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Considering this is a fancy person’s sport on both sides of the pond, it seems weird to me that the spectators in their fancy clothes have to do this. But I didn’t make the rules.
“Who won?” I ask Grandpapa as I tap a divot back into place.
“No one yet. This is only half time. There are more chukkas to go.”
“How long does this game last? All day?” I ask.
“Heavens, no. About two hours in total.”
Someone offers me a glass of champagne and I tell them no.
“Oh, but my dear, you must. It’s tradition to toast the divots,” Grandpapa explains.
Reluctantly, I take one, the cool liquid forming condensation on the glass. I remember Amelia telling me how horrendous the Malveaux champagne is. I’m not exactly pumped to try it now.
“Madeline, after The Games, your grandmama and I are going on a short tour of several European countries, ending in France.”
“Cool. How long will you be gone?”
“About 10 days. It will be a good opportunity for you to take the reins for a while. See how it feels.”
“Wait. You want me to be like a temporary Queen?”
“Not in title, of course, but in practice. You can meet with the Prime Minister for our regular weekly appointment, as well as oversee the running of the palace.”
“Do I have to make any laws or anything?” I ask, only half joking.
He chortles. “Heavens no. Your job is to listen to what the PM says, and only offer your thoughts if completely necessary. Are you ready to try it all out?”
I wait for the expected knot in my belly to form. It doesn’t.
Huh.
“You know what, Grandpapa? I think I’d like to give it a shot.”
He beams at me. “Wonderful.”
“When do you leave?”
“The morning after the ball to celebrate The Games.”
There's a flurry of excited chatter and applause, and I look up to see Alexander sans horse, treading across the grass, smiling and waving at everyone as flashbulbs pop around us.
He's removed his helmet and his hair is all messed up in that sexy I just got out of bed way, his red shirt clinging to his torso as though it was sprayed on, showing every curve of every muscle, from his wide shoulders right down to his slim waist. His once white, but now decidedly dirty, pants are equally snug and with each step he takes in his over-the-knee boots, I can almost feel his muscles rippling.
I'm now officially a fan of men in over-the-knee boots, and that is something I never thought I would say. I mean, didn’t Julia Roberts wear those in Pretty Woman?
Let me tell you right now, the way Alex wears them is nothing like Julia.
I think I just swooned.
Yup, definitely.
I slide my eyes to the Texas boot attached to his belt loop and bite back a smile.
He comes to a stop when he reaches Grandpapa and me and gives a bow. “Your Majesty, and Princess Madeline.”
“No need to be so formal, lad,” Grandpapa says as he pumps Alex's hand and pats him on the back enthusiastically. “A fine display of horsemanship, dear boy. A fine display.”
