Page 17

CHAPTER 17

T he royal car that picked Ash up from her flat wound through Kensington’s busy August streets. It was the final bank holiday of the summer, each turn bringing her closer to Victoria. She’d sent another message on the ride over.

I’m attempting risotto. No guarantees it’ll be edible.

As if Ash cared. A bottle of ridiculously expensive wine pressed against her thigh. Meanwhile, the memory of Victoria’s hot lips against her neck pressed against her brain.

Eighteen days of nothing but texts and two carefully encrypted video calls. Eighteen nights of falling asleep with her phone in her hand, reading Victoria’s messages until her eyes burned. The pre-season tour had dragged like no other. Ash normally relished seeing other countries, pitting herself against different rivals. Not this time. Sasha had shaken her head on numerous occasions when she’d told her to put her phone down and go to sleep. Unlike normal, the only goal Ash had been focused on was tonight.

The car sailed through the high iron gates, then drove up the short gravel drive before stopping outside the impressive tucked-away residence. Victoria had described it as a cottage, but Ash wasn’t sure in what world a cottage stretched this wide and had six bedrooms. She jumped out, thanked the driver, then her stomach clenched. Behind this ordinary-looking black front door, Victoria was in the kitchen relentlessly stirring her risotto. Perhaps she was wearing a comedy apron Prince Michael got her for Christmas?

Ash stepped forward and pressed the doorbell. Somehow, she’d thought it might send a bell clanging, but that was because her parents had made her watch far too much Downton Abbey . Her mum had asked her to come for dinner tonight as it was her first weekend back. She’d lied, saying she was out with friends. She had no regrets.

She stood back, the weight of what was about to happen — dinner, yes, but after dinner, too — pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. They both knew what tonight meant. What it would change. The last text from Victoria, sent just minutes ago.

I can’t wait to see you. To have you here. To have you.

There was no ambiguity there. Ash wasn’t sure what she’d expected from a princess, but it wasn’t someone who was direct, devastating, dripping with promise. None of her previous girlfriends had made her feel this unravelled before she’d even stepped over their threshold. The thought of Victoria waiting for her, wanting her, made heat pool low in her stomach. Christ.

The door opened, and she was greeted by Prince Michael. All dressed up and on the way out, he smelt of expensive aftershave. He stepped back, bowed, then beckoned her in.

Ash stepped inside. “Shouldn’t the bowing happen the other way around?” She’d liked him when they met at the England game. Nothing had changed, apart from the fact he’d clearly had his ginger hair cut recently.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I like to change things up. You look nice, by the way.” He waved a hand up and down her body. “Very non-footbally.”

“I’m not wearing my kit.”

He snapped his fingers together. “That’ll be it.” He pointed down the grand hallway. “She’s in the kitchen. Straight ahead, third door on your right. Follow your nose and your ears. Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winked, grabbed his car keys from a hook by the front door, and left, slamming it shut.

Unlike the outside, which was fairly traditional, the inside was far more modern. Dark wooden floors jutted against moody grey walls with sleek uplighting, creating a seductive entrance. Or perhaps that was just in Ash’s mind? Expensive-looking art adorned the hallway walls, and a vase of sunflowers provided a pop of colour. In another room, someone sang along to Bon Jovi’s ‘Living On A Prayer’. Was it the princess? If so, she could hold a note. Ash recalled a message where Victoria had told her she liked karaoke. Ash, conversely, endured it, which was never a crowd-pleaser on tour.

Her chest tightened as she walked down the hall, wine in hand. When she reached the third door, she took a deep breath, knocked on the door frame, and stepped in.

The royal kitchen was larger than Ash’s entire St Albans’ flat, all gleaming copper pots and marble counters. However, that wasn’t what caught her eye. That honour went to the princess herself, hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and shorts. As Jon Bon Jovi hit the chorus, she punched the air and sang along. She had no idea Ash had arrived. Ash kept quiet, not wanting to spoil this party for one.

But then Victoria spun on the ball of her foot, wooden spoon in hand. When she clocked Ash, she promptly dropped the spoon, then screamed.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that?” Victoria clutched her chest, her cheeks flushed. “Holy fucking hell!”

