I could have kissed Charlie forever. But he had a match to win, and there was no way I was going to let Killian “dickhead” Black walk away with a victory. So I reluctantly pulled away from Charlie, my whole body feeling buoyant and warm, despite the fact that I was completely soaked and there was a good chance my mascara-smeared face was going to be on the front page of every tabloid tomorrow.

I didn’t care about any of that. Because Charlie loved me. Because he had risked his whole career, and stood in the rain, in front of everyone, and said that he loved me.

“Good luck,” I told him.

He gave me a wicked grin, one that promised very wonderful, very naughty things, and jogged onto the court to ear-splitting applause. Across the net, Killian stood with his arms crossed, looking extremely annoyed. Good. I wiggled my fingers at him, and he glowered back.

Then Declan appeared—as he always did—as if out of nowhere.

“Come with me,” he told me.

I thought we would be going to the same box where I had watched the match before, but instead Declan led me to the Royal box. It was situated above all the sections around it, giving it—obviously—the best view of the court. There were a few faces that looked familiar—as if I might have known them from TV if I watched more TV than I did. I had a feeling I was going to get a stern talking-to by Paige after this about not recognizing famous British actors. But they all seemed to know me—a knowing whisper spread through the group as Declan led me down to the front row where the attending members of the royal family sat.

I was surprised and happy to see Hugh and his wife there, but I had no idea how they would feel seeing me. Bracing myself for nasty looks and cold shoulders, I mustered up as much dignity as I could, given that I was still in my tea tent uniform and it was soaking wet. But I was greeted warmly by everyone, including Annabelle, who threw her arms around my neck and begged for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry I was so wretched.” She gave me a tight hug, seemingly not caring that I was wet and might possibly ruin her extremely expensive dress.

“You weren’t wretched at all,” I reassured her. “You were looking out for Charlie. Family has to stick together. I understand that.”

She gave me another hug, and then offered me the seat beside her.

“I’m glad you came,” I told Hugh, who was sitting on the other side of his wife.

“I’m glad you told me to,” he responded, giving me a smile.

The umpires emerged back on court, and the rain awning was rolled away. In no time at all, the net was back up, and Charlie and Killian had returned to the fight. I sat forwards in my seat, my stomach already tangled up with nerves.

“What’s the score?” I asked Hugh. I’d missed the match so far, in my hurry to flee, but I was guessing from the tense faces that it wasn’t going well.

Sure enough, Hugh grimaced. “Not good. Charlie’s down two sets.”

I gulped. Killian only needed three sets to win, so Charlie was already at a major disadvantage. It seemed impossible he’d be able to catch up with Killian, let alone win, but I crossed my fingers and toes as they took their places at either end of the court.

“Play resuming in the third set,” the umpire announced. “Two games to four. Davenport to serve.”

And they were off.

Charlie served, and I held my breath as he tossed the ball high in the air. His racket made impact so fast, I could barely follow the flash of yellow as the ball hurtled across the court, straight down the center line. Killian lunged, but he couldn’t make it.

Ace!

We all broke into applause, and there were hoots and calls from the stands. “That’s more like it!” I heard someone yell, and Charlie smiled, as if to say he agreed.

He was back.

The next points passed in a blur. Charlie moved across the court like a man on a mission. He was focused and controlled, easily serving aces and returning Killian’s shots, hitting the ball with such force that I was surprised his racket didn’t snap in two.

He was incredible to watch. He seemed to be in his own world, all his attention directed at the task at hand. It was evident how much he loved the game. I could see it in every move that he made, in every swing of his racket, in every step he took. I knew what it felt like to be the recipient of such passion, and while there was nothing that could beat the image of Charlie moving against me, touching me with reverence and need, watching him play tennis was almost just as hot.

When he served, his arm would arch back, showing the breadth of his muscles. And they were glorious. It was thrilling to see them in action, propelling the ball over the net, just out of Killian’s reach, bouncing off the ground. With every point, the crowd got rowdier. It was clear who their favorite was, and Killian’s lead began to dissolve. As did his confidence.

By the time Charlie had taken the next two sets, it was obvious that Killian was furious at the way the match was going, his neck muscles straining, his face going red. From a generous lead, to fighting for every point—it was a massive turnaround. Charlie, on the other hand, was focused, but calm. He was totally at ease on the court, his gestures almost effortless compared to Killian’s sloppy returns. His anger was exhausting him as they played out the final set, and I watched Charlie alternate shots close to the net and further out in the court, forcing Killian to scramble up and down, sweat pouring down his face. Charlie seemed like he could play all day. He was sweating, of course, and breathing heavily, but he moved like a jackrabbit across the court, his feet light on the ground.

