Chapter 12: The Prices

Winter Polo games were here, and as part of the tradition, the Rothschild family was bringing the first event of the season, with my sister’s mother-in-law flaunting kisses everywhere.

She knew everyone, and everyone knew her.

I accepted a drink and sat in front of the three-hundred-yard playing arena.

I heard a loud whistle on the field as the horses arrived, and on the left, the players stood.

This small tournament consisted of six teams, each with four players.

Their colors were on display, with their last names on their long-sleeve shirts.

Royal blue for the Rothschilds, dark emerald green for the Prices, wine red for the Luxors, and mustard yellow for the Wells.

Oh, Vivian looked so happy, galloping lightly on her way to the fence to talk to her friends.

She was the only female in this match, which made her a badass in my opinion.

“Baby, you should go and warm up with your team,” Sarah giggled softly as Alexander gave her a soft kiss on her neck.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“I am with you,” she said, reaching for his waist with her tiny arms in comparison to his height.

~Aww~, lovebirds at best.

I kept scanning the crowd, my inner snoop happy I had some food for her today.

Oh, yes, Anna Rothschild was discussing something out at the end of the field.

What was going on?

She was talking with Edmund Rothschild as he climbed his massive horse with no effort whatsoever.

“You know, you could use the binoculars instead of forcing your eyes,” someone said to me.

I turned to see a dazzling man seated to my right, his legs crossed and one of his arms reclined on the table behind him, staring at me.

He wore a green long-sleeve shirt, one from the Polo teams.

He was a ~Price.~

“My name is Archibald,” he offered with a dashing smile stretched across his lips.

“Don’t you dare call me Archie. I hate that nickname. Call me Archer.”

He sounded relaxed and had an easygoing way of handling himself, like he owned the room and everyone would kill to be his friend.

“I…” I didn’t know how to answer this dashing stranger.

I mean, who was used to being approached this way?

And he was right, I was given a pair of binoculars by Sarah to watch when the play moved to the far side of the field.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He chuckled sweetly, searching my face.

“You are?”

He waited expectantly to hear what I would say.

I had to smile.

It was refreshing to find such a different personality in this environment.

Everybody I had met here had been so controlled, cold, and not human.

He felt like a breath of fresh air.

“Olivia Summer.” I held my hand out to him.

He took it firmly but not menacingly.

He was bright as the sun.

His long golden curls and dark emerald eyes were captivating.

“Olivia,” he echoed slowly, savoring my name on his lips.

Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I enjoyed having his attention.

Who wouldn’t? He was hot.

That was terrible news.

That meant I was about to do the thing I was worst at: flirting.

“The one and only. I mean, there is only one. Me. Olivia,” I replied, as awkward as I could possibly be.

Unable to hide a smile, I shrugged.

The heat in my cheeks was evidence enough that I was blushing.

~Someone, please. Kill me!~

“I know.” He smiled warmly.

“I would have remembered if I ever met an Olivia Summer as beautiful as you.”

Oh, dear lord! He was flirting back!

“Tell me, what is someone like you doing here?” he asked with seemingly genuine curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned in as if he were telling me a secret.

“I mean…from the real world.”

Well, obviously I didn’t belong in this world.

“What gave me away?”

“Your eyes,” he said.

“What about my eyes?” I frowned.

“You. Are. Staring,” he emphasized.

Yeah, I was.

I couldn’t help it; the writer in me liked to observe people interact, and this was like the billionaire zoo where I got to see them in their natural habitat.

“Didn’t mean to,” I lied, tucking my hair behind my ear.

He slumped in the seat beside me, putting his long legs over a chair and his elbows behind his neck.

His chest rose as he breathed in relaxation.

“I hate competitions,” he announced.

“You do?” I asked.

“Yeah, it brings back memories,” he shared.

“Besides, it brings out the worst in people.”

“Or the best,” I replied.

He watched me sideways, leaning forward while pulling the sleeves of his shirt up.

My eyes slid to his powerful arms, veins popping and all.

If I knew men looked like this down in the Hamptons, I’d have come sooner.

“You are staring again.”

Oh shit, I was, but this man was unreal.

“Do you like sports?” he asked me, those green eyes popping for the first time.

Wow, he really had some big emeralds over there.

“Do I like balls? I do!” I said so quickly I had no time to process my fried neurons.

The blond man in front of me stopped blinking.

“~Balls~?” he chuckled sweetly.

“Oh, I mean, I like balls that—” I stammered.

“Games that involve balls,” I explained, getting red.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Games with balls. Oh shit,” I pressed my hand to my forehead, already smiling until I found the word.