It was the first time she’d heard Victoria swear. The first time she’d seen her with a bun, too. She looked relaxed, which made sense. Ash had never seen her in private, with nobody else around.

This was the real Victoria.

She wanted to frame her.

Ash put the wine on the counter as the aroma of saffron and white wine filled the air, making her mouth water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb your singing. You never told me you could have been a pop star.”

Victoria picked up the wooden spoon and rinsed it under the industrial metal tap in the sink. “I hardly think Taylor Swift is quaking in her boots,” she said over her shoulder. “But if this princess gig doesn’t work out, it helps to know I have options.”

“Always good to have a plan B.”

Their eyes locked, and the humour was instantly quelled. Now, Ash wasn’t sure how the next part of the evening went. They’d only kissed once, and that had been heated, furtive. Tonight was the polar opposite. Did you just walk in and kiss a princess? She didn’t think so, even if Victoria looked at her with naked want. Ash picked up the wine and walked over to her. She felt naked, too.

“I brought a Chablis to go with the risotto.” She held it up, ignoring the way her heart clattered against her ribs. “Shall I put it in the fridge?”

Victoria nodded. “Over there, left-hand door.” She pointed. “Risotto is okay, right? I know you said it was, but you don’t have to limit carbs or anything? I wasn’t sure if I should do a protein-heavy meal, but Michael assured me athletes eat carbs.”

“Every single day,” Ash assured her, touched at her concern. “Can I do anything to help?”

Victoria shook her head. “It’s nearly done. Shall we have a drink before I serve up? Wine or beer?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Victoria poured her a glass of white and put it on the kitchen island. “Take a seat, please.” She pointed at one of the three white stools in a row. “We’re having a viognier. I’m told it pairs well with both risotto and nervous chefs.”

Ash grinned as she took a seat. “I’m impressed you’re actually cooking. You have many strings to your bow.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I spent a term at Le Cordon Bleu. Part of the whole ‘well-rounded royal education’ thing.”

“Did it work?”

“You can tell me later.” She gave a nervous smile. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever cooked for here.”

Ash melted. “I’m honoured. If it helps, I’d be bricking it if it was the other way around.”

“I doubt that. You’re used to performing under pressure.”

Ash shook her head. “That’s just football. It’s a whole lot easier than this.” She gestured between them.

“What is this, exactly?” Victoria took a sip of wine and leaned on the other side of the island, her eyes never leaving Ash’s. The kitchen was quiet except for the gentle bubbling of the risotto and the distant sounds of London beyond the cottage walls.

“A long-overdue official date?” Ash gambled.

A slow smile spread across Victoria’s face. “I like that description a lot. I have a date with a footballer. Who knew I would get so cool?” She grinned deliciously at Ash.

“Who knew I had a thing for princesses?”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Plural? Should I be worried?”

Ash’s laugh dissolved into a smile that was all heat and intention. “Singular. Very definitely singular.” Her gaze lingered on Victoria’s face, making it clear that no other woman compared. She sipped her wine. “This is good,” she told Victoria. “What I know about wine can be written on the back of a postage stamp. But I like this.”

“I’m glad.” Victoria straightened up. “How was the tour? I know you told me bits on our messages. I watched your final match.”

“You did?”

Victoria nodded. “Got Tanya to sign up to the Ravens subscription package. I paid ￡45 for the privilege. I hope you’re impressed.”

“I am.” Warmth spread through Ash like the sweetest honey. It was like her manager, Jo, always said: you never knew who was watching.

“The tour was good. We’re still rusty, but it did what pre-season tours should. Got us thinking a bit more, working on routines, and it got minutes in my legs, which is all I can ask after last season. I’m still bruised, but they’re good bruises, you know? The sign you’ve been to work. That you’re a footballer.”

Victoria sipped her wine, listening intently. “I love hearing you talk about football. You’re so passionate and dedicated. It’s attractive.” She paused. “A little like you.”

The timer on Victoria’s phone buzzed, and they both startled.

“Right.” Victoria was back to business. “Let’s see if I remember what I learnt in that one summer in Paris, shall we?”

