Page 21 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

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D uring the ride back to our rental house, Erin sits in silence, sensing that I need time to think. Finally, an idea for coaxing Blake to talk clicks into place, but I’ll need a little help.

“Erin, I’d like some time alone with Blake tonight. We need to build some rapport if we’re going to have any chemistry on the court. Could you persuade Josh and Natalie to take you out for dinner and drinks?”

“I can try. What about security?”

“Fausto can handle it.”

“I could say I’m craving something other than Italian food and want to try a local pub.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll text them now.”

A few minutes later, her phone dings.

“They want to know if we should invite you and Blake.”

“Tell them it’s your night off, and you could use a break. Besides, Blake won’t touch pub fare during a tournament.”

“That should work.” She fires off another message.

I watch as she exchanges more texts.

“Done. They’re looking forward to a night away from the tension Blake brings to the dinner.”

“Good job. While you’re out, see if you can learn more about them, particularly Josh’s finances. Is he short on money? Or is he living a richer lifestyle than you would expect. I’m interested in anything unexpected that you may learn about him.”

“Okay, but it would help if I knew why.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t explain. Just know it would be extremely helpful to my mission.”

“Understood.”

The aroma of Fausto’s creamy lemon risotto with shrimp and asparagus draws everyone toward the kitchen—everyone except one, that is.

“Where’s Blake?” I ask.

Natalie points to the ceiling. “I heard water running when I left my room. He must be in the shower.”

“Erin said you’re eating out tonight. Where are you going?” I ask.

Josh answers, “Either the Rose & Crown or Fire Stables.”

“If I’d known we were having shrimp for dinner, I’d be eating here,” Natalie says, sounding disappointed.

With the mouth-watering aroma filling the kitchen, I worry they’ll change their minds.

Fausto raises two fingers and shakes his head, silently signaling that he’s only cooked enough for two.

I cringe and give him a warning look, hoping they don’t notice he understood English.

When they still don’t budge, he shoos them out. Step one of my plan is accomplished.

A couple of minutes later Blake appears, brows knitted in confusion. “Where is everyone? Does this mean dinner is delayed?”

His tone tells me tonight will not be easy.

“Since we don’t have matches tomorrow and don’t need their help tonight, they apparently wanted an evening at a pub.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you join them?”

“Have you lost your mind? Can you imagine the scene it would make for a royal to turn up at a random pub? I don’t need that stress any more than you do.”

Rubbing his chin, he nods. “A quiet dinner at home sounds much better to me too. Please tell me that Fausto didn’t decide that pizza is the new version of healthy eating. I’ll scream if he says the wheat he used to make crust is a vegetable.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry. I spoke with him again. I think we’re having shrimp. It smells wonderful.”

Fausto gestures for us to sit at the table adjacent to the kitchen and hurries over with a beautifully arranged antipasto platter. My stomach grumbles at the display of thinly sliced meats, cheese, olives, pickled red peppers, and fig jam along with a few crispy crackers and baguette slices.

Why isn’t this guy a full-time chef? He’s incredibly talented even if food for athletes isn’t his specialty. When this is over, I’m going to ask him about his background and if he’d rather be working in the palace kitchen or running his own restaurant in Catalinius.

I place cheese and meat on a cracker as I say, “You played extremely well today. I loved watching the match. I don’t know about you, but I always feel so much relief after winning the first match of a tournament.”

“I do. Today went well. My next opponent will be tougher, but I have a good record against him.”

“Martina texted that she and Josh arranged for us to have a short practice tomorrow. I’m excited to get back on the court with you.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replies, munching on an olive.

Pulling conversation from Blake is like trying to make a palace guard laugh. It’s strange given that two years ago we talked easily. Now the weight of the tournament is crushing him. It’s too bad he swore off alcohol during Wimbledon—a glass of wine might help.

As I’m contemplating what sort of alcohol or sex might loosen him up, Fausto approaches, saying, “ Vorresti un risotto al limone con gamberi o un pesce alla griglia con asparagi? ”

“He’s asking if you prefer the risotto with shrimp or the grilled fish with asparagus.” I explain.

“Fish, please.”

“ Blake vorrebbe il pesce. Il risotto per me, per favore, ” I translate for Fausto.

“Thanks for convincing him to offer a healthier option,” Blake says with a smile.

“He’s talented. I think it’s just his first time cooking for athletes.”

“That’s probably it,” Blakes agrees.

“Did you see the hot tub out back?” I ask.

“Josh pointed it out,” he says without enthusiasm.

“My muscles could use the warmth, but palace rules say I can’t be in hot tubs alone. With Erin out, would you keep me company?”

He does a double take, nearly choking on a bit of food. His gaze drifts from my hair to my lap as though imagining me in a bikini, relaxing in the steaming water. Heat rises in my cheeks.

Tension and excitement threaten to overshadow the goals of my mission.

In a low gravelly voice he says, “I can’t imagine how stifling it is to have all those rules to follow. I’d be in trouble all the time—for breaking them.”

I work to keep my voice steady. “It’s tempting to break them, and I sometimes do. But Erin would have to report the breach in security. She’d be in trouble. So—will you join me for a short soak?”

“Sure. If it’s not too long.”

As Fausto clears our plates he asks, “ Ho preparato un dolce ad alto contenuto proteico. Vorresti una porzione? ”

“He made a high protein dessert. Would you like to try it?” I ask.

“High protein? What is it?” Blakes eyes scrunch.

“ Qual è il dessert? ”

“Crème br?lée.”

Blake and I burst out laughing. Fausto stares at us in confusion.

Catching my breath, I say, “I guess eggs and cream count as protein.”

“True, but based on his description, I was expecting something less decadent—maybe cottage cheese topped with fresh fruit.”

“Exactly. I love crème br?lée, but I’m going to pass. What about you?” I ask.

“None for me.”

I owe Fausto for making Blake laugh.

“I’ll tell Fausto to share the dessert with Josh, Natalie, and Erin when they return.”

“Good idea. I need to make a couple of calls. When do you want to meet at the hot tub?” he asks as he stands and walks toward the doorway.

“Would an hour from now work?”

He nods, turning back and locking his eyes with mine. I gulp at the heat radiating from him.

In an even lower voice than usual, he says, “You’ve invited me to the hot tub to protect you, Princess.

But who’s going to protect me from you ?

I’ll be defenseless again just like the last time you invited me over.

” His teasing wink is accompanied by a devastating smile as he knocks on the door frame before disappearing upstairs.

I’m left staring after him, open-mouthed, my body trembling and heating in unfathomable ways. I wrap my arms around myself to steady the sensations. Suddenly, my hot tub idea feels like the worst decision ever. But sometimes bad decisions can lead to excellent results.

Knowing Blake is still within earshot, I turn to Fausto, saying, “ Grazie per la deliziosa cena. Niente dessert stasera. Josh, Natalie ed Erin gusteranno la crème br?lée .”

When Blake’s footsteps fade, I add another request that raises Fausto’s eyebrows, but he nods.

With that assurance, I go to my room to change clothes and go over my strategy.

Let’s hope my plan works.