But even that didn’t alleviate my tension. I gripped the railing in front of me, my knuckles white, my shoulders stiff as my head jerked back and forth, following the ball that flew across the court, wincing each time it got too close to the ground, each time it seemed like Charlie wouldn’t be able to get to it before it hit.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” asked Annabelle, but I could see the stress in her face.

Not that I was able to look away from the court for longer than a second. I didn’t want to miss anything. For someone who had never been a sports fan, I was riveted, afraid to even blink. Everyone in the royal box was similarly focused; conversations had died out a long time ago and we sat in complete silence. Even our breathing was quieter. It was clear we all wanted Charlie to win.

The crowd let out a collective gasp as Killian returned Charlie’s serve with such anger and such force that if Charlie hadn’t ducked, it would have gotten him straight in the face. Instead, it went over the line.

“Six all. Tie-break,” Hugh groaned, looking just as stressed as I felt.

“What does that mean?” I asked, lost.

“First to seven,” he explained. “Whoever leads by two wins it.”

“The match?” I blinked.

“Yes,” he said grimly. “And the whole bloody championship.”

They fought back and forth, each holding their serve until it was 6–6. Even if I hadn’t known about scoring or the rules, I could tell every point was life-or-death. I watched on the edge of my seat. My heart was pounding in my chest. It was the only thing I could hear, even the roar of the crowd seemed to fade away to nothing. Was this how it felt for Charlie when he played? Did everything just disappear?

Out on the court, he prepared to serve. He was finally showing signs of tiredness after the epic game they’d been fighting, and I could only hope he had some last reserve in store. But before he drew back, Charlie looked up into the stands, and his eyes immediately found mine. It was just like it had been in the club—his gaze catching mine like two magnets—like it was inevitable. Like all of this was inevitable.

He winked, and I smiled back. He was so goddamn handsome, and win or lose, I was going to go home with him after all of this. I was going to be in his arms. In his bed. In his life. But still, I held my breath as he tossed the ball in the air. The ball shot across the net to the farthest corner of the box, barely clipping the line so a cloud of chalk flew up.

Ace!

“Davenport leads, seven six,” the umpire announced over the cheers of the crowd. “Championship point.”

Oh my god, this was it.

Killian stepped up to serve. He threw the ball, brought his racket up, and—

“Out!”

The ball went long. I exhaled in relief, but Killian wasn’t having any of it.

“Are you blind?” he yelled at the poor linesman, so loud I could hear him all the way up in the stands. “That was in!”

“Please, Mr. Black,” The umpire interrupted. “The ball was out.”

I don’t know what Killian muttered but I’m guessing it wasn’t good. The video screens showed his scowl as he stalked back to the baseline to serve.

“He’s rattled.” Hugh was sitting on the edge of his seat too, tense as I was. “He could slip up.”

Here’s hoping.

But when Killian served again, it was a good, fast shot. Charlie slammed it back, and they were off again. Back and forth, back and forth. My neck was beginning to ache as I followed the ball, my heart in my throat. Leaning forward, I held onto the railing as if it could calm my nerves, as if it could steady me. I forgot everything—forgot that my drying clothes were wrinkled and stuck to my skin, forgot that my hair was probably frizzing despite the braid I had put it in, forgot that whatever makeup I had been wearing before was long washed away. I thought only of Charlie. Of the game.

“Come on, Charlie,” I heard myself mutter. “Come on.”

At some point, I had risen to my feet, and was clutching the railing, my knuckles completely white, my arms tense, my shoulders tight.

“Come on.” My voice got louder. “Come on, Charlie!”

Back and forth, back and forth.

And then . . .

Charlie hit the ball, low and fast. It went right over the net, so close that if had been an inch lower it would have hit it. Instead, it sped by Killian, just underneath his outstretched arm, and bounced. Just inside of the line.

He’d done it!

“Game, set, and match, Davenport,” the umpire announced. The crowd went wild, and we went wild with it, the whole royal box exploding in a sea of shouts and hugs and celebration. Even the normally-staid Hugh was shouting for joy, and that was saying something.

But there was only one person I cared about now. I turned and found Charlie making his way up through the stands. People gave him a standing ovation, but he cut through them all, heading straight for me.

I didn’t stop to think, I just bolted out of the box and hurried down to greet him. We met somewhere halfway in the stands, surrounded by cheering people, but it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

“You did it!” I exclaimed, laughing as he reached me.

He was sweaty and out of breath, and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions. He had never looked better.

Before I could stop myself, I leapt into his arms. He swung me around, and once my feet were back on the ground, he kissed me. I was pretty sure I’d never get enough of him.

“You were incredible,” I told him when we came up for air.

People were still cheering all around us, but all I saw, all I heard, was Charlie. The center of everything.

“It’s all because of you.” He pushed my hair out of my face. “And this is just the beginning.”