I don’t do jealousy. I definitely don’t do jealouswomen, but if it comes in Ruby form, I’ll take it all day, every day.
I stop us walking, taking Ruby’s hand in mine. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
She shrugs, but I can still see she’s pissed off. “It’s fine. I guess you’ll go back to them when we’re done.”
I open my mouth, but literally nothing comes out. I don’thavean answer, because suddenly the idea of going back to thelife I used to live has absolutely no appeal whatsoever. Huh, maybe this is growing up.
I’m still ruminating when I hear our names being called, and we turn to find Hendricks and Story waving us over from the safety boards.
“Milo . . . Ruby . . . over here.”
“This is as good a spot as any,” I say, hugging my brother, followed by Story, which is proof in itself how much I’ve changed.
Six months ago, I’d have barely acknowledged her.Huh, maybe I really am ready for a long-term relationship.
“As long as the ball doesn’t fly out and knock someone unconscious,” Ruby replies.
“Can’t see that happening from a bunch of six-year-olds.”
“I dunno.” Hendricks grins. “Max has been practicing his swing all week. Broke a window in the great hall on Wednesday.”
I fight back a laugh. “How’d that go down with the duke?”
“He’s in London with Holiday. He doesn’t know, and we’re going to keep it that way?—”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
When the crowd erupts into cheers, we all turn back to the field to see eight tiny Shetland ponies trot on, their riders dressed as superheroes. Max as Spider-Man is leading.
“Oh my God, they’re so cute,” squeals Ruby loud enough and close enough that my ears ring.
It takes ten minutes for the umpires to line them up for the start of the match, largely because the parents are so distracting—waving to their child, taking photos—until the umpires finally have them all in a line.
The whistle is blown and the ball drops.
Immediately, Max shoots forward, leans out of the saddle, swings. ..and completely misses. His pony, a fat little Shetlandnamed Clyde, promptly plants himself over the ball and refuses to move.
“Well,” Ruby mutters, “that’s one way of defending it.”
We all watch in amusement while Max desperately tries to convince Clyde to budge, to no avail. It’s not until the umpire trots over and physically moves him aside that the game continues.
Unfortunately for Max, one of the girls on the opposing team swoops in and steals the ball.
Clyde, deeply offended by this development, suddenly bolts so fast that Max nearly falls off, clinging on for dear life as Clyde’s short little legs chase them. By the end of the first chukka, nobody has scored, and Hendricks is practically doubled over laughing, along with the rest of us.
Watching Ruby wheezing as tears pour down her face is almost better than the match itself. Her laugh is deeper than I would have expected from her, and so genuine, quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever heard.
“This is awesome,” she puffs between laughs. “Go, Max!”
Max immediately stops riding to wave enthusiastically at her. “Hi, Ruby.” He then promptly loses the ball again, by which point Hendricks nearly collapses from snorting so hard.
The second chukka is shorter, and after one failed attempt from the opposing team, Max gets switched onto a new pony—Sunshine—and Clyde is banished back to the stables.
This time, when Max swings, he actually connects with the ball.
It rolls toward the goal, bouncing awkwardly before clipping the post, at which point Sunshine spins around and kicks it hard enough that it trickles in.
The crowd—mostly proud parents—explodes into cheers.
