Page 12 of Royal Trouble
“Technically, I never agreed,” she said, unable to fight the grin that split her face.
“It was implied.”
“Was it?” she asked coyly. “It didn’t seem that way to me. Besides, I’m thinking of giving up alcohol. The last time I indulged, I landed on the front page of the tabloids.”
All the more reason to quit flirting and hang up the damn phone!
“Now you’re just talking nonsense. I’ll tell you what, you want to avoid the cameras, then be my guest for King’s Might Royal Charity Polo Day.”
“Now who’s talking nonsense?” Everly challenged. “There will be a ton of press at the polo match.”
“True, but they’ll be focused on the game and all the high-profile guests. You’ll blend right in.”
Yeah, like a zebra with pink stripes.
She rolled her eyes. “So not happening. It’s been nice chatting with you, but I’m off to wash my hair now.”
“Far be it from me to stand between a lady and her beauty routine,” he said, completely undeterred. Jesus. The guy was more persistent than static cling. “There will be a ticket at the gate with your name on it. I’ll text you the details for when you change your mind.”
Before she could reply, the cocky bastard disconnected. Everly stared at the phone, mouth agape. She wasnotgoing to that game. She was going home. And even if she weren’t, she wasn’t interested in being Xander’s—what had the papers called her?
Oh, yes, “flavor of the week.”
Hard pass. She didn’t belong in high society any more than she belonged in her father’s house, and she wasn’t going to open herself up to the kind of ice-cold vitriol she’d endured growing up.
Mind made up, she snuggled down under the covers and returned to her email. She swiped through another twenty messages before coming across one from Upstate Cancer Center.
Dammit. This was the last thing she needed on a long list of shit she didn’t need.
Everly hesitated, her finger hovering over the message.
“Might as well get it over with.”
She took one look at the number of zeroes on the total due and groaned, becauseof coursethe account balance had gone up. Disgusted, she tossed the phone on the bed and pulled the covers over her head. This day could suck it.
When the phone vibrated again, she didn’t bother to look, certain she’d find a text from Xander and the worst possible solution to all her problems.
…
Xander dismounted and handed off his reins to a waiting groom. Flash was his favorite polo pony and would be first in his string during the King’s Might match, where he’d faceoff against his brother to raise funds for a variety of royal charities. Xander had always enjoyed the annual matches, but he was looking forward to this year more than most. And not just because he’d savagely beaten his brother during their morning practice.
He hoped to see Everly again. Her take-no-shit disposition was refreshing, a complete one-eighty from the women of the court, who simpered and bowed, eager to please if it meant earning favor with the crown. Not Everly, though. She was a breath of fresh air, fearlessly calling him on his bullshit and challenging him at every turn.
“Don’t look so smug,” Liam said, dismounting as the stable master took hold of his pony’s reins. “You haven’t won the match yet.”
Xander smirked and stripped off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. “Just a matter of time from the looks of it.”
“One victory is hardly a streak,” Liam said, unbuckling his own helmet. “I believe the record is Valerian Might 9, Golden Falcons 3.”
“Soon to be 9-4.” Xander swung his mallet over his shoulder and headed toward the tack room to store his gear. Liam was right. The Golden Falcons’ record was shit when it came to their annual matchups, but he’d been training hard the last few weeks, and he was in the best shape of his life. Hell, even Flash seemed to be throwing herself into the game with gusto. If he could neutralize Liam on the field, the teams would be pretty evenly matched.
“Bollocks. You try playing in top form after spending an hour listening to Father rail about the morning headlines,” Liam said, matching his stride and shooting him a meaningful stare.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he protested. “I’m trying to fly under the radar, but the bloody paps won’t leave me alone. The bloodsuckers follow me everywhere I go.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Since he had no legitimate reply, Xander resorted to an obscene hand gesture, something he could only get away with in the stables, surrounded by dirt, hay, and horse shit. “I’ve been the picture of decorum for the last month. They’re getting desperate.”