Page 91 of The Backup Princess

“He sure is,” I murmur as he gallops forward, his mallet poised to strike as he heads confidently to the goal.

I leap to my feet and let out a cheer.

Grandpapa raises a brow at me, and I sit down quickly. Oops. Cheering for the wrong team.

My mind wanders to the top of the hill, where Alex took me on the motorcycle. We opened up to one another, and I feel so much closer to him now.

So much so I almost acted on my feelings for him and kissed him. Almost.

Let’s just say it was a good thing Vlad interrupted us, or I don’t know what would have happened.

Okay, that’s a lie. I know exactly what would have happened. Alex would have kissed me and I would have kissed him right back, all those pent-up feelings I've been carrying around for him since the day we met would have come bursting out in an explosion of want.

I sigh.

So not a good idea for a whole host of reasons, least of all the fact that he has this reputation that suggests he goes around kissing women in picturesque spots all the time.

The problem is I’ve grown to know something about myself when it comes to Prince Alexander of Ledonia. And it’s a doozy.

I don't want to be simply the next girl in his long line.

I want to be the girl.

I know. It’s crazy. I’ve gone from despising the man to realizing I got him wrong to now fantasizing about wanting to be with him. Not just kiss him.

Be.

With.

Him.

I want to be the one he ends up with, the one who means the most to him. The one he's with for the rest of his life. And I want him to be the one who means the most to me.

I blow out a breath.

This is not the way I saw this playing out, but here I am. I’m falling for him, this strong, loyal, loving man who is nothing like I expected.

I’m in deep. Way too deep.

Alex strikes the ball and it sails through the goal as though it’s carried on wings. I leap to my feet in a rush of exuberance once more, yelling out, “Go Alex!”

People around me clap politely, still in their seats. Dang it! I’ve done it again, cheering for the wrong team.

“I’m, err, just supporting my friend,” I explain as I sit back down, my heart thudding from not only the excitement of seeing Alex get a goal, but from embarrassment, too.

Grandmama, sitting on the other side of my grandpapa, leans forward. “Your friend, my dear?” she enquires.

“Yeah. Alex and I kind of found a way to get along.”

“I didn't know you weren't getting along,” Grandpapa says.

“Oh, it was a whole thing,” Grandmama says on a smile, using another one of my expressions.

“Well, whatever has gone on before, I’m pleased to hear you and Alexander have begun to form a friendship. It will be very important once you’re both ruling monarchs.” He realizes what he said, and adds hurriedly, “That is, if it turns out that way, of course.”

“Of course,” I agree.

Soon after, we’re called onto the field to “divot stomp”, which turns out to be replacing the turf disturbed by the horses’ hooves back where it came from with your foot.

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