“Gavin. Priya.” Harrison nods at us but doesn’t meet our eyes when he passes, and I wonder what caused the change in his demeanor toward us.
I don’t have time to find out since he leads us out to the south lawn, which has been transformed into a polo field for the day. Tents with chairs and refreshments are set up on a raised dais on one side of a rectangular area roped off for the game play.
The horses are warming up, running back and forth on the field, and causing a tiny earthquake every time they pass. From their perches on the horses, the players, dressed in immaculate uniforms, are swinging large mallets at small balls.
Rich people sports are weird.
Gavin disappears to find me a drink and I get comfortable for my last day of peace. I feel a slight twinge of guilt when I remember that I haven’t even spoken to Sonia for a few days, and I haven’t got much work done at all since I started having sex with Gavin.
I knew he’d be terrible for my productivity.
Like sayingBloody Marythree times in a mirror, thoughts of work summons work, and my phone vibrates with a call from Dad.
Gavin is approaching and I make a split-second decision to blow off the real world for one more day. I’ve got more than enough unused vacation days due to me, if nothing else.
I ignore the call from Dad, a first from me. I feel intense guilt until the phone stops ringing, then I only feel a low-level guilt muffled with the thrill of rebellion.
Gavin hands me a mint julep, and my phone vibrates some more. The second time ignoring it is much easier, and I feel only the low-level guilt and the thrill of rebellion.
I turn off the vibration and take a sip of the drink. I nod at Gavin in thanks and settle in to watch the game. Match? Whatever it’s called.
“Someone desperately needs you?” Gavin takes his own seat and points to my phone on the table, whereDadis flashing on my phone. Again.
“He probably misplaced his favorite coffee cup and wants to know where it is.” I turn the phone over so I can’t see the screen.
This is getting easier, once I’ve committed to taking a day off. Maybe I should have started doing this earlier.
Gavin raises his eyebrow. “It seems like there are other people who are closer who could help him with that. Like at the office.”
“Probably. But then he would miss out on an opportunity to make my day harder, and he never does that.” I put the phone in my clutch, even farther out of sight so it doesn’t keep reminding me of my responsibilities on my impromptu day off.
“I have to admit another deep, dark secret,” I whisper as I lean in and motion Gavin closer. I want to get back to where we were this morning, the pleasant peace that was threatened by this phone call.
Gavin leans his head closer to mine. “Yes? Go on.”
“I’ve never been to a polo match,” I admit, then lean back to accept the fallout of my stunning revelation.
“You peasant.” He sounds mock shocked, crinkling his noise like I assume the queen does when she catches a whiff of the unwashed masses she’s waving at from the comfort of her open-air horse-drawn carriage.
“Don’t let Harrison know or he’ll probably have me thrown off the estate,” I say in a British accent, the fanciest of accents.
“Never,” he replies in one as well.
Gavin looks around and moves to the chair on the other side of me. I follow him with my eyes, wondering what he’s up to now. He sits down and angles his chair away from the open front of the tent. I’m about to break down and ask what he’s doing when he slides his hand on top of mine, entwining our fingers.
Clever, sweet man. Now we’re out of sight from anyone outside the tent and we can enjoy a semi-public display of affection.
Just like normal people on a date.
His thumb strokes my knuckles and I sip my mint julep, enjoying the spring day outside. Usually when I plan to have a day out, even just in the city nature of Manhattan parks, I don’t make it further than getting my shoes on before I remember some bit of work I need to do, derailing any attempt at fresh air.
Nate and Cindy come over to our table and sit down. I try to tug my hand away from Gavin but he doesn’t let it go, instead gripping it even tighter.
He’s lucky I like his hand where it is. And that the tablecloth covers it from the newcomers.
“Who are we rooting for today?” I ask the newcomers.
“Harrison owns the team that supplied all the players and horses for today, so I think we’re safe whatever we do,” Nate says.
