Page 98 of Polo Fever
‘Is… is Spud part of the deal?’ I ask quietly.
Mateo blinks at me, thrown. ‘What?’
‘If I agree to give us another chance – do I get Spud thrown in as part of the offer?’
His eyes glistening, the corners of his lips twitch into a small, hopeful smile.
‘No,’ he says regretfully. ‘Spud will belong to Maycourt.’
‘So I don’t get a polo pony.’
‘Just a polo player.’
I sigh heavily. ‘I suppose that’s something. Worth considering, anyway.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
I bite my lip. ‘Mateo, I’m not very good at this.’
‘Good at what?’
‘Talking about how I feel. In Paris, you said so many wonderful things. You put it so beautifully how you felt, what you wanted, why we should take that risk together. And now you’re here, striding across the field like a fucking… Jane Austen hero, saying things that make me—’
I pause, wishing my thoughts would slot into order. I give up, my eyes falling to the ground as I run a hand through my hair. He waits patiently while I collect myself.
‘In Paris, you took me on a boat on the Seine and you told me that when I was with you, you felt like you could breathe again. Later, you stood in the rain and you told me that you’d never felt this way about someone before. I didn’t tell you how I felt. You opened up to me and didn’t get anything in return.’
He quirks a brow. ‘That’s notentirelyhow I remember it. I remember getting plenty.’
‘I hope I at least showed you how I felt.’
‘Oh,yes.’
‘The truth is, it was easier for me to protect myself that way. I didn’t want to say anything out loud because once it’s out there, you can’t take it back. I guess I never had the guts to tell you how I felt. Until now. Mateo,’ I exhale shakily, ‘I love you, too.’
He breaks into a smile so big, it reaches his eyes.
I grin back at him, the two of us smiling dopily and silently at each other.
When I don’t say anything else, he hesitates, giving me a look.
‘Wait,’ he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, ‘is that it?’
‘Is what it?’
‘That is all you wanted to say?’
‘That’s a big thing to say.’
‘Yes,’ he says, his shoulders shaking with laughter and relief, ‘and it is more than enough, more than I could hope for. But the way you set it up, I thought there was going to be a big speech about us and your feelings! I said quite a lot of things before I said, “I love you”.’
‘I told you, I’m not very good at this.’
Still chuckling, he cradles my face in his hands. ‘You are perfect at it. It was perfect.’
‘My point is, I think I loved you then. In Paris, I mean. Before Paris.’ I sigh, resting my cheek against his warm palm. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’
His eyes bore into mine. ‘It’s terrifying,’ he mutters.
