‘I can look after myself, thanks.’
He laughs. ‘Yes, I could tell that the moment we met. In fact,’ he strides a few paces ahead and then spins around, facing me and walking backwards, ‘I knew that you were quite unlike anyone else I’d ever met.’
I bring Wickham to a halt. ‘I have to go. The final chukka is about to start.’
‘Nice talking to you,’ he says, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
Glancing instinctively towards Mateo as Basilio draws back, I find him up on Violet watching us, his eyes blazing, his jaw set. Ohfuck.
Basilio starts waltzing away from me before spinninground to shoot me a dazzling smile and call out loudly, ‘I’ll see you after the match, Ash. I’ll make sure of it.’
Head down, I lead Wickham back to the pony lines while Mateo turns Violet sharply and canters away.
From then, Mateo takes no prisoners. In the first minute of the final chukka, Fitz is dribbling the ball along the centre of the field and, in a momentary lapse of concentration, misses it as it slows from bouncing along the divots, him and his opponent having to pull up their ponies when they realise the ball’s left behind them. Mateo, who was following, positions Violet perfectly and from there, thwacks the ball with an exquisite nearside forehand that sends it soaring up into the air past all the players and sailing through the goal posts up ahead. It’s such an incredible, risky goal, I gasp in amazement and the people in the stands are up on their feet applauding as Maycourt slip into the lead. As Mateo circles on Violet, he looks my way as I stare at him in awe.
His next goal comes soon after when a Redwoods player offers a clumsy pass to a teammate who isn’t there. Mateo scoops it up and you can see his opponents panic as he thunders back the other way with it, taking Violet full-throttle. The Redwoods number four hunts him down for a ride-off but is left behind as Mateo picks up the pace to knock the ball between the posts, the flag going up and waving once more. Malcolm is laughing atop his pony, he’s finding Mateo’s fresh determination so incredible.
‘What did you take before this chukka, mate?’ he asks. ‘Share it out, would you?’
The final is nearing the end and work in the pony lines has slowed because we’re all distracted by the match, so close tothe win but knowing that it’s not secure until it’s over. The ball is at the end of the pitch we want it to be, but so are all the players, the Redwoods doing all they can to get it out of there while Maycourt won’t let up. After a frantic minute where it’s hard to tell what’s going on between all the pony legs and mallets, we see Mateo tap a winner through the goal posts in the last few moments of the match. The final whistle blows.
Oh my God.
We won.We won!
The entire team, including the grooms, pours onto the pitch as the players bring their ponies in to dismount and embrace each other, cheering exuberantly. Even Lady M has lost her demure demeanour and has thrown her arms around a friend, jumping up and down in joy. After giving Jules a hug, I rush in to join the grooms who have to cool down the ponies from the last chukka, weaving my way through the celebrating team to get to Fitz as he jumps down from his pony before throwing his arms around Malcolm and bouncing together screaming, ‘We did it! We did it!’
Happily unnoticed by either of them and laughing at their display of camaraderie, I lead the pony off the pitch, my jaw aching from smiling so hard. I wait for my orders from Eduardo, who beams at me while he’s giving me instructions, every now and then muttering words of disbelief in Spanish, and then I get started on hosing down the ponies.
I’ve just set down the hose to brush the water off Violet’s coat when I hear footsteps approach.
‘Hey,’ Mateo says as I spin round.
His hair is damp from sweat and champagne that’s been sprayed over his head, his cheeks are flushed from the exercise and the win, and his eyes are glistening with joy. My heart somersaults at his smile that lights up his face.
‘Mateo, you did it!’ I gush, laughing with excitement and nerves, feeling drunk on the high that comes with a win like this one. ‘Congratulations!’
‘To you, too.’
He steps forward to kiss me on the cheek. His face lingers near mine a moment too long for either of our willpower to hold. Mine snaps first. Angling my head towards him, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and smash my mouth against his. He exhales with relief against my lips, his hands grasping at my hips and pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss, pressing himself against me. A low groan emits from his throat that sends my heart into overdrive. Butterflies explode into a frenzied dance in my stomach as he kisses me like he’s been starved of me for years and years, his hands roaming up the curve of my waist, round to my back, sliding up and back down again, exploring everywhere all at once.
Violet stomps and whinnies, and we suddenly remember where we are, breaking apart and catching our breath. Mateo leans in to kiss me one more time, a gentle peck that takes me by surprise, before stepping back to pat Violet’s neck, his hand slapping against her wet coat.
‘We’re… we’re going to have a team photo on the pitch,’ he says, collecting himself as I stand in a daze. ‘Come join us for it.’
I nod, my breathing shallow and heavy like I’ve just played in a polo match myself.
‘I-I’ll be there in a minute.’
Satisfied with my answer, he gives Violet a kiss on the nose and then jogs back to his waiting teammates. I hear a cheer go up as he reappears, Fitz’s voice above the others shouting, ‘Where have you been, mate? You saw theprincecoming over to us, didn’t you? What could be more important than that, you glorious fucker?’
Eighteen
Gazing out of the window at forty-thousand feet, I pick up my glass of champagne from the glossy walnut table in front of me and nestle back into my big, squashy leather chair. I acknowledge with a sigh that it’s going to be difficult to fly economy after this.
Flying to Paris by private jet is definitely one of the more surreal experiences in my life. Grooms don’t usually fly with the team in this kind of luxury, but Jules extended the invitation to me, citing her last experience flying with the lads as her reasoning – apparently, Fitz and Eric got so drunk, they started stripping and asking the air stewards to set up karaoke.
‘It would be nice to have an ally, should things spiral,’ she said drily.
