Kinsley and Becca were still at their evening practice, and if I had my timing right, they were probably in the middle of watching footage for their game against Canada. I’d been excused from the practice so I could attend my physical therapy session, but also because Coach Decker didn’t want to see me. I’d already sent her three emails and left two voicemails. She knew how I felt about the situation. She could get her way with the semifinal—I wasn’t prepared; I couldn’t play—but I’d be damned if I was missing that final. I’d be at every practice and I’d go to therapy twice a day. I’d play through a compound fracture with my bones sticking out if I had to.
I pulled out a prepared meal from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Though I wasn’t really looking forward to a heaping plate of chicken and vegetables, I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to play in that final game, everything had to stay the same. I had to keep up my workouts and diet. Sure, I’d nearly chugged a bottle of vodka the day before, but sometimes vodka counts as medicine.
The microwave dinged and I pulled out my meal just as a soft knock sounded at the front door.
“One sec!” I yelled as I set the plate on the counter. Ouch. The plate had been scalding and I’d nearly burned off my hand pulling it out without an oven mitt. I ran my fingers under cold water and shouted over my shoulder. “Just a minute!”
Whoever it was, it wasn’t Kinsley or Becca. They’d have been shouting at me to hurry up already. I peered through the peephole and spied a heap of honey-brown hair just before a soft British voice spoke up.
“Hello? I know you’re in there, I have a keen sense of smell for asparagus.”
I yanked the door open and stood back to find Freddie’s sister standing on the other side, wearing a friendly smile.
“Georgia?”
She shook her head. “Jor-jee, not Jor-juh.” She stepped past me and plopped her purse on the kitchen counter like she’d done it a thousand times before. “Well, I mean, Georgia is my real name, but I despise it, so please, call me Georgie. And may I call you Andie?”
I nodded, still standing with the door in my hand.
“Cute onesie,” she said with no hint of sarcasm. She was already moving around the condo, taking in the space and flipping through a stack of papers on the table. Her cool brown eyes met mine and I was momentarily silenced. She looked so much like her brother, but smaller and—obviously—feminine.
“Well, Andie, I’ve been dying to meet you, of course.”
She grinned and stepped close so she could wrap me in a tight hug. I stood frozen, confused by her obvious approval. Wasn’t she friends with Princess Caroline? “You’re just as gorgeous as I imagined,” she said before stepping back and holding me at arm’s length. “The photo I saw online had you with long hair. Have you gone and chopped it?” She reached up to feel one of the uneven strands. It was still damp from the shower, so hopefully she couldn’t tell how terrible it looked.
When I didn’t answer right away, her smile fell. “Oh no, I’m scaring you already, aren’t I?” She spun around and went back to rifling through the condo. “Or not…if my mangy brother hasn’t frightened you away, I couldn’t possibly deter you. Although why are you even hanging with him? In just a few hours, I’ve spied dozens of better-looking blokes roaming about. Have you seen that Argentinian basketball player, the one with a bum like—”
“Why are you here?” I asked, interrupting her.
She didn’t seem to mind. She turned back and glanced at me over her shoulder. She truly was gorgeous, all big brown eyes and pink cheeks. “Because Caroline is a naff cow, of course.”
I smiled, appreciating the sentiment even though I had no clue what it actually meant.
“I take it you two aren’t friends?”
Georgie leveled me with a serious gaze. “Caroline Montague has the brain of a dim weasel and the personality of a dead mouse.”
I burst out laughing and Georgie smiled. “Was that a bit harsh?” She shrugged. “Ah, well, sometimes the truth hurts. Now, go put some shoes on because I need a tour guide to take me around the village so I can find a handsome athlete of my own.”
I frowned. “What? I can’t…”
My gaze drifted to the chicken growing cold over on the counter.
She eyed it like it was last year’s fruitcake. “Right. That. How about we get a real dinner too while we’re out?”
I could have said no. I could have sat down at my kitchen table and ate chewy chicken by myself, moping around until Kinsley and Becca finally got home, but I was too intrigued. “Okay, just let me change out of this onesie really quick.”
She frowned. “But then you’re just as boring as everyone else.”
I spent the next hour leading Georgie around our complex. I showed her the gym, the computer room, and the food court, all the while wondering how a person like Georgie Archibald actually existed. She was outspoken, beautiful, and slightly insane. When we poked our heads into the gym, she clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “Keep up the good work, ol’ chaps!” Every head turned in her direction, but she’d already turned and walked away, leaving me with the awkward task of waving before ducking out after her.
“You’re a brilliant guide, I promise, but so far, you’ve shown me every boring destination on Mt. Olympus. Where are the sex rooms?” She turned to me with wide eyes before rapping her foot on the solid ground. “Is there a dungeon?”
I shot her a skeptical glare. “If there is such a place, I haven’t found it.”
She pouted. “Well poo. Maybe we’ll have to make one then.”
“Were you and Freddie raised in the same house?” I asked with a half smile.
She nodded. “Yes, up until he went off to swim camps and all that. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “You’re just much spunkier than him.”
Spunky was the only word I could think of that wouldn’t offend her.
