in a night’s dancing in Brighton if I’m feeling well enough.
Or staying in together with takeaway if I’m not.
Anything we do together is a thrill, from a grand night out to a quiet evening in.
Some of my favorite moments of the last months include the simple pleasure of lying with Thomas as he reads to me, when the words swim on the page after a long day.
And we haven’t ruled out going to America down the road either. We’ll see. At least for a little while. As for my future, I’m no longer scared to face it and make some choices, even if that means being King one day—Thomas wants to be by my side even so. Our path is entwined.
We have lots of questions ahead to sort through, but more than anything, we’ll find our way and shape our dreams—together.