Page 27 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

BLAKE

I should be spending the rest of the day prepping for my match tomorrow afternoon. Instead, I’m planning a special dinner for Bri.

I don’t know why I blurted out the idea of celebrating tonight, but there’s no going back. I promised Brianna a surprise, and she deserves one—she played phenomenal tennis today.

My idea seemed simple enough until I remembered that I don’t have Fausto’s number, and I don’t speak Italian.

Fortunately, Natalie was watching our match.

I caught up with her before she headed back to our house, so I sent instructions with her.

Hopefully, the online translator on her phone will work to relay my message to Fausto.

If all goes well, he will have things ready for tonight.

With that problem solved, I focus on recovery, starting with time on a stationary bike. My cool down is running late due to Prince Adrian’s invitation. Surprisingly, I’m not stressed, thanks to Bri. Playing doubles with her left me uncharacteristically calm. I hope this feeling lasts.

When I finish my post-match workout, Josh and I climb into an SUV for the ride to the house. Settling into the black leather seat, he asks, “What time do you want to meet tonight to prep?”

“We need to reschedule our meeting to tomorrow morning. I have plans for tonight.”

“Huh? We always meet the night before a match.”

“Not this time. Bri and I are celebrating our win over dinner. Then I want time alone to think through tomorrow’s match.”

“Oh. I see. You want time alone ,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t get any ideas. It’s not like that. A little change in routine will help my game. It makes sense to celebrate Bri’s first win at Wimbledon.”

“Of course, it does. A little celebrating could do you good.” He chuckles.

I wave him off, not bothering to deny his innuendos. He wouldn’t believe me even though I’m telling the truth.

It’s just dinner with a friend. She is a hot, sexy friend that I’ve slept with before, but it’s clear that won’t happen again.

Flashbacks of our time in the hot tub invade my thoughts.

Vivid memories of her in that tiny scarlet red bikini have my mouth watering.

My eyes followed the water droplets disappearing into her cleavage.

She tasted like strawberries, chocolate, and desire.

She moaned like an angel. Suddenly, I’m not so sure it won’t happen again. My cock certainly is hoping it will.

Maybe another cold shower is in order.

At six, I cross the hall to knock on Bri’s door. It feels like I’m showing up at a girl’s home to pick her up for our first date. I’m a tad nervous but excited.

Bri opens the door. She’s stunning in her casual dress and bright red lipstick. But it’s the sparkle in her eyes that utterly captivates me.

“Are you ready to celebrate your big win?”

“You mean our big win. And, yes, I’m absolutely ready. What are we doing?”

“Give me your hand and close your eyes.”

She looks unsure.

“Come on. I won’t let you fall. Trust me.”

She finally offers me her hand.

Taking it, I place my other hand on the small of her back. “Eyes closed. No peeking. I’m going to turn you in the right direction, and we’re going to take a few steps forward.”

“Okay, but warn me when we reach the stairs.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Her body is stiff, but she follows my directions. Instead of helping her downstairs as she expects, I guide her toward the double doors at the end of the hallway.

“Stop here. I need to open a door.”

“Okay. Where are we? Aren’t we going downstairs?”

“Be patient. You’ll see. We’re crossing the threshold of a door, so step across it and open your eyes.”

Her hands fly to her face, covering her mouth in surprise. “Oh! How did you plan this?”

“With a little help. Do you like it?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

The candlelit balcony has a table for two with a white tablecloth, sparkling crystal, and fresh flowers. Soft music is playing in the background.

“I debated whether to plan an evening out or a quiet one here. But if we went out, fans would swarm us, and security would be extremely difficult. I decided time alone to enjoy our win would be better. I hope this was the right choice.”

After she shared what playing at Wimbledon means to her, I want tonight to be a special celebration. I won’t burst her bubble by pointing out that the next round will be much more difficult. But it’s likely this will be her only win at Wimbledon this year.

“It’s absolutely perfect. I can’t believe you went to so much trouble.”

She rises on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek, sending warmth down my body.

“I had help from Erin, Natalie, and Fausto,” I admit.

Her eyes go wide, and mouth drops in shock.

“How did you communicate with Fausto? I didn’t think anyone else in the house speaks Italian.”

Proud of myself, I answer, “We don’t, but Google translate saved the day.”

