Page 27

CHAPTER 27

A sh stared at her reflection in the studio mirror, adjusting the sponsored training gear with practiced ease. The photographer called out directions, and she moved automatically: twist, smile, look determined, show the gear in action. After years of doing this, she could perform on autopilot, which was exactly what she needed today.

“Perfect!” The photographer lowered his camera. If he was thinking anything about the revelations of yesterday, he’d kept his thoughts to himself. Ash was grateful. “That’s a wrap.”

She’d managed to lose herself in the shoot for two blissful hours, pushing away thoughts of the press camped outside her flat and her parents’ house, along with tomorrow’s royal showdown. But reality came flooding back as soon as she checked her phone: missed calls from Victoria, texts from teammates, and an endless stream of notifications from news sites. The one good thing to come from this shitshow? Nobody was focusing on her red card and how her game had gone down the pan.

“There’s my star.” Marianne appeared at her shoulder, iPad clutched like a shield against her charcoal trouser-suit. Her pristine bob didn’t move as she glanced around the studio, sharp features set in their usual sceptical expression. “Even when I was your age, I never looked as good as you do in everything you wear.”

“Thanks.” Even Marianne’s big-upping couldn’t comfort Ash today. She started gathering her things. “We need to head out the back way. There were photographers round the front when I arrived.”

Marianne pushed her reading glasses onto her head. “My car’s waiting. We’ll take the long way round. It’ll give us time to chat on the way to your parents’ place.”

Ash guessed this was the first of many interrogations, so she better get used to it.

They made it to the car without incident, and Marianne waited until they were moving before turning to face her client of eight years. Her Apple watch buzzed continuously, but for once, she ignored it.

“So,” she said, traces of Manchester bleeding into her polished accent. “Were you planning on telling me about you and Victoria?”

Ash’s stomach clenched. She didn’t respond right away. She didn’t have to.

“Is that why you got sent off yesterday? Why she was there?”

“I don’t know what I can say right now.” The edges of Enfield blurred past the window. “Everything’s complicated.”

“Complicated is my job, Ash.” Marianne’s voice softened, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkling with concern. “That’s literally what you pay me for. To handle complicated.”

“I know.” Ash rubbed her temples. The headache that had started yesterday hadn’t let up. “I need to meet with Victoria first. Work out what we’re doing.”

“There’s a ‘we’. That answers my question.” She shook her head. “The press are having a field day. Your sponsors are calling. The FA wants a statement. I need something to tell them.”

“I know.” Ash’s voice cracked slightly. “I know, okay? But I can’t have anyone else questioning this right now. My parents are freaking out, the team’s probably pissed off about yesterday, and tomorrow I have to go to Buckingham Palace and meet the actual King and Queen while their daughter’s sexuality is splashed across every front page in the country. And when they see me, they’re going to think it’s all my fault.”

When she said it out loud, it really was A LOT.

Marianne set her iPad aside, something she rarely did during business hours. “How long?”

Ash shrugged, then closed her eyes. If only the world had a mute button.

Marianne laid her fingers on Ash’s arm, causing her to jump. “Ash, I’m asking as your friend. How long?”

Ash exhaled. “We met in Marbella in June, but nothing happened until August.”

Marianne counted on her fingers. “June, July, August, September, October.” Her eyes widened. “Five months, and you’ve said nothing?”

“I told you, we were waiting until the right moment.” It sounded nuts now, she knew.

“The Dexter thing? Is that true?”

Ash nodded. “They’re good friends. It was never more than that.”

Marianne let out a low whistle. “And what is this for you? I assume it’s serious, because you don’t get involved with a princess and risk all of this blowing up for a quick fuck?”

A weak smile danced across Ash’s face. “Serious as I’ve ever been.”

“Okay. At least I know what I’m dealing with now. In that case, we’ll figure it out.” Marianne reached over and squeezed her hand. “But you have to let me help. No more secrets.”

“I need to meet with her first. See what the Palace wants to do,” Ash replied. “But yeah, after that... I’ll need you.”

