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“Alex!”
I ignored her. Picking up a glass of champagne, I honed in on a piece of cake. Angry with my sister, I ate it in an act of protest. I would catch hell for my weight gain, but I neither feared Celeste nor cared. It suited me much better. I felt more like a woman—a happy woman. Celeste did not own me. I would savour every lovely bit of food.
I missed so much in life. Rick wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he had a protective side that made me swoon. He was a kind-hearted asshole. Maybe I could turn him into a reformed scoundrel and kick the Rick the Prick moniker to the curb? We could rewrite our stories together. And I held the power to help him. Together, we’d take back our narrative. Or, at least, that was my assumption as I sat there.
“You think you own it,” Astrid dug in. “And I hope you do. I just cannot help but worry about you, Alexandra. You are doing so much—so fast—and I fear Celeste’s retribution.”
“I know you do,” I said. “But I am done living in fear because of her nonsense, Asti. And Rick won’t put up with it. He’s good for that much, okay? I trust him on that. And can you please trust me? I’m not an idiot, Astrid.”
“I know. You’re doing more for us than I would be willing to do.”
“I doubt that is true, Astrid.”
“No. I’d not want this. He’s hot, but I am unwilling to tie myself down to anyone until I’ve had fun.”
“I think he knows the stakes are high. I will grant you that he’s flawed but deep down, I do think there is good in him.”
Astrid looked across the field and shook her head. “I hope he’s less wanker and more benevolent patriarch—for your sake and ours.”
Fourteen
Rick
Iplayed the best game of my life and had one of my greatest wins. I’d shown up to trounce the British and Norwegian princes in a legendary way and I couldn’t have ridden any higher by my final goal. Triumphant, I celebrated with the rest of the guys before noticing Alexandra at the field's edge.
She sweetly cheered for us the entire weekend. She didn’t know the game well but was a good sport. It didn’t hurt team morale to have the Queen and Princess Astrid on hand. I couldn’t complain. I trotted over to Alexandra’s sweet face, hidden partially by a big hat.
Sweat be damned, she doted on my horse.
“A brilliant job,” she cooed. “You were such a good baby. Such a lovely job.”
“I get no credit?” I joked.
She looked up. “Yes, Rick. You do. You got the job done. I secretly love watching the British women seethe.”
I grinned. “Ah, Her Majesty does have a dark side.”
“I do, yes,” Alexandra answered. “Now what?”
“We will get the trophy.”
“Obviously,” she said.
It was cute. She had no idea what was going on.
“They will award it and likely insist on you doing the honours. Which is great for our photo op.”
“What do I do?”
“Just hand it over and take photos like a dutiful, adoring girlfriend. The press will go crazy for it.”
Alexandra smiled. “Well, then, well done. You’ve given us a natural opening.”
“I wish I could say my goals were quite so charitable, Your Majesty. I did it because I wanted to win and humiliate the Brits and Norwegians. But I will believe my win was chivalrous if you do.”
“Oh, well, let’s go with that then.” Alexandra patted the horse. “You should go cool her off before she ties up.”
“Yes, I should. I will see you shortly.”
