Page 12

CHAPTER 12

W ith the efficiency that had made her the youngest senior aide in royal history, Tanya checked her tablet and outlined the schedule. “We’re going to be here for two hours, Ma’am. You’re going to open the centre with the FA Chair, the England Manager, and England Captain beside you,” she said, her crisp pink shirt as perfectly pressed as her planning. “I’ve scheduled you in for an hour afterwards for player interaction and chat. There’s also talk of a kickabout for the cameras.”

“You packed my jeans and trainers?” Victoria asked.

Tanya nodded. “Of course. Then we’re going straight to your tailor for the final fitting of your suit for the upcoming state visit. The burgundy suit. The one you really liked.”

Her gran, the Queen Mother, had messaged Victoria earlier, asking how she was after the breakup. It was sweet of her. She and Victoria had always shared a close bond, even if she didn’t know all the facts of Victoria’s life.

Victoria surveyed her nails, wondering for the millionth time if the pink she’d chosen — Dior’s Grace — was a little too garish. She’d agonised over it far too long yesterday. Her indecisiveness wasn’t like her at all. As her mother always said, “the country is in good hands with you at the helm. Thank goodness you were born first, and not Michael.” She wouldn’t have said that if she’d seen what a basket case Victoria was over a nail colour and her mascara choice.

Today, Victoria was stuck together by hope, Dior, and Charlotte Tilbury.

She sucked on her cheek, trying not to fixate on the fact that in less than an hour, she’d see Ash for the first time in a month. So much had changed between them, yet not enough. They had to take this slow; there was no other option. Though Ash had agreed to meet properly, they hadn’t set a date. For now, their reunion would happen here, under the watchful eyes of 50 photographers.

Victoria had managed to survive her lesbian dinner in Australia without outing herself, but Ash hadn’t been within touching distance then. Today would require all her self-control not to do something stupid, like kiss Ash in front of everyone. When it came to Ash, it was all she wanted to do. Even going cold-water swimming in the royal pond this morning hadn’t calmed her down.

She got out her phone and pulled up the messages they’d sent this morning.

Can’t wait to see you today. Will you be rushing off or do you have time for a coffee?

Victoria liked how direct Ash was.

I’ll make it happen if it kills me.

Her tailor could wait if she had to.

I’d prefer you alive, NGL.

I’ll try my best.

The car pulled up and Victoria got out, Tanya smiling as she held the door. Creamy sunshine coated them as they walked into the building, Victoria doing her best to ignore the shouts from the waiting press as the cameras snapped.

“How are you, Ma’am? Any truth in the rumour that Dexter is on anti-depressants after the split?”

“Is it true that you found Dexter in bed with two other women, Ma’am?”

“Any truth in the pegging rumour, Your Highness? Was that the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

She honestly had no idea where they got their stories from. She kept a straight face as she passed them, only at the end remembering to smile. She still wanted any photos to look good. Not like she’d just swallowed a swarm of bees.

Once inside the building, away from the whir of cameras, her shoulders dropped. Cutting a ribbon was a welcome break from the barrage of interest over Dexter. Her PR team had told her it should die down in a week or two. Until then, she just had to ride it out. Her phone buzzed in her bag, but she couldn’t take it out. It wasn’t what royals did, even if they wanted to.

Footsteps on the shiny floor snapped her out of her reverie. It was Simon from the FA. They’d had a meeting on Zoom when she agreed to become patron, and Simon had said all the right things about pushing the women’s game forward.

Right at this moment, though, Simon was a rabbit in the headlights. She got that a lot when people first met her. It was her job to put them at ease, as her mother always told her. “You serve them, not the other way around.”

“Simon, lovely to meet you.”

He shook her outstretched hand and bowed so low, his head almost touched his knees. “The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty.”

When he looked up, there was sweat on his brow.

“I’m not the Queen just yet, but I like your confidence. Victoria is just fine.”

Simon blushed beetroot purple. “Your Highness! Gosh, I’m sorry.”

His blushes were spared as more footsteps approached. Victoria’s spine straightened as Ash walked towards her, the crisp lines of her England tracksuit making this feel startlingly more real than their late-night messages. She caught the slight hesitation in Ash’s step: nearly imperceptible, but there. Was Ash’s stomach doing the same pancake flips as hers?

