Page 56 of Polo Fever
It’s the closest she’s come to calling me a friend.
She’s currently sitting with her mum and Mateo discussing tactics and changes for the Paris Open; Malcolm is fast asleep with his mouth hanging open, while a giddy Fitz has engaged Eric in a hilarious story about his failed attemptsto woo a beautiful Iranian heiress last night, the contents of the champagne flute in his hand sloshing around with each animated gesture. Garfunkel the corgi is curled up, dozing on a seat next to Lady M.
When Garfunkel hopped up the steps of the plane, he knew exactly where he was going and was given a warm and familiar greeting from the stewards. Lady M informed me that, while she doesn’t bring her other dogs, who are mostly rescues and would be too nervous of the noise and various new places involved in international travel, Garfunkel is a frequent flyer.
‘If I could come back as anyone in my next life, I’d come back as that bloody corgi,’ Fitz muttered, waiting for Garfunkel to select his seat before any of us were allowed to sit.
As soon as we step onto the tarmac in France, things will go back to the way they should be: the team will be whisked off to their opulent suites at the Ritz Paris, while I’ll be making my way to a much smaller, much less luxurious hotel where the grooms are staying, one near Polo de Paris, the prestigious club hosting the tournament so we’re close to the ponies. As amazing as I imagine the Ritz Paris to be, I’d prefer to be with the team close to the stables where our ponies are staying.
Putting down my glass, I pick at my thumbnail, distracted.
So distracted, I don’t notice Mateo has risen from his seat and made his way down the plane to sit with me until he slides into one of the seats on the opposite side of my table. He sticks to the aisle, though, rather than sitting directly opposite me at the window, retaining enough distance between us that I can keep my legs safely from knockingagainst his. One touch of his body anywhere near mine and I swear, I would find it hard not to lose myself in that feeling of when he was pressed up against me and consequently launch myself at him.
‘Hello,’ he says with a knowing smile.
My heart races. ‘Hi,’ I reply nervously.
We haven’t spoken about the kiss we shared after winning the Queen’s Cup just two days ago. We haven’t actually spokenat allsince. As bizarre a decision as Sam thought it was when I told her, I opted to go in the lorries taking the ponies home rather than stay for the celebrations of our win. I’d heard that the party after the Queen’s Cup was particularly raucous and it was such an exciting day, I was seriously tempted. But it had also been a tiring week, Paris was looming over us and the kiss with Mateo had shaken me up. It had felt too real and instinctive, like there was nothing else I could do. I’d kissed him like an addict, no control and powerless, clambering for my hit of him I knew that if I went to the party, something was going to happen. I knew I couldn’t trust myself with him.
I’m starting to realise how much I like him.
And I’m scared.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mateo asks, clasping his hands in his lap. ‘I can tell you’re worried about something. You have that face.’
‘What face?’
‘The one you get when you’re worried.’ He rubs a finger in the gap between his eyebrows. ‘The little crinkles you get here.’
My hand instinctively flies up to my face. ‘Do I? That sounds sexy.’
He lowers his hand and gives a shrug. ‘I think so.’
Fuck.The flutters in my stomach feel more intense than ever. It must be partly down to the altitude and not just the way his eyes seem to be simmering with heat.
‘So what’s wrong?’ he repeats as I shift in my seat. ‘Do you not like flying, either?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s stupid. You’ll laugh at me.’
He tilts his head, looking at me expectantly.
‘Fine. I’m worried about the ponies. It’s a long way to travel and I know that you do this all the time and they’ve travelled lots, but I… I feel guilty I’m not with them.’
‘Why would I laugh at that? Any time we travel anywhere, I’m worrying about the ponies, even if it’s just to Guards or Cowdray. In fact,’ his lips twitch into an amused smile, ‘I worry about the ponies whenever I’m not with them, even when they’re in our stables, safe and sound. But Eliza doesn’t spare any expense when it comes to their travel and they are monitored the entire time to make sure they’re happy and comfortable.’
‘Are all polo ponies treated as well as the ones at Maycourt?’ I ask with genuine interest, relief easing the tightness in my chest at his reassurance.
‘Almost always. Polo ponies tend to be very pampered. Patrons aren’t in this sport for the money, because all they do is spend it. There has to be a real love for polo and ponies at the root of it.’
‘Or a real love to win.’
‘That too.’ His eyes twinkle at me. ‘But the love for the ponies comes first. I’ve never personally been on a team or worked in a polo yard where that isn’t the case. And if the patrons don’t love them intensely, then the grooms do.Why else would they do what they do? But you know more about that than me.’
I smile down at my lap.
‘Don’t worry about the ponies, Ash,’ he adds gently. ‘They are fine. I promise.’
When I bring my eyes back up to his, my stomach backflips at the way he’s pinning me with his gaze. For a moment, he looks as helpless as I feel.