“And you’ve got me.”

“I know.” Ash’s phone buzzed: another message from Victoria about tomorrow’s security arrangements. Doubts circled as she put her phone away.

“Okay?”

Ash shook her head. “I just worry. I’ve never had a red card before. What if this is too much, and I can’t cope?” What if we can’t cope. “I can’t let anything affect my game in a World Cup year. Plus, the homophobic shit online is disgusting.”

“Hey.” Marianne’s voice carried a steel that had faced down countless boardrooms. “One bad game doesn’t define you. And if anyone gives you shit about being gay in women’s football, they clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

“It’s more the royal thing. The scrutiny. Having to hide, then getting caught anyway. She’s going to be Queen someday, and I’m just me.”

“You’re the England captain. One of the most respected players in the game. Stop selling yourself short.”

The car turned onto Ash’s parents’ street. Even from here, they could see the photographers camped out front.

“Shit, there are quite a few, aren’t there?” Marianne peered out the front windscreen.

Ash nodded. Her parents had experience of it when their daughter led the country to European Cup glory. Then, it had been good-natured and a novelty. This time around, the vibe wasn’t quite so positive.

“Can you drop me round the back?” Ash told the driver.

“What time is it all kicking off tomorrow?” Marianne’s glasses slid back down to their proper place as she reached for her iPad.

“It was going to be afternoon tea, but that’s been abandoned in favour of a full-on morning crisis meeting.” Ash attempted a laugh that came out more like a sob. “FML.”

“None of that FML shit.” Marianne slapped Ash’s thigh as her car pulled up behind Ash’s parents’ house. “You’ve never backed down from a challenge before. Don’t start now. Yes, the public are confused, but they’ll calm down. They love both you and Victoria. Once they get used to the idea of you together, it’ll make sense. Plus, just so you know, the women’s football community are standing with you. Loads of your teammates and Lionesses have posted messages of support. The women’s football community is on your side, and that’s a start.”

For the first time today, Ash smiled.

It wasn’t nothing.

She had to cling to that.

The White Drawing Room lived up to its name, all cream silk, stuffiness and gold-framed mirrors, with massive chandeliers casting judgement from above. Ash perched on the edge of a Regency sofa, its ivory upholstery exquisite. Beside her, Victoria sat straight-backed, while across the low table, the King and Queen mirrored their posture with royal precision.

Ash wore her lucky suit — the one from the European Cup final — but today she felt less like a football captain, and more like an actress who’d stumbled onto the wrong stage.

Maybe that’s exactly what she was.

Victoria sat beside her, close but not touching, and Ash ached for the easy intimacy they’d previously shared. Now, every movement was calculated, watched, judged by the King and Queen sitting opposite them like judges at a trial. It had all started civilly enough, but quickly descended into an interrogation.

“Who knew about this relationship?” The Queen’s tone was solid granite. “We need to know how this information got out.” She addressed the question to Ash.

Ash’s throat went dry. “I only told my parents and one teammate.” She hated how small her voice sounded. Her mind flashed to Cam’s fierce loyalty, her mum’s protective anger. “People I trust completely.”

“And you’re certain they wouldn’t—”

“Mother,” Victoria interrupted. “We’ve been through this. Someone’s been following us. Professional photographers. This isn’t about who told who.”

“People will do all sorts of things for money, Victoria.”

“And I told you both Ash and I have been very careful.”

“Is Michael not coming?” The Queen couldn’t hide her irritation.

“He’s on his own schedule,” Victoria replied, her voice carefully neutral.

The Queen huffed her disappointment. “The press hounds you mercilessly, while he gallivants London without consequence.”

Ash’s gaze flickered between mother and daughter, catching the layers beneath their exchange. She was pretty sure there was support buried in the Queen’s criticism?

Ash glanced at Victoria, seeing the fresh hurt Michael’s absence had carved. Another betrayal on a day already heavy with them. Her hand twitched, instinctively wanting to reach for Victoria’s, but even that small comfort felt impossible here.

