Ruby
Ihate Miles Burlington. Definitely.
If I could hate him more, I would.
It’s been like this for four hours, switching between three different ponies.
I’m at the point where my name’s been yelled at me so much it’s barely a word.
Just a noise, a jumble of letters. I’m ready to turn myself in to immigration with my hands held out.
They can take me. They won’t yell at me like Miles Burlington.
But I do as he asks even though every muscle in my body screams for a reprieve. I do it while fantasizing about how I can murder him right here on the polo field. A short, sharp whack with my mallet to his overly large, egotistical head should do it nicely.
“Drop your grip on the mallet, and you’ll be able to make contact.”
Again, I repeat the movement, while smiling sweetly. He doesn’t even know he’s schooling me on the best way to kill him.
“Elbows out.”
My molars crunch as I grit my teeth.
“Good, now do it again.”
Lemondrop’s waiting for the instruction to move, and the moment I squeeze my thighs, she shifts into gear, galloping toward the balls all neatly lined up for me to hit into the goal. Pain sings through my body, starting at my toes, hitting parts of me I didn’t even know existed.
Thighs, shoulders, back, elbows.
It all hurts.
But I follow his instruction to the letter, and I hit every ball smack in the middle. Each one soars cleanly through the goalposts.
I don’t know what I hate more—that he was right or the smug grin spreading across his face as he gallops over to me on his stunning chestnut, Clover.
He grinds to a halt inches from where I’m struggling to catch my breath.
Lemondrop doesn’t even flinch. She just drops her head to munch on the grass.
“Well done. See what happens when you listen to what I say?”
I’m this close to swinging my mallet into his stupid, smug—technically correct—face.
“I have been listening,” I say, wiping the sweat dripping down my face.
“Debatable—”
“I have.”
He stares at me, one dark brow raised to the point it almost disappears under his helmet.
“You know, this isn't very husbandly behavior.”
In a second, his entire face morphs from borderline annoyance until I can see him holding back a smirk.
“You’re right, it isn't, Ruby, darling. Now, if you’d like to go again, my beautiful wife, and keep your perfect arse shifted back in the saddle, and your grip lowered on the mallet, we can check it wasn’t a fluke. Is that better?”
I giddy Lemondrop on, turning her before Miles sees my lips quivering in amusement, and the tint warming my cheeks at the idea he’s been checking me out.
“Much,” I call behind me.
“Good, then get into position.” And we’re back to yelling. Before he adds, “Please, darling.”
Once again, I do as ordered.
As much as I hate every moment of my life right now, I also have never felt so exhilarated.
I must have been riding around with my eyes closed to think I had any idea of how to play polo properly.
I've never been on ponies of this caliber, and I’m ashamed to admit I realize why I’ve never been given a proper lesson before.
I always thought I was halfway to being a good player, but Miles is world-class. Therefore, if it takes every cell in my body to scream in protest, to get within touching distance of being as good as him, then so be it.
“One more round. This time, I want you to bump me.”
“What?”
“Ride Lemondrop straight toward me. She knows what to do. I want to see you bump.”
Fuck. I’ve spent plenty of time on the wooden horse, perfecting my swing. I’ve hit ball after ball, and I’ve practiced my spins with Maverick. But I have never bumped.
“Ruby, are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll drop her shoulder, so you need to keep your weight steady.”
Double fuck.
Miles doesn’t wait for me to respond. He gallops up the field and spins Clover without slowing, positioning her at forty-five degrees.
And now I have a nine-goal player charging toward me on a world-class polo pony with the ferocity of a jousting knight.
I squeeze Lemondrop, and she accelerates from standing to a gallop in less than three seconds.
It’s no wonder Miles thought Maverick was fat-looking compared to his ponies. They’re athletes honed to perfection.
Just bump, I tell myself. Bump. You’ve seen it happen thousands of times in matches.
Lemondrop gets nearer. She seemed much smaller five minutes ago when she was standing patiently next to me. Now she’s enormous.
“Shift back in the fucking saddle, Ruby, or you’re gonna—”
Just as Miles said, Lemondrop would know what to do.
She dropped her shoulder, and we bumped Clover.
We bumped so hard, I bumped myself off. I fall in slow motion.
Miraculously, my feet slide from the stirrups as I tumble to the ground, landing on the grass.
My head flops back, and I lie there, wind knocked out of me.
Maybe if I stay long enough, the grass will grow around me, and I'll be able to have a bit of rest.
