My jaw tightens.
Maybe three or four months ago, she would’ve been right.
But not now. Ruby changed that. I love her. No question.
I understand perfectly that when you fall in love with someone so completely, they become your peace in the middle of chaos.
That when you fall in love, you become the least important part of the equation because your day starts and ends with the sole purpose of making them happy. I’ve never been so excited to get out of bed and make someone coffee.
Or end the day running them a bath.
I don’t think I’ve ever run anyone a bath before Ruby.
And in between, I exist to make her laugh.
I love the way her body shakes when she finds something truly funny. And if I’m the one who gave her that, I’m golden.
Outside of Hendricks, I’ve never felt compelled to spend all day and night with the same person, much less enjoyed their company, but Ruby and I could be stranded on a desert island, and I’d never be bored. Where Hendricks used to be the person I turned to for advice, he could never help with anything related to polo. But Ruby can, because she lives it the same way.
And I love helping her. The kick I get out of watching her connect with the ball, or bump or gallop down the boards, is as intense as if it were me.
And when I see her standing on the sidelines, cheering me on, I feel like I could accomplish anything. Like winning.
That’s how I understand what love is like.
But I’m still not having this conversation with Clementine. So I get up and push past her. “Tell your boyfriend to watch his back, Clem,” I say. “Because I’m winning this. No matter what.”
Itake Clover’s reins from Ruby, and before I can stop myself, pull her in for a kiss, melting into the softness of her lips.
The minty taste of her gum mixes with my breath as my tongue brushes against hers.
“Would you two get a room already?” Jack grumbles from somewhere behind me.
I pull back with a grin before going back for a quick smack to her lips. “What? It’s for luck.”
Clover prances beneath me as I swing myself into the saddle, her adrenaline barely contained. She has three more minutes to keep it in before it’s all unleashed in the first chukka.
Three more minutes until I’m face to face with Santiago Torres.
I haven’t seen them yet, but they’re across the pitch three hundred yards away, lining up just like we are.
Over the tannoys, the commentators announce the start of the match, their voices booming across the grounds to the twenty thousand spectators cheering us on. My family is out there, including my sister.
The gates opened at ten o’clock. Champagne has flowed for three hours, and they’re baying for blood. Today has been heavily publicized as the match to end all matches, the reopening of wounds, and the first time Torres and I have met since the last England’s Cup.
I glance down at Ruby, holding my mallet up, staring at me quizzically. “What’s that look for?”
“I just like looking at the face of someone who’s about to win a match.” She grins before kissing Clover on her nose and stepping back.
“Not so fast, wife.” Leaning down, I run my hand behind her nape and tug the necklace—the one she’s been wearing to keep her engagement ring close when she plays—from beneath her shirt, pulling her closer. Lowering my voice so only she (and Clover) can hear, I whisper, “I love you.”
Her eyes widen before her beautiful face softens. My favorite blush spreads across her cheeks, freckles dancing over her nose as her smile widens. “That’s a coincidence, because I love you too.”
And just like that, my nerves vanish.
I know we will be lifting the Cup in one hour.
“Ready, boys?”
