Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,77
we would show up separately and ignore questions about the betrothal.”
I frowned. “Am I missing something? If it’s over, can’t you just say it’s over?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The press in England are ruthless. When the story breaks, it won’t be simple and it won’t be pleasant. I’d rather not deal with it until after I’m done swimming next week. She’s agreed to play along for now and keep the separation discreet.”
My heart sank. Of course. Freddie hadn’t even started competing. He had his first race the very next day, and where most of the athletes were focused solely on swimming, Freddie might as well have been trying to put a stop to World War III. He didn’t deserve to have all this petty drama on his plate, and I was partly to blame for putting it there. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed and insecure, but I swallowed my doubts once again. If he told me he’d talked to Caroline, then he had. I could deal with our relationship being a secret for a few more days, especially when I took a moment to admire him as we walked back.
I smiled. “I like your suit.”
It was black and fitted, and with his British accent, it almost felt like I was flirting with James Bond himself.
He pressed his hand to my lower back, guiding me to my seat. “I think you’ll like it more once I’ve taken it off.”
My cheeks flushed. We were back at the table where Kinsley and Sophie were talking. Another few athletes had found their seats. If any of them had been paying close attention, they would have heard him.
“Freddie,” I warned, trying to contain my blush.
“Oh my goodness, finally,” a soft British accent spoke behind me. “This place is like a circus.”
I spun toward the voice and inhaled a shaky breath as my eyes locked with Caroline Montague. Coifed blonde hair, discreetly sexy black cocktail dress, impossibly expensive shoes—she was hard to absorb in person, like seeing a Monet for the first time. Her plump lips spread into a smile as her eyes slid over Freddie, then she looked down, down, down, and paused when her gaze hit Freddie’s hand resting on the small of my back. I stepped forward to introduce myself, but she beat me to it with a harmonic string of practiced words and a smile that only made her more radiant.
“You must be Andie Foster.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Andie
THE ORGANIZERS OF the media dinner either had a very sadistic sense of humor, or they were setting me up for a hidden camera prank show; there was no other way to explain the seating arrangement. Out of all the tables in the banquet hall, I was assigned to the one with Sophie Boyle, Freddie, and Caroline. Worse yet, Caroline was assigned to the seat directly beside mine. When she’d walked up to find her name card, she’d smiled good-naturedly, but my body had filled with dread. I felt like the dirty mistress. Am I the dirty mistress? They weren’t even dating. They hardly knew each other. She had agreed to end the betrothal. So why couldn’t I meet Caroline’s eyes?
“More water?”
I gripped my napkin in my lap and stared down at my place setting, trying to think of how I could get out of having to sit through the rest of dinner. They hadn’t even served the first course yet, and they were still seating people across the room. I couldn’t do it. My stomach hurt and I was fairly sure that if I tried to eat anything, it’d just come right back up.
“Andie,” Kinsley said, jostling my arm. “She’s asking if you want more water.”
“Oh.” I glanced behind me to find a small woman with a pitcher of water in her hand. I’d guzzled down my glass when I’d first sat down, more out of nerves than real thirst. I grabbed my glass and handed it back to her. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
“Andie, you have to tell me more about your…soccer career,” Caroline winked, adorably adopting the American name for the sport. When she spoke, she pressed her hand to my uninjured forearm to get my attention. It should have left a mark when she pulled away, but there was nothing, no burn or scar to show how painfully awkward her touch was.
“Umm…” I fidgeted in my seat and tried to pull the hem of my cocktail dress down. It wouldn’t budge. “What do you want to know?”