Victoria pressed her thumb against her finger and focused on the solid floor beneath her feet, on England manager Gill Cooper, on anything except how Ash’s half-smile made the formal space feel far more alive than it should.

“Victoria, lovely to see you again.” Gill shook her hand and gave her a warm smile. Victoria had met Gill a couple of times before, and had always liked her. She wasn’t overawed by royalty, which Victoria appreciated.

Then the moment she’d been waiting for. Ash stepped up, so close she could breathe her in.

“Nice to see you again, Your Royal Highness.” Ash’s voice was smooth, not betraying an ounce of the messages they’d exchanged for the best part of a month. When their hands touched, an electric current that could have powered Birmingham surged through Victoria, but she kept it together. The centre’s frontage was all glass, and photographers’ lenses had enormous zooms. She didn’t want to give them any reason to speculate.

However, when she looked into the warm embrace of Ash’s stare, she couldn’t help the slight tremor that ran through her body. The things she couldn’t say sat heavy in her chest, but for now, being in the same room was enough. Like the first step of something she couldn’t name yet, but wanted to.

“You, too,” she told her.

“Okay,” Simon said, crashing their intimate moment, completely unaware. “The ribbon cutting is set to take place in ten minutes, but the press are all here, so we could do it now? Get it over with? That would give you more time to meet the team and have a coffee. Would that work, Ma’am?”

Victoria nodded, not risking a glance at Ash. “Lead the way.”

The press pack had behaved and not asked any more about Dexter, which is all Victoria could have asked. She’d cut the ribbon, posed for photos, but now came the part she hadn’t prepared for. A kickabout with the team. Their actual training was done, and a select few had been hand-picked to entertain her. Notably, captain Ash, goalkeeper Cam, and the tall one whose name Victoria had again forgotten. She clearly had a mental block when it came to her, but she remembered them all on the dance floor in Marbella.

“Great to see you, and sorry to pull you away from your camp.”

“No problem at all.” Cam gave a slight bow.

Footballers did not curtsy, Victoria was learning.

Cam held up a finger. “Just know, Your Highness, I’m not going to go easy on you and let you score just because you’re a princess. Give it your best shot, okay?”

“I’m not going to go easy on you, either,” Victoria fired back, enjoying the look of surprise on Cam’s face. “I’ve scored a penalty before.” It was a lie. Her school had frowned on football. But she understood mind games as well as the next person. Yes, this was just a photo opportunity, but Victoria could never let a competitive moment pass her by.

“Pleasure to see you again, Your Highness,” the tall player said. “I’m Sasha Goodall.”

Did she know Victoria never remembered her name?

“If you’ve ever watched a game, you’ll know that without me, the team would fall apart.”

“If you believe that, you’ll believe anything, Ma’am,” Ash chipped in.

Ma’am. The word dropped from Ash’s lips and straight into Victoria’s bloodstream. She couldn’t meet those eyes, not when her mind was already stripping that formal address down to its bare skin.

She blinked, shook her head, and snapped her gaze to Ash.

Victoria pressed her tongue to the back of her front teeth, and tried not to think about how turned on she was.

“We’re going to do three penalties each. Loser carries the coffees after from the free coffee van. Okay?” Ash aimed the question at Victoria.

She cleared her throat and tried not to taste desire. “I hope you’ve got asbestos hands. You’ll need them to carry those coffees.” She hadn’t quite worked out how she was going to beat the England captain at penalties, but bravado won out before her brain engaged.

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow a pair of football boots, Ma’am?” Sasha asked. “The pitch is a little churned up, and boots might offer you more grip than your trainers.”

Victoria glanced at her trainer-clad feet which she’d hastily changed into before taking the field. She shook her head. “I’m sure I’ll cope.” Her mother would already have a cardiac about her appearing in jeans and trainers.

