He smiled.
“Do you no’?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He squeezed her shoulder and her head tipped back to look at him.
“I’ve never been a sports person,” she admitted.
He bent his head and touched his lips to hers before he murmured, “I’ll teach you.”
She smiled and it lit up her eyes.
No, it lit her entire face.
Prentice felt her smile hit him with the force of an oncoming lorry before her gaze drifted over his shoulder.
Then her smile died and her body stilled.
She started to pull away.
His arm tensed and he looked over his shoulder. There were two photographers on the other side of the pitch, the lenses of both of their cameras trained on Elle, Sally and him. You didn’t have to be close to know they were snapping shots.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Sally’s head shot back and she shouted, “Daddy!”
Elle pulled at his arm saying, “I should –”
“Don’t move,” Prentice ordered, reflexively placing a protective hand to the top of Sally’s head at the same time halting Elle’s retreat by locking his arm around her.
She looked at him. “Pren –”
“Don’t move.”
“But –”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Ignore them.”
“But –”
He dipped his head and rested his forehead against hers.
“Elle, baby, I said ignore them.”
“But they’re taking pictures of Sally,” she whispered.
“Ignore them.”
“And they’re taking pictures of you.”
Christ, she could be stubborn.
His hand went from her shoulder to the back of her neck, he gave her a squeeze there and he asked a question to which he did not expect a response, “Elle, what did say?”
Her eyes searched his. Then they closed.
Then she nodded her head and opened her eyes and his Elle was gone.