Page 26 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

brIANNA

B utterflies are fluttering in my stomach this morning, which isn’t a surprise. Our first doubles match is today.

I’m both nervous and excited. Part of me wants the clock to speed up so we can start playing, while the other part wants to savor every second of the day.

We can do this. We have to. I want to win my first match at Wimbledon. I also need to win for the mission. If we lose, I have no reason to stay. That would be a problem.

Blake and I manage our stress differently, so we each stick to our pre-game routines. He has breakfast alone in his room while I prefer to eat with my housemates.

As I pack my tennis gear, I remind myself we’re as prepared as possible. Blake’s second-round singles match was yesterday morning. He won easily, so we were able to practice together in the afternoon. Then we met with our coaches to view videos of our opponents and go over strategies.

On the ride to the All England Club, the playful energy we shared in the hot tub is gone.

Blake’s all business. He’s in full competition mode.

I wish he were more talkative, but I’m relieved to see he’s taking our match seriously.

I was worried he wouldn’t. To break the silence, I say, “Don’t forget to use the hand signals Martina and Josh suggested.

It will really help me to know which direction you plan to move when I’m serving. ”

He nods, but I doubt he’ll use them.

“How long before the match do you want to warm up in the workout area?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“That works for me. I’ll be in the locker room until then. Text me if anything changes.”

Another nod.

“Are you always this quiet before a match?” I ask.

I expect another nod, but he surprises me by shaking his head.

“Sorry, it’s just my routine. I’m not used to having a partner.

On the ride to a match, I think through my strategy and go over the points Josh has told me about my opponent.

When someone says something to me, it’s usually just information for me to take in, so I nod and continue with my mental prep.

I didn’t mean to be rude. I should have asked if you wanted to talk through those things with me. Did you want to discuss strategy?”

“No worries. This is a new partnership for both of us. I’d love to discuss our strategy.”

For the rest of the ride, we talk comfortably, exchanging our thoughts and ideas. It’s like he’s a different person now that he’s sharing what’s in his head. What a relief.

An hour after arriving, we meet in the practice area to warm up with stretches, footwork drills, and exercise bikes. Blake teases me about my favorite stretches I learned in yoga. I make him try one and snap a photo when he ends up twisted into an impossible position. We’re focused but having fun.

When our coaches give us a fifteen-minute warning until court time, butterflies flutter in my stomach, reminding me this is real. We gather our tennis bags and follow the coaches to the tunnel for Centre Court. They wish us luck and go to take their seats.

Once we’re alone, Blake turns to me, takes my hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Enjoy every moment. Play each point like it’s the most important one. When the point is over, forget it and focus on the next one. Results will follow. We’ve got this.”

“Is that what you do?”

“It is.”

Before I can reply, a coordinator signals for us to head down the tunnel. A camera person records us as we move forward. When we’re three feet from the exit, they stop us.

A booming voice announces, “Please welcome Blake Knight, current No. 2 in the world, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Brianna of Catalinius.”

The crowd erupts. It’s overwhelming and humbling.

Blake gives my hand one last squeeze and lets go.

Oh no! They’ve been filming us holding hands. That will make the news. It’s too late to worry about that, though.

“Let’s have some fun,” Blake says, as we walk out of the tunnel.

“Absolutely.”

I take my first step onto the sacred Centre Court grass at Wimbledon. I’m awestruck. Sacred is an odd word to use when the crowd is roaring enthusiastically, but Wimbledon is steeped in so much tradition that it seems appropriate.

This must be how commoners feel walking into the throne room to meet the king. I never understood it before. I do now. It’s surreal—a once-in-a-lifetime moment for most.

Walking toward our benches, we wave to the fans returning their smiles. It’s an honor to play in front of them. Hopefully, we won’t disappoint.

Blake nudges me. “Princes Stephen and Adrian are in the Royal Box.”