Like the good pony she is, Lemondrop stops immediately, trots back to stand over me, and sticks her soft face in mine to check I’m okay.
Miles isn’t quite so courteous.
“Well, that's one way of ending a lesson, I suppose.”
My eyes open to find him staring down at me, Clover once again looking bored. I wish the first thing popping into my head wasn’t that his eyes are the same color as the sky today.
Dismounting, he holds his hand out to me. I smack it away because I might be on my ass, but I can certainly get up by myself.
“Let’s call it for today,” he offers. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“I had enough fifteen minutes in,” I grumble, trying my best not to let him see me wince.
I already know my body is black and blue.
“You'd better get used to it, Buttercup. The season begins proper in two weeks.”
“Buttercup?”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re right. You’re too much trouble to be a Buttercup, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something.”
I’m too tired to argue, so my effort is weak. “I have a name.”
“C’mon, let’s go and hose the ponies down. Maverick and Calamity should be arriving soon,” he says, totally ignoring me.
I perk up at the idea I’ll see my horse soon. It’s only been two days, but I’ve missed him. He’s the one reminder that what I’m doing isn’t completely nuts. That I’m realizing my dream of becoming a professional polo player.
Gathering up Lemondrop’s reins, Miles and I walk slowly out of the field and down the path to the stable yard.
And we do so in silence. Me, because I’m too tired and too sore to think of anything to say, but that’s not Miles’s excuse.
He looks like a million thoughts are going around his head, his brow pensive under his sweat-soaked curls.
I don’t ask what he’s thinking. It’s none of my business. Plus, it’ll probably be much easier to get through this summer without us knowing every sordid detail. It’s enough that we’re living together, and I’m intimate with aspects of his life I shouldn’t be.
Entering the yard, I’m surprised how calm it is.
Four hours ago, when I first arrived, it was a bustle of activity. Feeding time at the zoo. Miles arrived minutes later and promptly whisked us off to the first polo field, where two grooms and two ponies—Owl and Chester—were waiting.
But now that we’re done, I’m hoping I’ll get a tour because, on first glimpse, it’s obvious that he’s running a seriously impressive operation.
In fact, I’ve never seen anything like it.
Even in the polo world, where sustaining a team year in and year out is virtually impossible on less than a net worth of one hundred million dollars, it’s still above and beyond.
As much as I’m still tempted to smack him over the head with a mallet, I can’t stop myself from complimenting him. “You have an amazing place here.”
“Ruby,” he gasps, hand clasped to his chest, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
My cheeks flush even more than they already are, and a laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Shut up.”
“What? It is.”
I roll my eyes and toss out a “whatever,” because it’s the easiest response when I’m wishing he wasn’t grinning at me quite so widely and being so damn personable. It makes it all the harder not to like him.
“Would you like a tour?”
I nod without bothering to hide my excitement. “Yes, please.”
“One second.” He waves over a couple of grooms hosing down feed buckets. “Charlie—”
The shorter of the two hurries as quickly as he can without running, his eyes flickering to me before focusing on Miles. Up close, I notice the navy shirt he’s wearing—the one I’ve seen all the grooms in—has the same Foxleigh Park logo as the cap I’ve seen Miles wearing.
“Yes, my lord? What can I help you with?”
I stare at Charlie, and his weirdly formal politeness. It doesn’t even seem forced.
“Can you and Will hose the ponies down, please, then take them to their stalls?”
“Yes, sir. No problem.” He nods, holding his hands out for the reins, and I pass them over.
Hosing the ponies is normally my job as a groom. My brain’s going to need time to recalibrate that someone else will be doing it from now on.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, that’s all, thank you. I’m going to show my wife around the yard before the new ponies arrive. Are their stalls ready?”
Once again, Charlie nods, but he doesn’t indicate that he heard Miles's reference to me. Except he clearly did when he replies, “Yes, sir, we finished this morning.”
“Good, I’ll be here when they arrive, then I want them in the therapy suites.”
I’m barely listening to a word he’s saying, because my head’s still back on the part of the sentence where Miles called me his wife, and Charlie here didn’t bat an eyelid. If he feels any hint of surprise at Miles’s announcement, then he’s a much better actor than I am a polo player.
“Certainly, sir.”
“Good, thank you.” Miles smiles at him, then turns to me. His smile morphs into more of a knowing smirk. “Darling, a tour? By the time we’re done, Maverick and Calamity will have arrived.”
“Lead the way.”