Page 2 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

“Okay. You are a particularly lovely tennis player though,” I say as I guide her around the floor.

She squeezes my shoulder slightly and smiles with what seems to be genuine happiness.

She fits nicely in my arms, and I notice she inches a little closer to me, forcing my arm farther around her back and an inch or two lower.

“You look great in that tux too. This is quite a change from our usual tennis clothes, isn’t it?”

“It is. Everyone looks so different tonight. It’s almost hard to recognize people. But you’re lovely on and off the court.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the princesses.”

She tilts her head, giving me a view of the mischievous glint in her eyes as she pats me on the chest, again sending a wave of warmth through me. How does she do that?

Feeling her eyes still on mine, I answer, “No. You’re the only one. And even if I meet another one someday, I promise not to say the same thing.” I chuckle.

She throws her head back and laughs softly.

“I’ll hold you to that. By the way, I really am a huge fan of yours. I love watching you play. I particularly admire your serve. That’s something I’m always working to improve in my game.”

“Thanks. I was fortunate to have a great coach when I was younger. You are an excellent tennis player yourself. You don’t compete year-round though, do you?”

“No. I play in as many tournaments as possible, but my royal duties preclude participating in a full schedule. It’s frustrating.”

It never occurred to me that she wanted to play more. It seems we all have others dictating how we conduct our lives.

Without thinking, I share, “Believe it or not, I understand that meeting expectations and following traditions can be difficult. But we persevere to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

I’m normally not that open with a stranger, but she’s so real and easy to talk to. It came out before I could censor myself.

She looks at me as if searching my eyes for the story behind my statement.

As she’s about to speak, the music stops. I’m not ready to let her go, so I whisper into her ear, “Would you like to continue dancing?”

I’m relieved when she nods.

The dance floor is crowded now, so I have an excuse to pull her closer.

Before long, there’s no room to move. She rests her arms around my neck, and I wrap mine around her waist, as we stand in place, swaying to the music.

We chat, laugh, and tease as song after song plays.

Eventually, we fall into an enjoyable silence with her head resting on my shoulder and my arms wrapping her in a gentle hug.

When the music stops for more announcements, I’m forced to take a step or two back from her. I immediately miss her warmth, and my arms feel uncomfortably empty as I offer, “Would you like me to show you back to your table now or would you like to join me on the patio? It may be cooler out there.

“I’d love to join you. I could use a breath of fresh air.”

I’m surprised, but happy, that this beautiful princess wants to spend more time with me. “I’d love your company. Do you need to let anyone know where we’ll be?”

“My bodyguards will figure it out. They don’t let me out of their sight.”

“Okay. We’ll need to weave our way through the crowd. There’s a patio through the side doors.”

She was right about her bodyguards. We’ve barely started across the room, when one of them steps in front of us and parts the crowd while another one shields us from the phones attempting to snap photos.

It’s a relief to step through the door and feel the light breeze on my face and smell the fresh scent of recent rain that permeates the night.

“Let’s step near the glass wall. We’ll have a better view,” I suggest.

From the wall, we have a clear view of the night sky with its twinkling stars and the softly lit flower garden below.

Without realizing it, my hand has been on the small of Princess Brianna’s back since we left the dance floor. She hasn’t complained but it’s probably not proper protocol. It just seemed natural.

As I’m pondering whether to remove my hand, she firmly, but politely, tells her guards, “Please give us some privacy. We’ll be fine here.”

One of the guards stares at me with piercing, dark eyes and clenched teeth silently conveying his threat of what will happen to me if I harm Brianna in any way.

The other guard nods, saying, “We’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Turning to face me, she shrugs her shoulders. “I’m sorry about the need for security, but my parents insist.”

I wave off her apology. “It’s not a problem. They saved us from being stopped twenty times on our way here, so that’s a definite positive. It’s a relief to have a break from shaking hands and more small talk.”

Her shoulders relax.

“Thank you for understanding. And I completely agree about needing a break. You’re the only person tonight who has had a normal conversation with me.” She sighs, sadness passing over her face.