They ate dinner at the island, which relaxed Ash. She’d had visions of eating at a table set for 20, with grand candelabras down the middle, shouting to be heard. Conversely, the only two people she’d seen were Victoria and Michael, and Victoria was seated mere feet away.

“I think you paid attention in Paris.” The creamy risotto coated Ash’s taste buds. “This is delicious. Compliments to the chef.”

Victoria blushed adorably. “Thank you.”

“How do you get on living with your brother? I’m an only child, which means I like my own space.”

Victoria shrugged. “We’re hardly on top of each other, it’s not too bad. He winds me up sometimes, and vice versa, but in the main, we get on. We have a chef come in three days a week. She cooks dinners and freezes them for us if we need them. We also have a full-time butler, Albert, who my parents keep on because he’s been with the family for years. Michael and I don’t use him like our grandparents used to, but he seems happy enough to be here.

“What about you?” Victoria took a sip of her wine. “No annoying family members to contend with?”

Ash shook her head. “Just me, demanding all of my parents’ attention. I’ve got a couple of cousins I grew up with who I’m close to. But football demands most of my attention. I imagine it’s a little like being a member of the royal family: football is all about routine, order, and consistency. Cam always says playing football is like the glorified army, with the battles on the pitch, rather than in real life. She might have a point.”

“Were your parents always supportive of you playing? I know it was difficult for some players to find a girls’ team, and sometimes still is. It was never an option for me, of course. Lacrosse or tennis, or nothing.”

Ash put the last bite of risotto into her mouth. It really was spectacular. “They were, and they spent my entire childhood driving me to games, watching from the sidelines in the pouring rain, driving me to practice. I was always laser-focused. When I know what I want, I go after it.”

She gave Victoria what she hoped was a sultry look, her heart racing at her own boldness. The wine had made her braver, but Victoria was intoxicating in her own right. “Although finding myself on a date with a princess who cooks a mean risotto wasn’t in my plans this year. However, I’m glad it happened.”

“I'm glad, too.” Victoria’s voice was soft, vulnerable, in a way that made Ash’s chest tighten.

“What about you? Did your parents drive you to princess classes when you were little? Were they always supportive of your career choice?”

Victoria gave her throaty laugh, the one that made Ash want to know more. “I’ve known since I was little that I’m being trained to be Queen. It’s just my reality.” She paused, uncertainty flickering across her features. “I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

Ash shook her head, hating to see Victoria second-guess herself. “It’s the truth, there’s no need to apologise.”

Victoria’s gaze settled on her, quiet and searching. “I seem to spend half my life apologising. To the world for my privilege. To my parents for wanting to live an authentic life. It's a hard habit to break.” She dropped Ash’s gaze, and sighed, the weight of her responsibilities visible in the slump of her shoulders.

“My exes — and I use that term very loosely as most women cut and run when the reality of my life becomes clear — never really got on board with who I am and what I have to do.” She waved a hand, trying to dismiss the hurt that lingered in her voice. “But I’m not going to spend any more time on our first official date talking about my exes. There’s only really been one of note.”

Ash tapped her finger on the island, her stomach knotting with empathy. She recalled how her life had spun out of her control when she and Danielle broke up. “Was your ex out?”

Victoria’s jaw clicked before she spoke. “She was. She was Danish, and we did everything there or at her place in London. One evening, she wanted to stay over at mine. To experience a slice of my life. That was four years ago, and I couldn’t offer it fully. I was still too afraid of what being queer meant.” She stared at Ash, hope and fear warring in her expression. “I’m older now. Definitely wiser. I know things have to change. For me, and for whoever I’m with.”

Ash totally got it. “My ex, Danielle, is a pro, too. She understands football and all its challenges. But things started going awry with us when I was made England captain and she was dropped from the Ravens first team.” The memory still stung, like pressing on a bruise that hadn’t quite healed. “I started to get invited to events, and Danielle couldn’t always come or didn’t want to. Her career was going south, while mine was soaring. Our differences were magnified.

“What I’m trying to say is that I understand having a role in life that people can’t understand. I had sponsors to please who didn’t want me turning up with a girlfriend, and I let that happen. Plus, I had interviews and appearances to fulfil. Something had to give, and that was my relationship. Although Danielle cheating on me was still a surprise.”