She nodded. “I haven’t a clue what ‘spunky’ means, but I accept your crude American compliment.”
She poked her nose into a room we were passing. A sign on the door read No Trespassing, but she didn’t seem to care.
I smiled.
She hummed and scanned over me again. “You know, you’re not Freddie’s usual type.” She waved her hand in front of my face. “He usually fancies girls a bit more…”
I waited for her to fill in the end of her sentence.
“Posh.”
“Posh?”
She glanced over. “Girls like Caroline.”
My heart sank. “Right, well, I’m definitely not Caroline.”
“Thank god,” she rasped, stringing her arm around mine. “I know it must have been a shock to have us arrive yesterday. We weren’t due for another week, but Caroline insisted on coming early. I wasn’t going to let her come alone and muck everything up, so here I am.”
I nodded. “Well, thanks for coming.”
“Has Freddie filled you in on the dreadful situation?”
I glanced away, ashamed to admit that I hadn’t spoken to Freddie since Georgie’s arrival. “Um, a little bit, I guess. I know the betrothal wasn’t his doing and that he wanted to break it off, I’m just not sure what he’s telling Caroline. For all I know, he could be feeding her the same bullshit in reverse.”
“Bull-shit,” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue for what seemed like the first time. “That’s a fabulous word.” She nodded before glancing back at me. “Oh, yes, I understand where you’re coming from, but I assure you that Freddie isn’t some kind of womanizing playboy. He’s been truly moaning on about you since he arrived in Rio. It’s been quite nice to hear him fancy someone, but the whole Caroline situation does ruin it a bit. He’s taking her to dinner right now actually to—”
I stopped walking. “He’s taking her to dinner?”
Georgie frowned once she glanced back and saw my face. “No, no. Not as a date! He’s taking her out so that they can have the conversation. Y’know, the whole ‘betrothal over
, piss off, I don’t like you, yada yada yada.’ It’s all very mature of him, really.”
I took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. So you think she’ll just go away?” I snapped my fingers. “Like that?”
Georgie smiled. “See, that’s the brilliant part. Caroline Montague is as dim as a box of bricks. I’ll bet by tomorrow morning she’ll be back on a plane to London sipping a mimosa and reading He’s Just Not That into You: Duchess Edition.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Freddie
I ADJUSTED MY shirt. The thing was starched and stuffy—something I wore during interviews and ripped off the minute I got home. Caroline had come to my flat prior to dinner wearing a fancy dress and heels. When she’d seen my jeans and t-shirt, she’d laughed and told me she’d wait for me to change. Now, I regretted the slacks and button-down. It was too formal; the whole night was, really. The restaurant Caroline had picked was too fancy and quiet. The waiters fluttered around with champagne and wine glasses. Heavy chandeliers hung from the ceiling and there was a harpist in the corner, plucking away at a song that sounded like it belonged in a funeral dirge.
“Isn’t this place divine, Frederick?” Caroline asked, reaching her hand up onto the table for mine.
I nearly yanked it away, but I didn’t want to embarrass her. I left it there for a second or two and then pretended to cough so I could pull it away and cover my mouth.
“I didn’t think places like this even existed in Rio.” At least not the part I’d seen. We’d driven by flip-flop stands and beach shops on the way in, nothing nearly this fancy. It almost seemed like a place like this didn’t belong in the easy party atmosphere in Rio.
Caroline batted her manicured hand like I was crazy. “These places exist everywhere, you just have to know where to look.”
I nodded and fought the urge to tug at the collar of my shirt.
“Actually, Caroline, I’m glad we have a quiet moment. I’ve been discussing things with my mother—”
“Are you ready to order?”
I glanced up to see a waiter hovering over us, dressed in black with a protruding belly and an oily mustache. He didn’t even notice that he’d cut me off.
“I think—”
Caroline nodded, anxiously. “Yes, I’m starved.” I studied her as she rattled off a few appetizers and entrees for us. She looked to me for approval, and I just shrugged and let her order; it was easier that way. She’d really done herself up for the dinner. Her long wheat-blonde hair was curled in loose waves and she’d coated her lips in enough red stain to last ten years. Her eyes were dark and heavy. I couldn’t imagine keeping mine open with all the stuff she had smudged on them.
Andie wore makeup to events, but most of the time when I saw her, she’d just come from practice. She was light, fresh, freckly, and tan. She was a breath of fresh air and I would have traded all the money in the world to have her sitting across from me at that fancy restaurant. She’d make fun of the place, swearing she didn’t need a different fork for each bite. We’d pretend to like our overpriced salmon, and then we’d sneak out for a burger afterward.
I wanted that so badly, which is why I needed to be honest with Caroline.
“Listen, Caroline…”
She took a long sip from her water and leveled her gaze on me. The conversation wouldn’t be easy, and the longer I stalled, the worse it would become.
“I’ve spoken with my mother about breaking off our betrothal.”
“You’ve spoken with your mother?”
Why had I said it like that?
“I’d like to break off our betrothal,” I repeated, a bit more determined.