My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“I must have had a dozen people ask me why I’m not wearing a tiara tonight.

Others curtsied to me so many times it was making me dizzy.

Then some wouldn’t talk to me at all because they were under the impression that they were only allowed to answer questions I asked.

And there’s a limit as to how many times I can ask someone if they are enjoying the food, the wine, the evening, etc. ”

I want to hug her and erase the frustration she’s feeling. Instead, I gently push an errant strand of her hair behind her ear and stare at her intently, saying, “That sounds exhausting.”

She shrugs. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.

I was born into a wonderful life. But, sometimes, I just wish I could have normal interactions with people.

Tonight, you were a shining light. You were respectful but treated me like a real person.

I’ll be forever grateful for you saving me at this event. ”

I can’t imagine what it’s like to be treated the way she describes. No wonder she was desperate for normal conversation. Is she hungry for intimacy too, I wonder? That’s none of my business though. I remind myself that princesses don’t date tennis players, even wealthy ones.

“I’m happy to have been of service. Let me know if I can do anything else to make tonight better.” I wink, unable to resist flirting a little.

She blushes, saying, “I’ll have to give that some thought.”

I wonder if she likes the idea of something more. With that thought, my mind quickly conjures the most inappropriate options.

“You do that,” I suggest.

“It’s getting cool.” She shivers.

I remove my tux jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her closer as I say, “The rain cooled the air down more than I expected.”

Enjoying the moment, my hands linger on her upper arms, holding the jacket in place.

She stares into my eyes as if judging my intentions and finally says, “Thank you. I should have brought my wrap with me, but I assumed it would still be warm. You never know what to expect this time of year though. It can go from warm to cool and rainy in an instant.”

“This works. I don’t mind keeping you warm.” I smile.

“You are quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Not always. Most people think I’m too serious. I’m just enjoying your company. This has been an exceedingly difficult two weeks for me. I must say I was dreading tonight. You’ve made it worth it for me,” I admit, looking away in an attempt to hide just how hard it’s been.

“I can only imagine what it’s been like for you. I was sorry to see you lose your semifinal match here. It was a nailbiter. You played well. I thought you were going to win, but your opponent had a couple of lucky bounces in the last game.”

“He did, but I had other opportunities to win that I let slip away.”

If she only knew how much that loss sucked the energy from me. I’ve always been a fighter, but I’m starting to wonder if I have what it takes to conquer this battle on grass courts.

She reaches up and tenderly rubs her palm against my cheek, saying, “There’s always next time. At least that’s what I tell myself. Each year, I keep hoping for a wild card invitation to Wimbledon, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

There’s a longing in her voice that tugs at my heart.

But she’s a princess. Her parents should be able to fix this. I ask, “Can’t you or your family pull some royal strings?”

A fierce, hardness forms on her face as she practically growls, “I’d never do that, and I gave my parents strict instructions not to even think about using their influence to get me an invitation.

I only want to play at Wimbledon if I earn the opportunity.

I take my tennis very seriously. I don’t cut corners.

The problem is that I’m not able to play enough tournaments during the year to raise my ranking enough to automatically qualify.

Therefore, I’m left hoping that one day I’ll receive a wild card invitation. ”

Talk about integrity. I’m overwhelmed with admiration. But I’m confused. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but how did you end up at the Champions Dinner tonight?”

I can only describe her expression as resigned.

After a pause, she answers, “I’ve been watching Wimbledon as a guest in the Royal Box this week. As a visiting royal, I’m sure they felt obligated to invite me tonight. It would have been impolite not to attend. What about you?”

“Technically, invitations are only given to the winners and runners up in singles, doubles, and mixed doubles. But as the highest-ranking British player, I’m also given an invitation each year regardless of how I do in the tournament.”

Realization dawns on her face. “I see. And like me, it wouldn’t be acceptable to skip the dinner even if it’s hard to watch the winners celebrate.”

“Exactly. We have more in common and understand each other better than I would’ve ever imagined.”

“We do. This dinner is bittersweet for both of us.”