Victoria cringed, genuine compassion softening her features. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“It was her way of getting out of the situation.” It hurt like hell at the time, but in the long run, it had been the right thing to do. “It was a break. Not a clean one, but it needed to happen.”

“How long ago did you split up?” Victoria’s question was gentle, careful.

“Over a year.”

“And you haven’t met anybody since?”

Ash shook her head. “Plenty have wanted to audition, but it’s not how I work. After three years with Danielle and thinking about a future together, I needed time just for me. I wasn’t ready to go straight back into something.”

Victoria cleared her throat, then reached over for Ash’s plate. She carried both to the sink, then turned, hands still clutching the counter behind her. The buttons on the front of her shirt pulled deliciously around her breasts.

“And now?” Victoria asked.

It wasn’t a question Ash wanted to answer with words. They hadn’t even kissed again yet, and she’d been in Victoria’s house for over an hour.

She pulled back her shoulders and got off her stool, then walked over to Victoria, heart racing. With no heels, they were around the same height. She hadn’t noticed when they kissed before as they were sat down. But now, Ash noticed everything. The soft exhale that ghosted across Victoria’s lips. The pink flush that stained Victoria's throat, the colour spreading down past her collar in a way that made Ash’s mouth go dry.

She cleared her throat. “And now, I’m ready for something different. Something real. Do you know anyone who fits the bill?”

“Something real?” Victoria’s eyes were glassy. “Reality can be scary, but I’m up for the challenge.”

When Ash dropped her gaze, Victoria’s knuckles whitened.

She was nervous.

One of the most powerful women in Britain was nervous, because of Ash.

What could she do to put Victoria at ease? She stepped a little closer, then placed the gentlest kiss of her life on Victoria’s neck. The warmth of her skin ignited something primal in Ash, a current that raced from her lips straight to her core.

Victoria jolted, too.

Ash brought her lips level with Victoria and stared into her eyes, daring her to look away. She was pretty sure neither was about to.

“I keep thinking about that kiss in the car,” Victoria murmured, her voice lower than before, eyes glazed. “I’ve barely thought about anything else. I keep nearly tripping up, dropping things.” She reached her hand to Ash’s cheek and ran a solo fingertip down her skin.

Ash’s whole body tensed with want, her breath catching as she pressed her face into Victoria’s palm, needing more.

”Would kissing you again help you to stop dropping things?”

“It’s got to be worth a try.”

Ash’s fingertips traced the line of Victoria’s jaw, feeling the slight tremor there. “I’m here to serve,” Ash said with a soft smile. “Plus, if it helps, I haven’t been thinking about much else, either.”

Victoria’s breath stilled as Ash closed that final inch between them, pinning Victoria against the counter and pressing her lips to her.

Time seemed to stop: just the press of mouths, the thump of Ash’s heart loud in her ears. This kiss was different from their first: slower, deeper, with an intent that rewrote everything Ash knew about kissing. Every nerve ending sparked alive, hypersensitive. Victoria’s lips were impossibly soft, tasting faintly of wine.

Victoria’s hands grasped Ash’s hips as she drew their bodies flush together, and Ash’s mind went blank. The heat of Victoria this close was dizzying. Her self-control, already hanging by a thread, dissolved entirely when Victoria’s tongue slipped into her mouth.

A small sound escaped her throat: half surprise, half desperate need. French-kissed by a princess, and god, the reality of it was better than any fantasy. Victoria kissed like she had something to prove, like she wanted to consume Ash whole. Each stroke of her tongue sent lightning down Ash’s spine.

When Victoria drew back, her eyes were alight with need, pupils dark. Ash struggled to catch her breath, her whole body humming with want. She’d been kissed before, but not to the point where it felt like she was burning from the inside out. Like her skin was too tight. Like she might die if she couldn’t taste Victoria again.

“I can’t fuck you in the kitchen. If Albert walks in, he’ll never recover.” Victoria fixed Ash with her gaze. “Bedroom?”

No protocol manual covered this: how to proceed with a princess who looked at you like she wanted to be ruined.