Page 88 of Pretender

Flawless. This woman is a fucking legend.

She knocks the ball through the next hoop, and the next, the crowd cheering more each time. I hold my breath as she angles herself to knock it through the second-to-last hoop, and Henry is trying to break the wooden mallet in his grip. Although he’d sooner hurt himself with those little hands.

Without hesitation, Linnea hits her ball through the last two hoops and slams it into the final peg to a roaring cheer from the crowd, and in my side-vision Henry’s mallet goes flying across the field, but I only have eyes for Linnea. She swivels on the spot, and I run to her as she lifts her mallet over her head.

“Whooohooo!”

When I reach her I grab her by the waist and swing her around, and she squeals before she drops the mallet to the ground and wraps her arms around my neck. My face is wedged in her chest and I might be overstepping, so I let her slide down my front, but without letting go.

“That was nothing short of phenomenal.”

“Told you I’m a croquet ninja.”

“I didn’t doubt it for a second.”

Her eyes dart to my mouth and up again, her smile faltering for a second. “Thank you, Aiden.”

“My pleasure.”

“No, really.”

“I’m serious too. I took a lot of pleasure in that.”

She laughs, shaking her head, and leans into the crook of my neck. I tighten my arms around her.

“Let’s go,” she says.

“Already?”

“Yeah, it can’t get better than this.”

“We didn’t even get tipsy,” I say, releasing my grip when I feel her letting go of me.

“So let’s go get tipsy without an audience. I just want to hang out with you.” Somehow she looks surprised by her own words, so I wait for a moment, letting her change her mind if she wants to.

“Without an audience…” I start, glancing down at her mouth as she nibbles on her lower lip. Without an audience, I won’t have a reason to touch her according to our rules.

“Aiden!” someone calls from somewhere behind us. We both turn to find Katrina Starre running towards us. What the hell does she want?

“Aiden, tell me now,” Linnea whispers. “What’s going on with you two? I saw you talking to her before. Please tell me if you’d rather⁠—”

I put a finger to her lips. Fuck, they’re so soft.

“Don’t even think that thought.”

I hold her gaze for a beat, until we can no longer ignore the woman trudging across the lawn.

Katrina’s running is not so much running as it is sinking her heels into the grass and pulling them out again with great effort. We stand by, watching as her heels gather more grass and dirt with each step.

“That’s impressive,” Linnea says, smirking, cocking a brow.

I glance down at Linnea’s choice of footwear.

“Wedges,” she says, tilting her foot to emphasise. “Wearing heels to a lawn party is a rookie mistake.”

Katrina stops in front of us, sweating and panting, but standing tall, as if she doesn’t have a good chunk of royal lawn on her stilettos.

“Could I ask you to do an interview?” she asks, eyes flicking between us. “I’m trying to get into celebrity news and I’ve got a pass to the VIP lounge in the corner.”