Max whoops and throws his mallet triumphantly into the air, only for it to slip from his hand and hit the ground.
“For fuck’s sake, Miles,” Hendricks groans. “I told you not to teach him that move.”
“In my defense”—I grin unapologetically—“I never taught him.”
“He learned by watching you.”
“Still counts as natural talent.”
“Daddy!” Max shouts. “Did you see Sunshine?”
“I did. Good job, buddy. You’re the best team.”
“Totally agree,” I add, though I’m not surprised. He has half my genes and, therefore, my talent.
Not that I say it out loud.
After the children’s polo, we move on to the low-goal match, where Alex will play in five minutes. Except right now, he’s running toward us with a panicked expression and waving a polo jersey.
“Milo, I need you to come and play. Tom’s got food poisoning, and we’re a man down.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Al, while I’m flattered, I can’t play low-goal. I’ll use up your entire handicap budget.”
“It doesn’t count today.”
“It does,” I say, as a much better idea comes to me, and I turn to my left. “Ruby can play, though.”
“What?” Ruby freezes, her eyes wide. I could have predicted this, but I’m also right. Even if she disagrees. “No. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, and this is good practice for you.”
Alex doesn’t bother to wait for her to protest again. “Please, Ruby. Otherwise we have to forfeit, and I bet Lando a grand we’d win.”
“No—”
“You can ride Maverick. He deserves to compete with you on his back.”
Her mouth opens, but Alex gets there first.
“Please, Ruby.”
“Come on, Trouble. Let’s get you changed, and you can decide on the way.” I take the jersey Alex is holding and practically push her toward the stables and Maverick.
She changes in silence, and the entire time, I expect her to bolt. When she comes out, wearing Alex’s jersey that’s three sizes too big, she looks like she’s seconds away from throwing up.
Part of me wants to laugh, and part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t have to play if she’s too nervous, but I also know she’d hate that. For now, I’ll just have to believe in her more than she believes in herself.
“Darling, you can do this. You’ve ridden higher-goal polo in our practice games. Mav’s ready to go for you, so get him out there and fucking win this.”
She stares at me like she didn’t even realize I was there. “You promise you won’t leave?”
“No, of course not. I’ll be watching you. They’ll have to throw me off for cheering too loudly.” I place her helmet on her head, fasten the strap, and drop a kiss on her lips, hoping it might distract her.
Alex is waiting outside, holding Maverick. As if sensing his mistress’s nerves, Maverick stands stock-still instead of fucking about like he’s prone to while she mounts him.
“I’ll be standing by the boards, cheering. Remember, relax your hands, elbows in, stay back in the saddle. Now go and win the match.”
I sprint off, leaving her in Alex’s capable hands to make their way to the rest of their team. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text to everyone I can think of, inviting them to come watch this match.
