Page 33 of Royal Catch
I made my suggestions to my mother for today’s competition. Most of my input was ignored, but the part I really cared about, the prize, is all set. It will be a donation from our charitable foundation to her foundation. Polly can direct the funds from there. The value she named was much less than the value of the diamond necklace that was taken from her, though I suppose more than she could’ve managed on her own without drawing suspicion.
I’d hoped for a running or swimming event today, which she’d win handily. What I got was a test of strength and perseverance pulled straight from the reality show my parents love—four princesses on the beach, each struggling to get to the top of a greased pole to grab a flag.
I watch nearby, along with the servants chosen to oversee the competition. My parents are watching in their bedroom. After a princess gets her flag, she has to jump into a kayak and race to the north shore. The servants stand at the ready to push the kayaks off. None of them are burly men. In fact, Albert is old. I’m here ostensibly as judge, but I’m just waiting to step in and push Polly’s kayak with all my strength to give her a head start.
I can practically hear my parents cackling with glee over the greased princesses. They’re all wearing short-sleeved collared shirts with capris in a variety of pastels now ruined by large splotches of black grease. Except for Polly, who wears an inappropriate sexy-as-fuck halter top with short shorts. Even with the sexy outfit, I can barely watch her without cringing because she sucks at this.
I turn my attention to the other princesses. Francesca digs her fingernails into the pole and grips it with her bare feet. She’s hanging on, but not moving up.
Sophia scrambles like a monkey, slips, and drops all the way to the ground. The sand sticks to her grease and sweat. I’m thinking the sand might help her with traction, but after trying to rub it off, she runs to the water and rinses all the sand away. Poor choice. Now she’s too wet to make headway with the grease. I watch her first attempt as she grunts her way up and squeals her way down, rather like a pig.
Lucienne, who’s been quietly close to the lead in every competition, but never winning, is experimentally trying different ways to climb. She leaps and slides without success. Next she digs her feet in at the bottom and pulls with her arms, sliding down after any progress gained. Finally, she successfully climbs hand over hand, her feet mimicking the motion. She’s gaining some headway.
Polly slides down the pole for the third time and glares at it. “What?” she hollers at the pole. “Tell me how to climb you!” She kicks sand at it in frustration and then seems to think this is a good idea. She tosses big handfuls of sand at the pole. This time when she climbs, she’s making progress.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” she mutters. “Stupid pole. I will conquer you.” The sand on this part of the island is coarse and must be digging into her palms and bare feet.
Go, Polly, go.
Francesca drops to the ground and dips her hands in the sand, starting over with better traction. Not a peep out of her over the coarse sand. She grimaces as she slowly makes progress.
Sophia slides to the bottom again. Now it’s a pretty close race between Francesca, Lucienne, and Polly.
Lucienne makes it first, grabs the flag, slides back down the pole, and waves it around with a victory whoop. Wasting time.
Francesca grabs her flag and jumps to the ground, landing in a crouch and then taking off for a kayak. Lucienne does too.
I stay where I am, waiting for my girl. After last night, she is mine.
Sophia shakes her pole from the bottom, trying to dislodge the flag, giving up on climbing it. She’s out. Not following the rules disqualifies you.
Polly makes a huge reach and grabs her flag, sliding down the pole and sprinting to a kayak. I follow at a run. Albert is making his way toward her when I cut him off. “I’ll do it.”
She’s fast, getting to the kayak a few seconds after the other two women. She grabs the paddle and digs in. I put my shoulder into it and give her kayak a mighty shove. She sails past the other two women.
“No fair!” Sophia shouts from shore, the sore loser. “Polly got a much bigger push than anyone else.”
Francesca and Lucienne turn back to see me still knee-deep in the water behind Polly’s kayak and exchange a look. Uh-oh. They must know I favor Polly. This is the first time I’ve intervened in a competition.
I turn back to shore and join the servants on a walk along the high cliff trail, following the kayak race from above. Polly is in the lead, but Francesca is gaining with powerful strokes.
A few moments later, Francesca rams the back of Polly’s kayak. Polly’s body jerks, but she doesn’t capsize, and she manages to hang onto her paddle. She shouts something over her shoulder at Francesca, not seeing Lucienne coming up her other side. It’s like watching a car crash. I can’t look away.
Lucienne uses her paddle crosswise to give Polly a sideways shove and accidentally tips her own kayak, half falling onto Polly’s kayak, which makes Polly’s kayak tip precariously. Polly uses her paddle to shove Lucienne’s kayak off and then paddles furiously away. Lucienne struggles to keep her kayak upright, losing valuable time.
Now it’s Polly and Francesca in a tight race, Francesca gaining on her. The wind picks up, helping their progress. Polly’s curls are blowing all over the place like jagged wild flames. It reminds me of her, spirited and free, and I love it. Suddenly I don’t want Polly to win. If she wins, she’ll leave. If she’s second place, I can have another night with her. Otherwise, I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait. I don’t even know if I can convince her to keep seeing me, given the circumstances.
But I do know how to distract her. She’s commented on it often enough.
I rip off my shirt, peer down at the rowing princesses, and holler, “Go, go, go!”
Polly looks up and beams a smile that hits me in the solar plexus. I’m momentarily breathless. “Right on, handsome!”
The servants stare at me with wide eyes. Not one word about my uncharacteristic spontaneity.
Francesca doesn’t miss a beat, rowing faster. Lucienne, in third place, slows her efforts as Francesca pulls ahead. Neither of them looked up at my cheer.
Polly is behind now, as I’d hoped. I know it’s selfish, but I also know she was tuned in to my voice and Francesca wasn’t. Not that Francesca did anything wrong. Clearly the woman has great focus, strength, and perseverance. It’s every quality a queen should have.
