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Players. As in plural. Lexie feared Tansy would smack her artificially plumped lips next. “Why in the world are we talking about polo players?” Lexie was bewildered by the turn in conversation.
Blair looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “You don’t know?”
Lexie shook her head. “I don’t know what?”
“You really don’t know?” Blair repeated incredulously, her dark brown eyes growing wide.
Tansy had turned to the waiter for another champagne refill. “Don’t be stingy, darlin’!”
Blair was still, eyebrows drawn together, then after a few seconds, she burst into hysterical laughter, as if finally getting the punch line of a hilarious joke. Lexie watched her cousin in consternation. Stefan frowned at Blair. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“What is?” Tansy turned back to the conversation, made bubblier by the bubbly.
“God, I hope Team Arion wins,” her cousin said with fervor. Lexie looked at Blair with suspicion. She had never cared for polo or any of the teams, only the players she deemed “hot”.
“Of course they’ll win,” Tansy stoutly declared. “An’ Your Royal Highness is going to award my Rupert the Cup, just you wait an’ see.”
“Believe me,” Blair said with utmost glee, “I can’t wait.”
This time it was Lexie’s turn to frown. She slid her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and turned to the polo field resolutely. With their helmets and protective eye gear, it was hard to distinguish the players except by their jersey numbers. The announcer boomed in a well-modulated voice that the team captain for Arion, Nicolas Fernandez, had scored another goal. Tansy cheered, almost spilling her drink, but Lexie’s attention was a million miles away from the game.
* * *
It was a close fight. Team Arion won the championship by just one goal over the Black Cavalier. At the last chukker, Nic rode off the opposing team’s seasoned non-professional player, a British aristocrat who was also the team Patron, Julian Walkden, the Duke of Blackmoore. He had gotten into Walkden’s line of the ball and with a backhand swing had served the ball to Butler, who ran up field and finished it off with a powerful forehand swing to score.
Butler’s elation at being able to clinch the winning goal had temporarily overridden his ill temper at the way the game had transpired. He had been expecting an easy victory and in the ensuing neck-to-neck battle had grown increasingly foul-mouthed and abusive with his team. Only a penalty had shut him up, and even then he was so tense that his volatile mood had made the rest of the team edgy.
Now climbing up on stage for the awarding of the Gallagher Cup, Butler was all Mr. Congeniality. Lined up in a row with the other team members on the dais, Nic dimly registered the announcer calling on the presence of His Royal Highness Prince Stefan and Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandria of Seirenada to award the prestigious 100th Gallagher Polo Cup. Nic tallied his injuries – lacerated lip, some pulled muscles on the shoulder, and probable bruising on his thighs. Not bad for a championship game.
Some commotion took place by the VIP tent as the bodyguards and entourage of the royals flanked the couple, who were now making their way to the stage. Absently, Nic recalled reading somewhere that the royal siblings were descendants of Charles Gallagher, the shipping magnate and polo enthusiast who was one of the first to introduce the sport to the U.S. Wasn’t there a scandal several years ago about the Princess…?
The entourage had neared the stage. Nic wasn’t a very avid reader of the news or gossip magazines so he had a very vague idea of what these royals looked like. He remembered skimming the pages of a newspaper and reading about a new mineral being discovered in Seirenada that had everyone all stirred up because of its potential to be made into flexible glass. It could be used to make a new generation of handheld devices lighter, thinner, and sturdier. Butler had gone into apoplexy with the news and apparently wanted first dibs, so winning the championship was like hitting two polo balls with one mallet. He would win the Cup and get to be chummy with the Prince at the after-party.
