“I could get used to that,” I murmur against her mouth, but don’t add that the thought terrifies me. Instead, I remove my baseball cap and place it on her head.
“What’s that for?”
“Because it suits you,” I reply, honestly. “And I like seeing you wearing my things.”
Holding my hand out, I wait until she takes it, and my fingers brush against her wedding rings. At this point, I don’t know if it’s become like a comfort blanket to check they’re there even though I can see them.
On the way out, Ruby places the comb and ribbons in the equipment room and picks up a tournament card.
“I’ve been studying this.” She waves it at me. “I think we’ll meet the Grasshoppers in the third round.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Yes. Before that, there’s the French team and a few others, but if we both keep winning, we’ll meet them in round three.”
I don’t want her to think I’m taking the piss or being patronizing, so I hold in the smile at how happy this makes me.
“And then?”
“If we win every qualifying match, we’ll face the Mighty Oaks in the final—assuming they also win all theirs?—”
“If they don’t?”
“We’ll probably see the Maximum Effort Devils again.” She nods thoughtfully. “But if we lose a qualifying match but win the rest, then we’d meet the Devils in the quarterfinals. After that, there’s the Hampshire Roses?—”
I stop walking and face her, chuckling at her confusion, at what I’m looking at, and why we’re not walking. But I want to see her. Because fuck me, she’s impressive.
This is whatIdo, and it’s what I pay Angus to do. But I know Billy, Jack, and Juan don’t. They like to focus on one opponent at a time for the big tournaments.
They prefer not to add unnecessary stress to their game. While I’d desire the same, I don’t have that luxury. I like to see all the pieces of the chessboard before I plan a strategy.
“You’ve been studying.”
She shrugs. “I like being prepared for every eventuality.”
“What a coincidence.” I grin, starting us walking again. “Because I like that you like that.”
“Good,” she says and winks at me.Such trouble. Yep, I definitely like this woman.
The polo grounds stretch around us as we leave the stable yard and enter the main thoroughfare.
The sweet scent of summer flowers hits us like a thunderbolt. It’s not subtle or delicate, either, because flowers are everywhere. Overflowing hanging baskets bursting with pink, orange, and red flowers fall from the lampposts, purple wisteria curls around the buildings in thick waves, and cultivated beds mark out the shapes of ponies in white and blue.
It’s bright enough that I’m grateful for my sunglasses.
We make our way down the wide central pathway that joins the grounds. It’s still early, so the groundskeepers are tending to beds, sweeping up fallen petals, and giving the flowers a much-needed watering as polo fans begin to filter through the gates.
I figured it would be quiet enough that we’d go undetected, but it’s not long before we’re stopped for photos and autographs. Much to Ruby’s astonishment, they want hers too.
“This,” she mutters under her breath, “is what being married to a polo player must be like.”
“Fuck that,” I shoot out immediately. “You’rea polo player. This has nothing to do with being married to me and everything to do with how you played yesterday.” I nod to a group of girls around ten years old. “Look at them staring at you.”
Much to my amusement, Ruby checks over her shoulder in case I’m mistaken. I’m not, and when she turns back, she gives them a small wave.
“The polo world’s small,” I continue. “Everyone’s talking about your match yesterday.”
“I don’t want everyone talking about me,” she grumbles, and a pang of guilt twinges inside me.
