Page 19 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

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I hear a door creak open, followed by footsteps on the stairs.

Blake calls out, “Josh, let’s go. I want extra time to warm up before my noon match.”

Excellent. With Blake out of the house, it gives me a chance to sneak back into his room to plant the trackers and copy the contents of his laptop.

I pull on a pair of gloves, grab my cosmetics bag with the electronics, and quietly sneak into his room. This time, I start with the walk-in closet, flipping on the light switch. I select the clothes he’s most likely to wear during his free time.

Those will be the best locations for the trackers, which are our insurance. We can already follow him using his smartphone, but these devices will work if he forgets his phone or turns it off.

It’s cool in the evenings, so I tuck a tracker into each of his two jackets assuming he’ll wear one of them if he goes out. I skip the hats because he’s prone to handing those out to fans. Instead, I plant the rest in his trousers.

Task accomplished, I turn off the closet light and sit at his desk. Opening his laptop, it wakes without a password, which is lucky for me. I insert a USB drive, which will collect data and install software to track keystrokes and create a hidden login account.

Just as I’m about to leave, a trophy catches my eye—likely the one his sponsor requested for the photos.

Curious, I pick it up. Could someone hide a coin in this?

Holding it up to the light, I turn it in my hands, inspecting it from all angles.

Looking underneath, the bottom is covered with felt, and one edge lifts slightly.

I peel it back and find a dark, hollow compartment.

There’s something inside. My pulse quickens. Have I found the hiding place for the coins?

Using my finger, I slide my discovery toward the opening. The corner of a piece of paper emerges. Grasping it between my thumb and forefinger, I ease it out, being careful not to tear it.

The paper is folded into a square about the size of ... oh, no! The missing denarius coin would fit perfectly within the square of paper.

This would be the perfect way to sneak the coin across the border. It wouldn’t show up on an X-ray at an airport because the base is metal. And if someone lifted the trophy, the paper would prevent the coin from making noise rattling around in the base. No one would ever notice it.

My stomach sinks as I unfold the paper. I’ve known Blake was a suspect, but I’ve inwardly hoped there’s another explanation. Now, for the first time, I’m forced to seriously consider that Blake may be involved. Does this mean his coach is also part of the smuggling?

Nothing is wrapped inside the paper, but there is writing on it. I quickly read the note. It says:

Stay the course. It will keep paying off.

As I’m contemplating the note’s meaning, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s my alarm signaling it’s time to head over to the Wimbledon grounds to watch Blake’s match.

I quickly snap a photo of the writing and of the bottom of the trophy.

Not wanting Blake to notice anyone found the hiding place, I stuff the paper back into the hollow base, pressing the felt into place.

Returning the trophy to its place on the dresser, I take another look around the room to make sure there’s no evidence of my visit.

Reassured that Blake will never suspect I’ve been here, I peer out the door freezing when a pair of eyes lock onto mine. I let out of sigh of relief when I realize they belong to Erin. She gives me a nod.

As we meet in the hallway between rooms, I whisper, “You gave me a scare.”

“We’re the only ones here. Blake’s team left for his match, and Fausto is at the market. I was looking for you because it’s time to leave.”

“I know. Let me grab my things.”

“Okay. I assume I don’t need to know why you were in Blake’s room.”

“You’re right.”

“Understood. But if I can help, you know I’m here,” she says, following me into my room.

I pick up my Louis Vuitton purse as I say, “It’s frustrating not to be able to share details of my mission with you.

At the next opportunity, I’m going to revisit the edict that I can’t.

As my missions become more complex, it doesn’t make sense to keep you in the dark.

But I’ve taken an oath that I must uphold. For now, this is how it must be.”

“I admire what you’re doing, so don’t worry about me. We’ll make this work. My only concern is keeping you safe. Let’s hurry though. You don’t want to miss Blake’s match.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

Entering the Centre Court stands, I find my seat while Erin locates a nearby vantage point where she can keep an eye on the crowd.

The match just started, but Blake is already dominating his opponent. For me, it’s an excellent chance to study Blake’s game, spot patterns, and figure out how to adapt for doubles with him.