I glance at the box. Adrian is wearing a green tie. Stephen is straightening his purple one, clearly wanting me to notice. It looks like we’ll be talking later. It’s strange he didn’t send a heads-up text. We’re using the backup communication plan more than expected.

Despite trying to savor every moment, time flies. I’m pleasantly surprised that Blake is calm and seems to be enjoying himself, which helps my nerves. He’s even complimenting me, using hand signals, and talking strategy. Anyone watching would think we’d played together many times before.

I’m not sure what changed his attitude and caused him to fully engage today. There’s a part of me that hopes it’s because he doesn’t want to let me down. But his motive doesn’t really matter as long as we’re playing as a team.

And we are.

In a heartbeat, it’s match point.

Blake serves. I’m on my toes at the net in case the other team returns the ball in my direction. Sure enough, I see the ball coming, lunge right, and with a quick punch of my racquet, drill the ball down the center of the court. It bounces past both opponents untouched.

We’ve won.

The crowd jumps to their feet, cheering and clapping. Blake runs to me, lifts me off the ground, and spins me in a circle. Returning me to the grass, he kisses me on the cheek, saying, “You were amazing!”

I nod, stunned at both the win and his praise.

Still dazed, we shake hands with our opponents and return to the bench. I take a breath, soaking in the win. Blake and I made it to the next round. I’ll be here to continue my mission, and my dream of playing at Wimbledon continues.

Tears of joy and relief threaten to fall, but I press a fingernail into my palm to stop them. My nanny taught me that trick. It comes in handy. I don’t need the press twisting the facts and printing a front-page photo of a crying princess.

Blake nudges me, signaling it’s time to pack my gear.

That done, we sign autographs and take selfies with fans leaning over the stadium railing. A few minutes later, an official escorts us to the on-court interview.

Adriana, a former tennis-star-turned-reporter, greets us with a cheery, “Congratulations!”

“Thank you. It was such an honor to play before this wonderful crowd,” I say, waving to the fans.

As I’m talking, Blake slips an arm around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze.

Adriana grins. “That was a stunning performance, particularly given it was your first tournament match as doubles partners. What makes you two play so well together? Have you been practicing in secret?”

We both laugh. If she only knew how little we’ve practiced, she wouldn’t believe it.

“Brianna is an excellent player. I’ve watched her play for years now. That made it easy to mesh our games,” Blake says, beaming with pride as our eyes meet.

“Blake’s a fantastic partner. Who wouldn’t play well with one of the top players in the world?” I add.

“Your Highness, what was it like to play at Wimbledon for the first time?”

“It’s a dream come true. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and it won’t be real.”

“I promise that you aren’t dreaming. You played and won your first match at Wimbledon. Do you plan to play singles here in the future?”

“If I’m invited, I’d love to. For now, I’m concentrating on making it as far into the tournament as possible in mixed doubles. I’m leaving the singles to Blake this year.”

Turning to Blake, Adriana says, “Blake, you don’t normally play doubles. What’s different this year?”

“This is my first opportunity to play doubles with Bri. I wasn’t going to pass up that chance.”

That’s not exactly true. In fact, he tried to talk me out of it. At least he’s playing the role of loyal partner for the press.

Adriana asks, “Are you concerned this will take away from your chance to finally win Wimbledon singles this year?”

“Of course not. Being around Bri brings out the best in me. You saw how we played today. That will only help me in singles.”

I’m shocked. Does he mean it? Or is he just hiding his real feelings from the press?

Turning back to me, Adriana says, “You two seem to have joined each other’s fan clubs. I’m sure everyone here wants me to ask you this question. Are you two dating?”

I cough. Her question surprised me but it shouldn’t have. She probably saw the video of us holding hands in the tunnel.

“No. We’re only tennis partners,” I say. But with Blake’s possessive arm around me, it probably wasn’t very convincing.

I can only imagine how this will escalate speculation by the tabloids.

