“No. But I’m reluctant to tell you because I’m not sure if my theory is right or if I’m completely off base. And I wasn’t going to say anything to you at all, but then I had an interesting conversation with the prince, and I thought maybe I wasn’t so crazy.”
“Millie?”
“Right.” Millie straightened up at her desk and transformed from Ele’s trusted confidant to her personal assistant. There was a difference. “I’ve been monitoring Tristan Davenport’s social media.”
Every nerve in Ele’s body pinged at the mention of Tristan. She hadn’t been watching his social media, but she didn’t want anyone looking at her web history. And she might have been watching the Hartesfield United games she could catch. Or maybe she had found an American Hartesfield United fan group that watched the games together, and she might have perhaps gotten ahold of a Davenport jersey. She might or might not be considered a
superfan.
“Oh?”
Millie smirked. “Oh, indeed.” Then, she bit her lip again. Nervous.
“You need to tell me already. This is torture.”
“I-think-he’s-leaving-you-messages-on-his-social-media-accounts.”
“Was that English? It sounded like maybe some language I’m not quite familiar with.”
Millie closed her eyes and shook her head. When her eyes blinked open, she had her game face firmly in place. “I think Tristan has been trying to leave you messages.”
This time, Ele straightened in her seat. “What do you mean?”
“What is it called when the first letter of every word forms a message?”
Ele shrugged. “Acrostic.”
Millie’s hands fluttered in excitement. “Right, an acrostic. I think he’s been doing that.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He knows I monitor all of your press, and he has fallen into that realm. I check his accounts daily—not really looking for anything, but looking for something. Some clue.”
“Of what?”
“How he feels about you.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. When the whole thing happened at the celebration, he was completely quiet. No posts for days. But a week later—”
“Opening day.”
“Exactly, and he was back online. But there were no new pictures. Everything posted was memories with different captions. It seemed weird because he is literally the most-followed footballer in the world. I thought maybe I was projecting, you know. Wanting to see something that might not be there.”
Heat rushed through Ele. Not like a panic attack, but rather a shot of adrenaline. “What convinced you?”
“The timing. I haven’t said anything because, at first, it wasn’t anything. But then I wrote all of the captions down, and the first letter of each one started forming words. And it was too coincidental. Because guess who cornered your brother in an elevator in the stadium on opening day.”
“Tristan,” Ele croaked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“No. But, yes.” Millie shuffled forward, so her whole face filled the screen. For emphasis, Ele thought. “Do you want to see?”
“Yes.”