“Ballgames!”

He laughed for the first time, watching me differently.

“Yeah, ballgames. I like them too.”

We both laughed, but to be honest, I wanted to be swallowed by the earth.

~Now I was the girl that liked to play with balls. Ugh.~

“A girl who likes ball~…games~,” he drew out the joke, perking his lips to the side like he was holding back a smile.

“Please tell me, who will win this match?”

“I like the blonde girl with the posh haircut, so blue it is.”

“The Rothschilds, then? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you give me no choice, Olivia Summer. Now, I must win,” he said in smug fashion.

“I thought you didn’t like competitions,”

Archibald Price smiled like the sun.

“That is because there is nothing more I like than winning.”

“Next game in line, Blue against Green,” someone called from a speaker.

“That’s my call, ~Ballgame Girl~. Wish me luck,” Archer said, standing up and walking toward the playing field.

Oh. That was a hot first encounter, so much that my attention remained on Archer’s dark green team as they stood for a group picture.

A loud neigh in the distance caught my attention.

It was a horse out of control. A wild, dangerous animal.

Two guys tried to hold the horse, but the beast was overpowering them.

A well-built man in a black jacket and helmet approached, waving his hands to stop them.

Oh, he was taming the beast? This guy was not scared as he approached the feral horse and placed his hands on its face, soothing the animal.

The scene was perfect for those riders’ movies. That unbreakable bond between man and his horse.

The animal hopped excitedly as the man placed his hands on the saddle.

Well, this was quite a show. Who was the mysterious horse guy?

I sipped on my drink, glancing quickly at Sarah, who was hanging out with a new group of girls who looked a bit bitchy—~Karens~ from here.

I made a mental note to save her later.

First, I had a match to watch.

The mystery man took off his jacket, revealing a royal blue shirt over well-defined pecs and arms, along with his helmet.

No way. Darius Rothschild? The guy who tamed the feral beasts was him? Really?

My heart was already racing with adrenaline.

Screw Vivian, screw the Rothschilds and their royal blue shirts.

At that moment, I decided I was officially rooting for the green team—rooting for Archibald Price and his family.

Darius stood at the front of his team; so did Archibald, both of them not taking their eyes off each other.

Darius’s horse started acting a bit aggressive, which he allowed by releasing his grip on the reins.

He got so close to Archibald in an attempt to make him back off.

Oh, Archer looked mad.

His serene, dashing presence changed as he moved upwards, and now both horses were standing while pushing each other in a stance.

Darius laughed as Archibald pressed his knees on his horse.

The horn of the game started to announce the starting point, and both teams got on the move.

I was sweating.

This was too much testosterone to watch.

Gosh, were they quick—they were athletes at this sport.

Like, who could not get a six-pack from all the bending and snap they did every time they hit the ball?

Darius took the lead, passing the ball to Alexander, who swung and missed.

The audience gasped as Vivian got the ball again and was intercepted by the green team.

Ha! Archer was now in the lead; he impressively avoided one blue team member and galloped as fast as possible.

Darius ran his tail, but not for long—now they were even.

Riders were running alongside and too close to each other.

Was this allowed?

A sharp whistle pierced the air, echoing a warning: “Riders, do not engage in dangerous riding or rough handling, I repeat!”

But they weren’t listening! The shouts fell on deaf ears.

Both horses surged forward, their muscles rubbing on each other forcefully.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Archibald leaned dangerously low, attempting a maneuver, teetering on the edge of madness.

“Oh my God, he is going to fall,” I whispered at the edge of my seat.

Darius kept pressuring him to the corner of the field, his horse bigger and stronger.

Archer was not going to be able to maintain this for long.

The black beast was too heavy and too fast for his white horse to leverage his way through, making Archer lose his balance and fall face down on his horse’s neck.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Blood was boiling in my face as Darius did not back down, not even for a second.

Ruthless, his tight grip on the reins did not waver; he was not giving Archer space to gain footing while he grabbed his horse’s crest as a lifeline—he wanted him to fall!

~Asshole!~ This is how accidents happen!

Why was the speaker not penalizing this? And why was Archer attempting to lean further? Did he want to die?

With a swift, calculated movement, Archer thrust his arm out, dodging one of Darius’s elbow strikes that appeared as a regular strike of his reins.

In a breathtaking instant, he connected with the ball, sending it soaring towards the goal with the force of a cannonball.

The crowd crackled, breathless, as glory and danger danced in the struggle for victory.

“Point for the Prices,” the speaker announced.