Tristan nodded, but his eyes shot over her head to make sure the coast was still clear.
“We received some exclusive footage of the new ad campaign you just filmed.”
Tristan’s stomach bottomed out. He’d forgotten to tell Ele about the commercial. All he knew to do was to default. T-Dav to the rescue.
“Right. Lots of fun.”
“Interesting that, of all the images from the World Championship Cup, they chose to immortalize the moment you spun the princess around. But I guess sex sells.”
“Well, winning definitely does,” he responded flippantly.
She smirked and winked at him. “Yes, it does.”
Eager to get rid of them, he started for the ballroom entrance which was a mere fifteen meters from him.
“There she is.”
Tristan looked over his shoulder with dread. The photographer twisted his camera from Tristan’s back and focused in on Ele, who looked like she was hurrying from something behind her. He froze as another reporter appeared from around the corner, trailing Ele. She was caught between two cameramen and two reporters. She stopped dead when she noticed the camera in front of her, her eyes frantic. She had nowhere to go.
Tristan watched with all the horror of an impending train collision. He froze in indecision. He wanted to sweep in and rescue her, but he feared her reaction. As he watched her panic rise though, he knew he had no choice. He stepped forward into the fray between the two opposing cameras.
Ele absently looked at him, like she didn’t know who he was. She was in the grip of a full-on attack. Her eyes were wild and her breathing labored.
“Princess Eleanor, where have you been for the last hour?”
“You left the same room as Tristan Davenport. Were you two together?”
“Are you a couple?”
“Is there a place for a footballer in the royal family?”
Where in the hell is Robert? And Millie?
Indecision paralyzed Tristan until he saw Ele reach for her throat, rubbing frantically, like she couldn’t breathe.
He moved toward her then, ready to sweep her up into his arms. But something held his arm. He turned to find Michael’s hand wrapped around his bicep. Robert was suddenly there. Tristan’s gaze locked on to Robert’s frigid one. Then, Millie appeared. But as Ele’s staff surrounded her, more reporters showed up, so the small crowd was like a mob. Their flashes lit up like a strobe in a dance club, casting light in all different directions. Millie and Robert formed a protective wall around Ele, but they were resistant to touching her. Even though Michael continued to hold him back, Tristan knew there was only one way to end this.
“Sorry,” he said to Michael right before he turned and kicked him with all the force he reserved for a shot from outside the box.
Michael let out an, “Oomph,” but didn’t release Tristan’s arm.
Sheena appeared out of nowhere and must have seen Tristan’s thwarted attempt to get away. She walked in close to the two of them, and while Michael focused on Tristan, she brought her leg up and kneed him in the balls.
Michael’s hand loosened. In his defense, he held on, but the slacked grip was enough for Tristan to twist his arm away.
“What’s wrong with you, Princess Ele?”
“Do you suffer from asthma?”
Tristan stormed through the throng at the same time Robert had had enough. Robert scooped her up and took off at a run with her in his arms. Tristan made to run after them, but Michael was right behind him. He pushed Tristan against the wall with his arm shoved up under his neck.
“You’ve done quite enough tonight, Mr. Davenport. Don’t make this any harder.”
Security poured into the hallway, dispersing the crowd. Tristan observed helplessly as people were directed back into the ballroom. Robert and Millie had disappeared with Ele, and Michael remained with Tristan.
“Get out of my way!”
Tristan looked over to see Sheena arguing with palace security.