“And you’re sure your family didn’t say anything even if they didn’t mean to?” the King asked Ash.

Something inside Ash snapped. She sat up. “I’m 100 per cent certain, Sir,” she told him, holding his gaze. She wasn’t going to be cowed on this. “I need you to understand what this is doing to my family. People are posting hate mail through their door. Journalists won’t leave them alone. They didn’t ask for any of this. They would never bring it on themselves.”

Victoria’s hand twitched towards hers, then stopped.

“I’m so sorry, Ash,” she said. “We were supposed to have time to plan this properly. After New Year.”

“I know.” Ash swallowed hard. The weight of it all pressed on her chest: her parents’ fear, the headlines screaming about her sexuality like it was public property. Staring into the faces of Victoria’s parents, she saw now they were just two more parents wanting the best for their child. They didn’t know how to handle this any better than she did.

She’d known it would be complicated. But this ambush, this violation of their privacy, had left them exposed, vulnerable, scrambling to protect not just themselves, but everyone they loved.

“Perhaps,” the Queen said, standing abruptly. “I might have a word with my daughter. Alone.”

Victoria shot Ash an apologetic look as the King rose, gesturing to Ash.

“Come with me.”

Was this where she was excommunicated?

The King led her through corridors with centuries of history, finally arriving at a study that felt lived-in, personal. Books lined the walls, family photos sat on the desk. He went straight to a cabinet, poured two measures of scotch, and handed one to Ash. She thought about refusing, but then thought better of it. If nothing else, the glass was something to cling to.

“Sit. Please.” He indicated a leather chair. “I think we need to talk.”

Ash took a careful sip, grateful for the burn.

The King settled behind his desk, studying her. His fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin.

“I want my daughter to be happy,” he said finally. “And if you make her happy, then so be it. But you need to understand what being with Victoria means.”

Ash let him talk. The carefully measured tone told her he’d rehearsed this speech, probably while she and Victoria had been creating headlines neither of them had meant to make.

“This scrutiny you’re experiencing now? It’s just the beginning. When I married the Queen, I knew what I was getting into. I was prepared for it. But I was also a man marrying a woman. The path was clearer.”

Ash stared into her glass as the amber liquid caught the light. “We knew it would be complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it. Your family will always be under scrutiny. Your past relationships, your friendships, your career decisions: everything will be seen through the filter of your relationship with Victoria. Money can help with security, with legal protection, but it can’t stop the rumours. Or social media. It definitely can’t stop people forming opinions about you. The pressure may well be too much.”

“Someone wise once told me that pressure is a privilege.”

He gave her a steely stare.

“I understand the magnitude of this, Sir.” The words felt hollow in her mouth, inadequate against the magnitude of what she really wanted to say: that Victoria was worth it.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you?” His voice was gentle but firm. “Because right now, you have a choice. Victoria doesn’t. But you? You can still walk away.”

Her fingers tightened around the crystal tumbler. “Are you asking me to?”

“No. I meant what I said about my daughter’s happiness, and she’s made it clear that she wants you. What I’m asking you to do is to think very carefully about what you’re willing to sacrifice. Think long and hard.”

He leaned forward. “For now, we’re going to deny everything. You and Victoria will need to keep your distance until this dies down. Then, if your feelings are real, we’ll put together a staged plan of action, one where we control what’s known. That’s not a request. Once you leave here today, you can’t be seen together again.”

“For how long?” Her voice cracked on the question.

“As long as it takes.” He stood, moving around the desk to put a hand on her shoulder. “You seem like a nice person, Ashleigh. But we don’t live in a nice world. Maybe this time apart will give you a chance to really think about what you want.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. “And what about what Victoria wants?”

“Victoria has a sense of duty and responsibility that goes beyond personal desire. She always has.”

He squeezed her shoulder once before stepping back, the gesture almost paternal, which somehow made it worse. Almost as if, in another world, he might have welcomed her.