Page 37 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

BLAKE

A fter all that’s happened, my expectations for this match are low. I suspect Bri’s are too. Knowing that makes it easier as we step onto the court.

We smile and wave to the crowd.

I’m surprised and thrilled at the full stands. A doubles match never attracts a crowd. Occasionally, fans arrive early if the next match is an important one. But these people are clearly here for us.

They’re all on their feet, clapping and cheering as we walk to the bench. Natalie was right. People are excited to see Bri and me back on the court. I chuckle when I hear someone in the crowd yell, “Blake, you’re proof that we Brits are a hardy bunch.”

Someone else calls out, “Why didn’t you team up with the princess sooner?”

My heart is full at the outpouring of support. This is a special moment for me, but even more so for Bri.

I flash a thumbs up, which triggers another wave of applause. Their cheers are the perfect motivation and reminder. I’m fighting not just for me, or even Bri, but for my country and our fans. No matter what the outcome is today, Bri and I will give it everything we can and fight until the end.

The match starts, and we quickly take the lead.

We’re playing spectacular tennis—making shots that we’d normally miss.

With expectations so low, we’re free to relax, go for every shot, take extra chances, and generally have fun.

I’d love to bottle the unusual combination of inner calmness and outward excitement. It’s incredibly powerful.

It’s also a recipe for success because an hour and a half later, Bri slams the ball past one of our opponents to seal the win. We’ve won our match with relative ease.

I throw my racquet down and pick her up, twirling her in a circle and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Bri, you were amazing!” I say, settling her feet back onto the grass but keeping my arms around her.

“Thanks, so were you. But you’re not really supposed to be manhandling a princess in public. Not that I mind but the palace might be calling to reprimand us once they see the photos.” She laughs.

I quickly step back, whispering, “I’ll try to keep my manhandling to private locales. Perhaps there’s somewhere around here that wouldn’t have so many prying eyes?”

“You’re so bad, and I love it. But that’s for later.”

That’s what she thinks. I have another idea.