Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Ash
It’s not a pair of socks
Sam
Huh?
Ash
It’s not a pair of socks down there
It’s all real
Sam
Wait
What.
Are you saying what I think you’re saying?
DID YOU SLEEP WITH POLO HOTTIE????
Ash
Many, many times
Sam
IN PARIS????
Ash
And back home
Sam
I am disgustingly happy for you
THIS IS SO EXCITING
I need details
All the details
Damn work!!! I’ll have to call tonight
So are you guys like a thing now?
Ash
I think so
Yes
We’re a thing
Sam
YAY!!
Wow
Fucking Paris
City of lights
Works every time
I adored Chris Courtney. He craved that adoration, not just from me, but from everyone he met and the audiences he played in front of.
I was an added boost for his ego, a fan who panted after him, there when he needed someone to make him feel brilliant.
I was so dazzled by him, I didn’t notice that he wasn’t the least bit dazzled by me.
He promised me glamorous weekends away. He disguised a deceitful affair with thrilling stolen kisses, stashing me away in his flashy apartment where I was distracted by flashy things.
He told me about his ascent to greatness, all of his achievements, the challenges he faced and overcame.
He never asked about my life, my family, my friends, my job or even my likes and dislikes.
He fucked me like I was lucky to be with him.
And that’s how I felt. Lucky to have him.
Strange, isn’t it, how easy it is to lose yourself in a relationship mirage of your own making, to be so enchanted by the idea of it, you choose to ignore the prickly reality. I only wish I’d smashed and shattered the illusion before the world did it for me.
With Mateo, it’s as though my eyes have been opened to what it can be like.
When he sees me, his whole face lights up.
He looks at me like there’s no one else in the room.
He’s made no effort to keep our relationship secret, insisting on coming back to my hotel after the Ritz Paris to help me pack up my stuff so we could travel to the plane together, taking my hand the moment I got out the taxi and leading me towards the steps so that no one in the team could be in any doubt about what had happened.
A hungover Jules gave me a thumbs up while Lady M peered over the top of her sunglasses at us and then proceeded to follow Garfunkel up onto the plane wearing a knowing smile.
‘Took you long enough,’ she muttered when we sat down next to each other.
At Maycourt, he acts so proud to be with me, it makes me shy.
He’s attentive, calm and kind when we’re working together.
When we spend the night together, it tends to be at his place – it’s too weird to bring him back to my brother’s – but one night, when everyone was drinking at The Old Greyhound, it made sense to stay there.
He knew I wasn’t completely at ease in this group of his teammates and friends – although I’d consider myself liked by Malcolm and Eric, the jury’s still out on Fitz and I’m definitely not a welcome addition for Clara and the High Fives.
But even if he wasn’t talking to me, he found a way to let me know he was there, right at my side if I needed him – a hand resting on my thigh, his fingertips brushing along my arm, his knee pressing into mine.
It felt like he wasn’t just showing everyone else that he belonged to me and I belonged to him, but showing me, too.
‘So we have you to blame for Mateo’s late arrival to practice the last few times,’ Fitz said, tipping his wine glass at me. ‘You must be very distracting to have turned Mateo’s head from the game. I didn’t think that was possible.’
‘You’ve never been on time to anything, Fitzy-boy,’ Malcolm said, carefully putting him back in his place.
‘And until Mateo starts playing badly, I don’t think any of us are in position to say anything, do you?
He’s been a bloody bull, recently. With him on our side, the Gold Cup is ours, I know it. ’
‘You’re so cocky, Malcolm,’ Clara teased, flicking her hair behind her shoulder.
‘I have reason to be very cocky, Clara, believe me,’ he responded, licking his lips suggestively while she giggled with Paige.
‘I think we’ll win,’ Mateo said calmly. ‘We have the quickest pony in the tournament.’
I gasped, swivelling to face him. ‘You’re going to use Serafina in the Gold Cup?’
‘Yes,’ he said, smiling at my excitement, ‘I’m willing to take the risk this time.’
Fitz suddenly announced a rumour about a well-known player being done for fraud and embezzlement and all eyes consequently turned to him.
But not mine, and not Mateo’s. I was lost in his gaze as he reached to brush a lock of hair back behind my ear before leaning forwards to kiss me slowly and deeply, the kind of kiss that sends a tingling sensation all the way down to your toes so you have to scrunch them up in your shoes.
Everything and everyone around us faded away.
Which was actually quite embarrassing because it was a loud throat-clearing that broke us apart and I looked up to see the throat being cleared belonged to none other than grumpy Jasper, who had come to take the empties on our table.
‘Sorry,’ Mateo said, picking up a couple of glasses and passing them to him.
He narrowed his eyes at Mateo and swiped the glasses away.