She swallowed and set down her glass, eyeing its placement on the table.
“You’re serious?” she asked, finally meeting my eye.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Is there someone else you’re interested in?”
Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of something behind her eyes. Jealousy? Annoyance? Caroline and I had known each other our whole lives, but I wouldn’t have called her a friend. Her family knew mine, and we were occasionally invited to the same events. I’d seen her around every now and then after it’d been announced that she and Henry would marry, but after his death, she’d nearly fallen off the face of the earth as far as I was concerned. Then, my mother had brought her up casually one day. “Have you heard from Caroline lately?” I’d ignored her interest then, but she hadn’t let that deter her. My mother continued to bring Caroline up for months before she finally came out and said it during breakfast one day.
“I think you should marry Caroline Montague.”
I nearly choked on my piece of bacon. “What do you mean, marry her?”
“She was intended for Henry for a reason…she’s a wonderful match. Anyone would be lucky to have her.”
I shook my head. “So then, let anyone have her. I’m not going to agree to an arranged marriage.”
She halted then, but didn’t retreat. “Right.”
But that wasn’t the last I heard about it. For months, she brought up the idea. I’d push her away and change the subject, but she kept on prodding. She’d drop hints about familial responsibility.
“Whether you like it or not, you are a duke, and one day, running this family’s affairs will be your fulltime job.”
I’d never wanted that part of my legacy. I was happy to sit back and let Henry take the reins, but after his untimely death, the decision wasn’t mine to make anymore.
Georgie had been the one shouting at Mum after she went behind my back and discussed the betrothal with Caroline and her family. She couldn’t believe how unfair it all was. Me? I’d sat quietly in the corner, trying to find the path of least resistance. I’d had a few weeks until I was supposed to leave for Rio and I couldn’t concentrate on betrothals or weddings when I had my records to beat. I’d shoved the announcement to the side and walked out of the room, intent on focusing on swimming until after the Olympics were over.
It’d been a good plan up until I ran into Caroline at a friend’s flat two days later. I was piss drunk, annoyed at my mum, and stressed about the future. The tequila wasn’t sitting well with me and then I’d glanced up and spotted Caroline having a laugh with one of her friends across the room. Caroline. My betrothed. How odd that she was there and she hadn’t even come to say hi to me, her future husband.
The details after that were fuzzy, but I remembered standing and walking toward her with the idea of chatting. She was pretty in a done-up way, and she was always extremely nice. I had a fleeting moment where I thought, why not? Why not Caroline? A man could do much worse for himself. She’d laughed at my drunken state, not the least bit perturbed. She’d helped me get a glass of water and directed me to a couch in the corner.
That night was the last time I’d had communication with her up until she’d stepped out of the limo in Rio. My mother had been the driving force behind our relationship from the start, and it was time I assessed the situation with my own eyes. Caroline was pretty and kind and wonderful, but I didn’t want her, and I wouldn’t marry her out of some misplaced ideal of familial duty.
“You know, I’m not surprised,” Caroline said from across the table.
I shook my head clear and glanced up to see her soft smile.
“Honestly, Frederick. We hardly know each other.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t expected that this would come soon enough. We’re still young and we’ve got all the time in the world to fall in love. I’d gone along with the betrothal because my parents had pressured me into it—”
I laughed. “Seems our parents are very similar.”
She smiled. “But if you’d like to break it off, I completely respect your decision.”
I inhaled a deep breath, shocked at how well she was handling it all.
Her smile fell suddenly. “Oh dear. I am expected at that media dinner tomorrow night though…”
Right.
“I could still attend it, I suppose…if it will make it easier on you. That way you can delay the news of the broken betrothal until after you’ve finished competing.”
She had a point. Was it so wrong to want my successes highlighted in the news more than my failures? Once the media got wind that I was breaking off our betrothal, there’d be no stopping them. I knew that better than anyone.
“So you’ll go to the media dinner.”
She nodded. “Right. There’s no sense in hopping on a flight right back home after I’ve just arrived. I’d like to stay and enjoy the games with Georgie. There are so many people in the city. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet the true love of my life while I’m here!”
She laughed at her joke, but I stared down at the table and thought of Andie.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andie
I REALLY WANTED to text Freddie. I wanted to tell him I’d met Georgie and she’d filled me in on his plan for ending things with Caroline. I wanted to tell him I’d be at the media dinner and I hoped he’d be there too. It’d been one day since he’d banged on my door, trying hard to get me to listen to him. I’d gone through two PT sessions, glancing up every time an athlete walked through the doors, only to bury the disappointment when it wasn’t him. I desperately wanted to reach out, but it wasn’t right. As long as he was with Caroline, I needed to keep my distance. Georgie insisted Freddie was trying to make it right and his text had said as much. I had to wait. He needed to come to me when he’d sorted everything out.
So, I deleted an unsent text message and shoved my phone back into my clutch. Kinsley was across the room, applying makeup. She’d asked me a few days ago if I’d be willing to go to the media dinner. We’d all been invited, but Becca had zero interest in putting on a cocktail dress and Liam said he’d had enough of reporters to last him a lifetime.