We’re as on display as the boats are. We sit straight-backed in our corsets and watch for hours as the junior club rows by, then the university boys in their uniforms. Gossips surround us, along with the newspaper reporters who scribble away on their little notepads as they study us like a zoo attraction. I find it all a little mind-numbing, and end up playing rock, paper, scissors with Olive to pass the time.
The queen doesn’t deign to come to things like this, but she’s still everywhere: her face on the money passing between hands for bets, in the statue by the water, her profile in the royal seal that marks the side of every boat.
Finally, the clock strikes two and the main event begins. It’s a lively scene now as the party guests crowd around us, and on the opposite bank of the Thames, citizens have gathered for their own festivities. The air is thick with tobacco, river water, coal, and the slightly burnt aroma of spun sugar. Children laugh, perched on their father’s shoulders in their smartest little sailor outfits.
From far off, a gunshot rings out, and then there is the distant cheering of “Hurrah!” from both banks of the river as the boats pass by.
We all look to London Bridge, lit brilliantly by blue sky, and anxiously await their appearance.
“Here they are!” A cry goes through the crowd as the boats comeinto view. Each shell is marked by a flag, and everyone in the crowd cheers for their favorite color. “Let’s go, Pink!” or “Bravo, Yellow!”
But the loudest shouts go up for Blue, the boat clearly in the front of the pack, careering down the Thames.
It passes by us, nearly to the finish line. It’s an eight-seater, and just behind the coxswain, in the starboard seat, pulling as if his life depended on it, is Prince Emmett. Beside him, in the portside seat, working just as hard, is Prince Bram. Unlike the rest of the crew, he’s not sweating or gasping for breath, he’s just got that wide grin on his face, like he’s having the most fun of anyone here.
At the sight of him, we all spring up from the bench and cheer.
The crowd explodes as the Blue team crosses the finish line. Confetti rains down from somewhere, and the band kicks up a cheery tune.
The princes step out onto the shore and brush their hair off their foreheads. Together, they accept the sterling silver cup and hoist it above their heads in triumphant victory.
Viscountess Bolingbroke herds us over to them, and one by one we curtsy and congratulate Bram on his win.
I’m rising from my curtsy when a gust of wind whips up from the river and something sharp flies directly into my eye. I blink against the tears and reach up to wipe it away, but realize I can’t take off my gloves without revealing last night’s injuries.
The boys from the boat are clapping each other on the back, and the other girls are lingering in an attempt to steal time with Bram. I take advantage of the chaos to disappear into the boat storage shed a few yards away from where the celebration is raging.
I yank off my gloves and rub aggressively at my offending eye.I’m not making much progress when a noise behind me makes me jump.
From behind a pile of boats that are stacked all the way to the ceiling, Emmett emerges from the shadows.
“You scared me!” I breathe out.
“I thought you wanted me to follow you.” He’s glossy with sweat, wearing a blue-and-white-striped sweater. He reaches up to push his hair off his forehead, and his sweater rises, revealing a sliver of his toned abdomen.
“No, I was trying to get this clod of dirt out of my eyeball without making a complete fool of myself.”
“Let me see.” Before I have the chance to lurch back, he grasps the edge of my face with one hand, the pads of his fingers gentle on my jawbone. To see better, he tips my head toward the beams of sunlight streaming through the dusty glass ceiling.
“Ahh, there it is,” he whispers. With his other hand he reaches up. “Stop blinking.”
“Hard not to when there’s a hand in my eye.”
“I will physically restrain you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I shoot back.
“You just saw me sail. I’m good with knots.”
“I’ll bite through them. Very strong teeth.”
He swipes a finger along the lower rim of my eye. “Ahh, got it,” he whispers in victory.
Holding my gloves in one hand, I reach up to wipe my errant tears with the other. I realize my mistake the moment I do it. Emmett’s eyes flash, and he grabs my wrist.
The wounds are only hours old and haven’t had time yet toscab over. There are red splotches where they’ve bled through the bandages.
I yank my wrist back, but Emmett keeps his hold strong.
