“I can’t wait for this game,” I said with real excitement. “Training is amazing, so I imagine this is going to be even better.”
Mattie shook her head before opening the door so we could leave. “You have no idea, new girl. Prepare yourself and grab a change of underwear. This is national level soccer, and it’s enough to get you pregnant.”
“Yep. I might need that change of underwear,” I muttered, and Mattie snorted out laughter until she was holding her stomach.
“Girl, you’ve got it bad. I’m so glad you wandered into our lives.”
Yep, that was me. The old wandering Princess Ballot winner. But despite the angst, I wouldn’t change a thing.
The stadium was packed when we got in there, our side filled with a wash of maroon and white, everyone themed to the max to support the Arbon Royals. “I really should have some Royal-maroon,” I said, looking down at my mostly black outfit.
Mattie reached into her bag and yanked out an Arbon Royals ball cap. “I got your back, girl. Drop this on that gorgeous head of yours, and let’s go watch our men.”
I wasn’t sure which men she was talking about; but I had somewhat claimed them all, so it was all good.
Our seats, it turned out, were phenomenal. Right near the field, we had the perfect view of the crisp green grass, white nets, and the newly painted white lines that didn’t have a single imperfection, from what I could see.
“How long does a game go for?”
While I’d been physically present for loads of practices over the last few weeks, I hadn’t paid a huge amount of attention to the rules. I’d mostly studied and daydreamed about my sexy golden boyfriend.
“Ninety minutes,” Mattie said, all but bouncing in her seat. She’d pulled out another cap, an almost exact match to mine, but the two colors were inverted on the pattern. “Two forty-five minute halves.”
“And the guys play the entire time?” My god, they must be so fit. That explained all the fucking abs.
“Depends,” Mattie said, turning toward me. “Most of them will sub on and off at different times, but Rafe is rarely taken out. Same with Alex. They’re the best two on the field. Don’t tell Nolan I said that.”
I snorted. “Poor Noles. He hates not being number one.”
“He’s four, behind Jordan,” Mattie added with a shrug.
More people poured in through the opening. The opposing team had a strong turn out as well, their forest-green uniform mimicked by their spectators. All around me chicks were dressed in soccer shirts, most of them with Rafe’s name and the number twenty-two on the back. There were a few Alex shirts as well with fifteen, his number, on the back, but by far the most common was Rafe.
“Does everyone here love the Swiss prince?” I complained. “I mean, his personality is horrendous. What do they see in him?”
Mattie cleared her throat, and I turned from the crowd to her. “What?”
“He’s generally pretty nice. Aloof, of course, but they expect that from the most powerful heir in the world. You’re the only one getting that treatment.”
Throwing my hands up, I wanted to scream. “Why? It seriously can’t just be about Alex. It’s stupid.”
Screams went up in the crowd then, drowning out her reply, so she just patted me on the arm and we both turned to the field to see the players emerging from their dressing rooms.
The energy of the stadium and the tens of thousands crowded in here ripped through me, and I found myself edging forward on the seat. The Arbon Royals had two coaches, as did their opponents, plus a bunch of assistants, water people, line refs, and another ref in all white at the center of the field.
“I’m so fucking excited,” I murmured, still literally on the edge of my seat.
Once the coaches finished with their pep talk, eleven of the players headed out into the field and lined up in a single row.
Familiar music started, and everyone in the stands stood for the Swiss royal anthem. My gaze locked on Rafe, and it hit me then that the guy I’d been having a stand up fight with this morning was going to be a king. He mouthed the words to his country's song, the song of his people, and everyone in the stadium joined in, voices rising high with pride. Something unfamiliar tickled my throat, and I wondered why I felt so emotional.
Alex was going to be a king too, but the Swiss rulers … they were at the very top. Rafe looked like a fucking king already, so strong and tall.
Fuck. I was in trouble.
Thankfully, when it was over, I got my emotions back under control, focusing instead on the field as the players moved into their positions.
“Jordan is the goalie?” I asked.