She laughs a little awkwardly. “I should have thought of that sooner.”

“Me too. I could have given my menu requests to him directly.”

“True.”

For some reason, a worried look crosses her face.

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitates. Turning to face her, I place my hands on her shoulders and look into her eyes. “Bri, please tell me. Why do you look so worried?”

She sighs. “You shouldn’t be taking the evening off tonight. I want you to be ready for your match tomorrow.”

She’s right, but nothing could stop me from making tonight special for Bri. She played and won her first Wimbledon match. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. She doesn’t hang out with her coach socially, so it’s up to me to make tonight memorable for her.

I smile and kiss her forehead. “Is that all? Don’t give it a second thought. A calm evening with you is exactly what I need.”

She relaxes. “Okay. Let’s enjoy the evening. Can you believe we won today? We barely had a chance to practice together.”

“Of course we won. We both played well.” Hopefully, my words don’t betray the concern and guilt I felt earlier. Walking onto the court, I worried it was a mistake to have skipped practicing with Bri.

She looks at me like I’m from another planet, clearly doubting the inevitability of today’s win. “Blake, you know two people can play well individually and still lose if they aren’t working together. I was surprised that we were so in sync today.”

She’s smart and no pushover. I love that she analyzes her game even when we’re celebrating a victory.

“We clicked the moment we met, so it comes naturally. If I were a fan of doubles, you’d be the perfect partner for me. Our chemistry works.

“It certainly did today.” She studies me, clearly still second-guessing our lack of prep.

“It’s time to celebrate. Let’s start with a toast.”

I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne, which elicits an adorable tilt of her head and twinkle in her eyes.

Taking her glass from me, she says, “Wow! Who conjured the light-hearted, fun-loving version of the man I first met? What happened to the laser-focused, fun-avoiding Blake who’s been living here for the past week?”

I chuckle. “It was you ...along with some reflection.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s sit. You’ve been incredibly patient with my mood swings and rudeness. I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

I motion toward the cozy rattan sofa for two. We sit and our knees touch, but neither of us shifts apart.

She sips her champagne. “I started to think you were two different people.”

“I’ve been dealing with...a lot. I’ve handled it poorly. I’m sorry.”

“Is it more than your problem with Noah?” she asks gently.

I exhale slowly. “Yes. I didn’t want anyone to know for fear the press would find out. They would roast me on the front page of every tabloid. From what you’ve said, you understand how the press can make your life miserable.”

“I do. But don’t worry. Anything you share with me will be safe. I won’t tell anyone,” she says, pressing her free hand against her chest.

“I trust you with my secret. That’s not why I’m hesitating. When I organized this dinner for you, it didn’t include baring my troubles. It’s supposed to be a celebration. We can discuss this another time. I don’t want to ruin tonight.”

Resting her hand on my leg, she looks at me with sincere concern. “You won’t spoil anything. I’ve been walking on eggshells trying to figure out what was wrong. It’s a relief to talk. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Okay. Give me a minute to organize my thoughts and decide where to start.”

“Don’t they say it’s always best to start at the beginning?”

“They do. I remember telling you two years ago that I felt tremendous pressure to win Wimbledon because I’m from the UK.”

“You did.”

“It’s more than just the need to win for my country though. It’s the one Grand Slam I haven’t won. People are saying I choke. I’m getting older and running out of chances with the younger players who are drilling their serves and playing like seasoned veterans in their early twenties.”

“But you’re still at the top of your game. Those younger players fear you on the court.”

“They do, but they might not fear me as much if they hear the rest of my story.”

“What do you mean?”

Her gaze turns darker and so sad. What must she be thinking?

“Oh, no. It’s not that. I’m not dying.” I push a lock of her hair behind her ear, incredibly moved by her concern.

She exhales audibly. “That’s a relief. Before I think of more devastating possibilities, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay. Sit back. This will take a while to explain. You see, I have a history of injuries, falling ill to viruses, and a slew of other disasters at Wimbledon. Every year there’s been some reason things haven’t worked out for me here.

In the beginning, I was young and knew I had many more chances to win, so I didn’t think much about it.

Hell, the first few years, I didn’t even expect to win.

Then more years passed, and I still hadn’t won.

With each passing attempt, the pressure increases. ”