Blake adds, “While I’d be lucky if she saw me as dating material, I’m sure there’s a long line of more suitable bachelors looking to gain her attention.”

Ariana says, “We’ll leave it at that. Congratulations again. We’ll see you in Round 2.”

Wow. What makes him think he’s not dating material? He’s hot as sin. He’s a multimillionaire. Our chemistry is off the charts. Is his statement further proof that he’s a criminal and knows I could never date someone who breaks the law? Or was everything he said merely for show?

We’re approached by a staff member as we exit the court and enter the tunnel.

“Excuse me, His Royal Highness Prince Adrian requests you join him so he can congratulate the two of you personally.”

“Both of us? I’m sure he only invited Princess Brianna,” Blake asks.

“No, sir. The invitation was for both of you. Please follow me,” the staff member says.

Blake shrugs and, looking at me, says, “Lead the way,”

It’s a short walk to the members’ area where Prince Adrian is standing.

Blake bows his head to show respect for his country’s prince.

Adrian reaches out to shake Blake’s hand, signaling a more relaxed greeting. Turning to me, he kisses my cheek. We’re both royals and have known each other for so long, we’re like family. And given that our royal ancestors are all related if you go back a few generations, we actually are family.

“Congratulations. You played wonderfully today.” Adrian says.

“It was an incredible day for us,” I say.

“It’s an honor that you were here to watch us,” Blake adds.

“It was entirely my pleasure. My brother had other commitments after your match today, so he sends his apologies for not congratulating you personally.”

“Please thank him for us,” I say.

“We’re proud to support our highest-rated British player and our childhood friend from Catalinius. At least one of us will be at your matches. We hope you’ll keep winning so there will be several more matches to watch.”

“We’ll do our best,” Blake says.

“I’m sure you will. I’m sure you two have other places to be now, so I won’t keep you,” Adrian says as he lightly sandwiches my hand between his two hands, passing a folded paper into my palm.

I discreetly slip the note into the hidden pocket in my tennis skirt that’s designed to hold a ball. It will be safe there until I can read it in private.

“Thank you. We look forward to seeing you in the Royal Box,” I say.

Prince Adrian departs. As we walk toward our locker rooms for much needed showers, I ask, “Have you met the prince before?”

“No. I’ve met his parents and brother, but not him. On the rare times that I’m introduced to royalty, it’s awkward. I never know what to say.”

“You don’t seem that way with me,” I tease.

“That’s different. We met through tennis, so we have that in common. I’ve only known them as the royals we bow to. Meeting them is rather daunting.”

“The UK’s royal family are big tennis fans, so I’m sure they are just as awed by you.”

“I doubt that. But we have something else to discuss now.”

“What?”

“How are we going to celebrate your first win at Wimbledon?”

Really? He wants to celebrate? That’s incredibly exciting and decidedly unexpected coming from Mr. Serious.

“What a wonderful idea! But don’t you have a singles match tomorrow?”

“I do, but there’s time for a small celebration.”

He’s so sweet and thoughtful. I can’t believe he’s making celebrating with me a priority. “Count me in. What do you suggest we do?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll surprise you.”

“I like this version of you. Not that I’m complaining, but what happened to Grumpy Blake?”

“He’s taking a break. Our schedules are different for the rest of the day. I’ll find you at the house at six tonight. Does that work?”

He’s opening up to me more and more. I suspect that not many people see this side of Blake’s personality. It makes me feel guilty that I’m investigating him. I really hope he’s innocent and that he never finds out what I’ve been doing.

“I can’t wait. I love surprises—if they’re good ones. Be sure to clear it with Erin though. Otherwise, she might veto it over security concerns.”

“Will do.”

We part ways. I walk to my locker room, my lips upturned in a wide smile.

What a day! I still can’t believe we won.

When I reach to straighten my tennis skirt, my smile disappears when I remember the note from Adrian. It must be important, but I can’t read it until I’m somewhere private.

With that thought, I walk faster.