Victoria’s stomach knotted as they approached the penalty spot. The irony wasn’t lost on her: trying to impress Ash by displaying her complete lack of football skills. But beyond her personal feelings, this mattered. While her grandfather had widened the gap between crown and public, and her mother walked a cautious middle ground, Victoria had different plans. Every photo op, every awkward penalty kick, was another brick in the bridge she was building. She wanted her legacy to be about lifting people up, not knocking them down.

However, if she ended up as a meme looking like one of those women who’d never kicked a football in her life, she might die. This wasn’t just her reputation at stake. This was her reputation as a queer woman, too.

Sasha went first, and hilariously, blasted the ball over the bar. She threw up her hands, then turned to the rest of them. “It was all those photographers putting me off!”

Next up, Ash.

Cameras clicked.

Victoria tried not to focus on Ash’s bum, but it wasn’t easy.

She stepped up, buried it in the bottom corner, then punched the air.

Now it was Victoria’s turn.

“You’re going to smash it,” Ash told her. “You can achieve anything you put your mind to.”

Victoria’s gaze dropped to Ash’s mouth.

Ash’s gaze settled on Victoria.

She knew exactly what she’d like to put her lips to. She closed her eyes and willed herself into the here and now.

Ash stepped closer. “Ready to show the waiting press pack you’re not just a pretty face?” Her hot whisper in Victoria’s ear did nothing to calm her nerves.

Victoria took a deep breath, blocked out the cameras, took a short run-up and blasted the ball down the centre of the goal. Clearly not expecting that, Cam dived left, and the net billowed. Someone nearby let out a yelp. It was only after a couple of moments she realised that person was her.

“Good shot, Ma’am!” shouted Billy, one of Victoria’s favourite photographers. He’d never posted a shot of her she didn’t like, and that put him on a very small, venerated list. The rest of them wanted to get the worst shot they possibly could and sell it to the highest bidder. A morning like this was liquid gold.

She turned, and Ash gave her a fist bump. “Smart work, Your Highness.”

“I got some moves, Woods.” She was pleased with that response.

Ash’s expression gave nothing away. Was she impressed? Damn it, every single fibre of Victoria hoped so.

Sasha slammed home the next penalty, while Ash skied hers, and put her head in her hands.

Then it was Victoria’s turn again. She tried to go full power, but instead her foot got stuck in the mud just before it connected. The ball trickled to Cam.

“All to play for! I hope your lenses are ready for my victory lap,” Sasha shouted, working the press pack. The photographers chuckled.

Victoria couldn’t let her have the last word. She stepped forward and shouted: “Let’s see what you’ve got, Goodall!”

The laughter this time was louder, and the look on Sasha’s face was priceless.

First to go was Sasha. Her run-up was short, and she slammed the ball into the top right corner. Even Cam applauded.

Next was Ash. True to the captain she was, she scored with the perfect penalty, low and sure.

Victoria stepped up. She got some encouraging shouts from the photographers, and Ash gave her a “you got this”.

She couldn’t fuck this up. Just get it on target and hope for the best.

She drew in a breath and ran forward. But her trainers betrayed her, sliding on treacherous mud. Time slowed. Her body pitched sideways, and she knew with crystal clarity before she even hit the ground that this would be tomorrow’s headlines. That’s how it worked: her mishaps went viral before she could even process them herself.

Victoria kept her face neutral as gravity took over. Her arse hit the turf with a thud, and mud seeped into her jeans. Had she even connected with the ball? She wanted to curl up into the foetal position, but that wasn’t an option. She could play the tragic princess, sprawled on her back studying the cobalt sky, feeding every tabloid’s favourite narrative of her horrible week.

Or she could flip the script.

One quick push and she could be up, already lining up another shot. Let them see this instead: a princess who could take a fall and come back swinging. Not ‘Royal’s Week Goes from Bad to Worse,’ but ‘Princess Shows True Grit.’

She chose the headline she wanted to read.

Thus, as she hit the deck and the collective photographers gasped, Victoria scrambled to her feet before they could even blink. Then she took her shot without giving it a moment’s thought, and it arrowed past a startled Cam Holloway and into the net.

Victoria let out cry of satisfaction, and turned to see Ash stood behind her, applauding.

“I guess it’s a draw,” Victoria told her.

“I guess so,” Ash grinned.