Page 57 of Polo Fever
‘You didn’t come to the Queen’s Cup party,’ he says quietly.
‘There was too much to do. I had to help with the ponies.’
‘Is that really the reason?’
I swallow, my heart beating faster. My lips part to say something, but no words come out. He already knows the real reason for me avoiding the party; he wants me to say it.
I can’t. I can’t say out loud that I am trying to protect myself from him and what he does to me. How I instinctively brighten at the sight of him. How I’m always looking for him at the stables, always that bit distracted while I do my job by hoping he’s going to appear somewhere. How I feel woozy and unsteady when he comes too close and I breathe in the smell of the cologne on his skin. How when I know that I’m the cause of a certain smile, the one that lights up his eyes and forms deep crinkles around the corners of his mouth, a tingling feeling starts all the way down in my toes and makes its way up through my body at alarming speed, accelerating my heart rate and stealing my breath.
I know all too well how this will end if I let it begin.
Before I can think of a good enough excuse that neither of us will believe, we’re interrupted by a steward who has come to let us know that we’re starting our descent. Mateothanks her and rises to his feet, sliding into the aisle. He hesitates.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he says eventually before returning to his seat.
I go back to looking out my window at the city below, my heart aching for something I know I can’t have, Basilio’s warning ringing in my ears.
He sets his sights on his quarry and he won’t be satisfied until he’s got it. Then he disregards it once it’s served its purpose.
*
I don’t think I’m imagining it. Every time Mateo scores a goal in this tournament, he looks for me. I know that sounds absurd, but he comes cantering towards the pony lines after each one, his eyes darting across the sea of Maycourt shirts and slowing until he finds me. And when I look up, our gaze locks and he grins while I applaud him.
I noticed this pattern in the first match of the tournament but now it’s the middle of the semi-finals and I don’t think I can get away with brushing it off as coincidence anymore. He’s actively seeking me out when he scores a point to see if I, what, approve? To see if I’mimpressed? I honestly don’t know what’s going on, but it’s strange and adorable and making my determination to stop falling for this guy wobble and crack.
We’re up fourteen-thirteen in the final chukka when Mateo is awarded a sixty-yard penalty. You can practically hear the groans from his opponents as he calmly measures it up before swinging his mallet and sending a stinger of a ball zipping through the air and over the middle of the goal posts,the flags going up to an eruption of applause. Moments later, the match ends and we’re through to the final.
As the team celebrate by swarming in droves onto the pitch, I look for Mateo amongst the crowd, my cheeks flushed with excitement. Suddenly, I spot him and our eyes meet across the field, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. I beam at him, my heart soaring. He holds my gaze until one of the grooms jumps at him, throwing his arms around Mateo and making him stumble backwards in surprise. Laughing, Mateo claps him on the back and, free from his gaze, my brain clears and I’m able to get back to work.
*
We have the next day off before the tournament final. Like all the grooms, I’ve been up bright and early, feeding, exercising and mucking out the ponies, but have been granted the rest of the day to enjoy the city. Back at the hotel, I shower and put on a pretty summer mini dress, excited to explore. When I came here with Ren, we zipped over on the Eurostar and I spent every waking moment scurrying around after him, stressed about whatever appointment or show we had next, barely noticing our surroundings, before we returned home. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t been to Paris, and I cannot wait to spend the day seeing the sights and eating as much delicious food as possible. I don’t care that I’m on my own. This isParis.
Grabbing my bag, I leave my room and practically skip down the stairs, before crossing the lobby. With a polite smile to the receptionist, I notice the guy sitting on the bench to the side and then double take, coming to an abrupt halt in front of him.
With a bashful smile, Mateo rises to his feet.
‘What are you doing here?’ I blurt out, too surprised to remember basic manners.
‘You said last night that you were exploring the city today,’ he says, sticking his hands in his pockets sheepishly. ‘I wondered if I could join you.’
I stare at him. ‘I thought… aren’t you all invited to that swanky rooftop pool party today? Fitz was talking about it. He said it’s the hottest invitation in town.’
‘I’ve heard. But I thought your plan sounded more fun.’
All the breath in my body is knocked out by the way he’s searching my gaze, his expression apprehensive but hopeful. God, it’sunbearablehow cute he can be sometimes.
‘You thought my plan of going full-on tourist for one day in Paris sounded more fun than spending the day with the rich and famous at a glamorous rooftop pool party with free booze and food?’
‘Yes,’ he says, deadpan.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Haven’t you been to Paris many times before?’ I check, folding my arms.
‘Yes. But I’d like to explore it with you.’
