Page 35 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lacing my fingers into his free hand, I squeeze. “I’m sorry he never got to.”

“CLOVER, CLOVER, CLOVER,” Max screams as the next chukka gets underway.

“Miles’s pony,” Lando whispers unnecessarily. “The lucky one.”

T he luck works.

By the end of the first half, Miles’s team leads their opposition by three goals, and Clemmie grabs my hand before the ponies leave the field.

“C’mon, let’s go and stomp divots. But first, I must pee.”

“Sure, why not? I could do with a bathroom break too.”

She takes my hand and leads us out of the stand, through the crowds, and into the VIP tent. She’s keeping her head down, trying to squeeze past unnoticed, and I follow her lead. Sunglasses on. If she doesn’t want to be seen, then neither do I.

I assume we’re following the signs for the bathrooms, only we turn left before we get there.

“Clem, the bathrooms are over there.”

“We’re going to different ones. Too many people,” she replies as we head back out into the sunshine on the other side of the tent and along a narrow pathway lined with bushes.

Clemmie’s eyes are down, and I see him before she does. It’s possible she didn’t see him at all, from the way she collided with his chest. If I hadn’t pulled her back, she’d have fallen over .

I’m about to apologize when I catch sight of Clemmie’s face. Her mouth’s open, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she seems anxious. Her shoulders are stiff with tension.

Then I take a look at the guy.

He’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Thick brows, chiseled cheekbones, shaded by the ball cap he’s wearing, and eyes so brown they’re almost black as he stares right at her.

It has all the makings of a meet-cute, an accidental run-in, except I get the impression there’s much more to it.

He looks like he should be annoyed, but the way his lips purse makes it seem as if he’s holding down a smile. Especially when his head dips with a curt nod that feels more taunting than sincere.

“Lady Burlington,” he says, an American drawl that sounds both foreign and immensely comforting after two months in England.

My eyes bounce between them. I wait for Clemmie to say something, but I’m not expecting, “We have to go.”

My glasses are dark enough that he can’t see me look at him as she drags me off. Not an iota of surprise on his face, and the smile I knew he was hiding tips up.

She’s still not said anything by the time we reach the bathrooms—which happen to be near the players’ quarters. We pee in silence, then make our way out to where the hordes are.

I thought I’d done well in avoiding the small number of press in attendance, but the moment Clemmie and I step foot on the field, they swarm. We’re new blood among all the other celebrities present, cheering on the teams.

Our photos are taken, and I avoid all questions about who I’m here with.

Several people come over to speak to Clemmie, then linger as we replace the turf kicked up from the ponies’ hooves and press it back into the ground.

Twice I’m asked for a selfie, along with a request for my number and several offers if I ever need a tour guide in England, all of which I politely decline.

The whole time, my eyes jump back to the stand where Lando’s laughing with Max and Alex.

It’s distracting enough that I almost forget about the encounter on the way to the bathrooms until I look up to find the same guy leaning against the stands, watching us. And the moment Clemmie turns her back, I know she’s spotted him too.

“Who’s that guy? The one we bumped into.”

Her cheeks flush an uncharacteristic shade of pink, eyes darting to either side. She’s concentrating very hard on replacing the divot I already trod in. “Santiago Torres.”

“He’s hot.”

Her shoulders slump with a deep sigh. “Yes, very .”

“Who is he? He sounded American.”

“His mother is American. His father is Argentinian. He played polo for Argentina before he got a two-year ban for an illegal bump, which nearly killed Miles. Miles hates him. I’m surprised he’s here.” Her tone becomes tinny, hollow almost, enough for me to want to give her a hug.

“Wow.”

She nods, and I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sucks in a quick, deep breath and changes the subject.

“I’ve just realized you’ll be here for the Fall Ball.”

“What’s the Fall Ball?”

“It’s so fun.” Her eyes light up, relieved I’m not pressing her on the scowling mystery guy.

“We hold it every year around Halloween in London. It’s dinner and dancing, all done in masquerade.

We raise money for Lando’s charity, which supports helping children grieve when a parent dies.

He started it about fifteen years ago. ”

Now I’m the one pressing in a divot I’d already pressed in because I don’t know what to say.

I help with charities. I try to do my bit every year by donating or whatever’s required, but truthfully, they tend to all blend into one. But this charity, Lando’s charity, is a stark reminder of how exactly he came to be the person he is today. Suddenly, I’m fighting the urge to cry.

“Count me in.”

“Excellent, and that means we’ll have to go shopping.”

“How do you raise the money?”

“Donations, ticket price, auction. One year, Miles decided to auction himself. Raised nearly a quarter of a million just for him, but it also ended up in a fight between the three highest bidders outside the venue, which was splashed all over the front pages the next day. We didn’t do it again.

Safer to stick to one-of-a-kind experiences.

” She grins, and a giggle bursts out, which sets me off too.

“Why does that seem so Miles?” I snort. “But I’d love to help. I can definitely find something worth donating.”

When the bell goes off, announcing the end of halftime, Clemmie loops her arm into mine. I notice that her eyes keep darting over to where that guy was standing, only he’s gone. When I turn back to the direction we’re heading, Lando’s walking toward us.

His eyes are glued to mine. I don’t think he’s even noticed anyone else. But he has an air about him that compels people to move out of the way when he passes, and for a second, I marvel at him.

By the time he reaches us, a smile stretches across his face. “What are you two gossiping about?”

“I was telling Holiday about the Fall Ball.”

I nod, peering up at him. “I’ll find something cool to donate for the auction. Maybe a trip to a movie set? ”

Lando wears a curious expression, both thoughtful and amused.

I’m wondering what it means when he drapes his arm around my shoulders and twists me into him enough that he can press a full kiss to my mouth with little effort.

It’s brief but not too short and gives absolutely no doubt to anyone watching us that we’re in a “relationship” at the bare minimum.

“Thank you, Hollywood. That’s very kind.”

I sense the snap of a camera. There’s no way he doesn’t either. But we walk off the field and back to the stands like we haven’t noticed and don’t care.