‘I thought he liked me,’ Mateo murmured when Jasper had marched back to the bar. ‘He was a bit hostile then.’
‘Yes, but how many girls have you brought to his pub before?’
He hesitates. ‘I may have brought one or two.’
‘Uh-huh. He’s my brother. He’s going to be protective.’
‘I respect that,’ he said thoughtfully.
In bed that night, when my hand drifted down the ridges of his abs to the waistband of his boxers, he gently moved it away and insisted on nothing more than cuddles.
‘We can’t do that,’ he said on seeing my puzzled expression, before holding me close so I could nuzzle into his neck. ‘We’re in your brother’s house.’
As frustrating as it felt at the time, it was also kind of sweet.
While wary at first, Jasper came round to the idea of Mateo and I dating and, when I saw Noor and Rhys at the pub, they made a joke about the high life of a polo WAG.
‘Hey, I’m not a polo WAG, I’m a polo groom,’ I corrected haughtily.
Despite their affectionate teasing, I assured them I was much happier mucking out and helping in the pony lines than sitting in the stands.
*
After the Argentine Open, the British Open is the most coveted title in the polo world.
That’s what the Cowdray Gold Cup brochure tells me anyway, and on the first morning of the tournament, I can believe it.
There’s an unspoken tension simmering across the fields as grooms prepare the ponies and players prepare their minds.
It’s hard to imagine this level of prestige could be topped anywhere else in the world, especially with the backdrop of Cowdray Ruins, a strikingly grand Tudor mansion once destroyed by a fire, rising behind the manicured lawns and pitches.
The Cowdray estate is vast and the Gold Cup is a long-awaited spectacle of a tournament that comes with a funfair, live music performances, and rows and rows of marquees housing sophisticated, upmarket fashion, equestrian, interior, and jewellery shops, as well as a host of bars, cafés and food trucks for visitors to choose from.
For the spectators, Cowdray is quite the day out, but for the players, it’s serious business.
Mateo finds me in the pony lines brushing Serafina.
‘How is she?’ he asks.
Serafina recognises his voice with a gleeful whinny. Shaking her head, her ears move back and forth to listen out for him as he makes his way around to her front, reaching up to stroke her nose. She nibbles at his shirt playfully.
‘She’s ready,’ I tell him, patting her on the neck. ‘I’m trying not to let my own nerves rub off on her. Lots of deep breaths and mindfulness going on over here.’
He breaks into a smile, scratching her cheeks as she leans into him.
‘What’s the big deal? If she messes up, all that will happen is I’ll never use her again and you’ll be fired.’
‘Mateo!’
‘I’m joking, I’m joking.’ He laughs as I prepare to throw the brush at him. ‘I thought you English love a bit of sarcasm.’
‘We also know that timing is everything. Now is not the right time.’
I put one hand on my hip and I use the back of the other that’s holding the brush to push any hair that’s escaped from its ponytail back from my face. Mateo walks round to me, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him, his arms wrapping round my back.
‘It is going to be fine,’ he assures me.
I peer anxiously up at him. ‘What if she doesn’t do as you say? What if I’ve got it wrong and Maycourt loses because of me pressuring you to add her to your string?’
‘Ash, these are always the risks of polo. Ponies are living, breathing creatures – it’s not like relying on a car or bike; you can’t know how they’re going to be on the pitch or how they’ll react to things that happen.
We train them as best we can and hope they trust us as much as we trust them.
I’ve made the decision to use Serafina for the last chukka because I have judged her on recent training and matches.
She manoeuvres brilliantly, she’s listening to me, she’s fierce in ride-offs, and she’s quick.
I haven’t picked her because she’s my girlfriend’s favourite horse. ’
My heart skitters in my chest.
‘What?’ he asks, confused as he watches my lips part with surprise.
‘You… you called me your girlfriend.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘I hope so.’
‘I hope so, too.’
His smile stretches, crinkles forming around the edge, eyes sparkling. ‘That settles it.’
Leaning towards me, he lets his lips graze softly against mine, hesitating as his eyes notice something over my shoulder.
‘What is it?’ I ask breathlessly, desperate to nip at his bottom lip, which is full and mesmerising and so damn close.
‘One of the official Gold Cup photographers is lurking nearby,’ he murmurs quietly. ‘He’s been taking photos of Fitz and Lady M, but he’s looking this way and… yep, he’s lifting his camera now. The lens is definitely pointed at us.’
‘I don’t fucking care, Mateo,’ I whisper, prompting his eyes to lower back to mine, a heat blazing into them. ‘I want my boyfriend to kiss me.’
A low, frustrated, guttural sound emitting from his throat, he dips his head to kiss me. I smile against his lips, wrapping my hands around his neck and letting the brush drop to the grass with a thud. No secrecy, no shame, no scandal. This is real.