Before long, I’m spending less time evaluating Blake’s game and more time staring at him.

Everything about Blake makes me hunger for a repeat of two years ago.

The sweat dripping from his brow reminds me of the heat between us that night.

When he flexes his forearms to serve and his biceps bulge, I almost swoon.

I can make out every defined muscle in his legs as he lunges for balls with outstretched arms. I could use another drink of that man.

When the game ends, I scan the Royal Box. Stephen is wearing a purple tie—our signal to meet. He catches my eye and nods. I was going to text him the photos, but talking in-person is even better.

As play resumes, I smile watching Blake drill the ball across the net and past his opponent. He’s brilliant.

It’s hard watching him shoulder so much weight.

Winning this tournament could change his life.

A loss may destroy him. The stress is impacting more than just his tennis.

He’s taking it out on everyone around him.

He was in a better place when we first met—even after losing Wimbledon.

Now he’s different. Sure, there are moments when the charming guy I first met makes an appearance, but those are rare.

It makes me wonder whether having someone special in his life would fill the void for him. Would that make the losses more bearable? With the chemistry sizzling between us, I wouldn’t mind finding out. My desires go beyond a mere wish for another night with him.

He’s one of the few men who doesn’t seem to care that I’m a princess. He’s not pushing me to do anything for him. He has enough of his own money not to need mine. And he agreed to play doubles with me despite his concerns that it would hurt his chances of winning.

No, he’s likely only tolerating the doubles matches for the money. He can’t afford to lose his contract with the sponsor. He has plenty of money though. He could afford to lose the sponsor or change sponsors.

If only he weren’t involved in this international drama, I’d be tempted to rethink my stance on what could be between us.

I sigh. Again, we’ve met at the wrong time.

I’m not the one who can help him, and we can’t be a couple.

If he’s involved in the smuggling, he has even more to worry about.

I wonder whether that’s the difference in him between two years ago and now.

If guilt or fear of being caught is hanging over his head in addition to the pressure to win, that would explain his attitude and behavior.

No wonder he hired Natalie. I’m not sure a sports psychologist can fix all his problems though.

I’m sad thinking about what may lie ahead for Blake, but the cheering crowd returns my focus to the present. Blake swiftly closes out the match with an easy win.

As I stand to leave, a Wimbledon staff member approaches, saying, “Your Highness, you’ve been invited to the clubhouse. Would you like to follow me?”

“Thank you. Of course.”

Prince Stephen and I definitely need to talk.

In the clubhouse, Stephen greets me with a formal smile.

“I’ve arranged for tea. Would you care to join me?”

“I’d be delighted. That’s very kind of you,” I say.

Stephen and I suppress grins as we go through these formalities. They’re expected when two royals from different countries meet in public. As far as anyone knows, we haven’t seen each other recently. They can’t know we dined together a few nights ago.

He gestures for me to join him in a private room in the clubhouse where we can talk unobserved.

“It’s good to see you again. Are you doing okay?” he says, pulling me into a hug.

“It’s only been a few days, but they’ve been busy ones.”

“Any issues?”

“It’s been difficult not being able to directly communicate with you and the rest of the team. Secure texts don’t work for everything. It’s also challenging to do my job without revealing any details to Erin. It would be much easier if she knew what’s going on.” My frustration shows in my tone.

Stephen nods as he guides me toward a pair of upholstered, cream-colored swivel chairs next to a low table set with a fine-china tea service and a tiered cake stand with cakes and pastries.

I immediately notice the omission of the traditional finger sandwiches.

That makes me smile. We’ve shared enough teas and meals during training that he and Adrian know I love sweets but skip the mayonnaise-laden sandwiches every time.

He motions for me to sit in the chair on our left.

I do as prompted, assuming my proper princess pose with closed knees, crossed ankles, and hands lightly clasped in my lap.

While I’d love to relax and lean back in my comfortable chair, there’s a chance someone might walk in on us and wonder why a royal greeting had turned so casual.

Stephen takes the other chair, mirroring my formality, while saying, “I know. My guards don’t know the details of my covert life either. It can be frustrating at times. Can’t you talk with Fausto though?”