I dropped my head in my hands and squeezed my eyes closed. “I wish you might have asked me first, Mum.”
“Oh Freddie. She’s going to be your wife. It’s time you start actually spending time together.”
We had spent time together. I’d known Caroline my whole life. She had been a fixture in our house for as long as I could remember, but she was never someone I imagined myself marrying—and neither had Henry for that matter. Their betrothal had been just as arranged as ours, but Henry had accepted the responsibility without a second thought. He was the dutiful heir I could only try in vain to be.
Honestly, I thought my mum had it in her head that Caroline and I would marry even before we’d arrived home from Henry’s funeral. It was my duty and there was no way around it.
It was three weeks before I left for Rio—I’d been in the middle of heavy training—when she’d come to me with the idea of the betrothal. She’d known exactly what she was doing. I was too busy to devote my attention to anything but racing. I’d told her to table it until after the Olympics, but she took my indecision as resignation. She’d made the decision and there wasn’t room for negotiations. Caroline and her family were informed before I’d even entertained the scenario.
I still had my head in my hand, listening to my mum, when the door to the natatorium opened. I glanced up to see Andie stride in, and whatever dark cloud had formed over me during the last five minutes vanished. She walked in wearing her team’s warm-up gear: windbreaker pants and a jacket. She had her workout bag slung across her shoulder and when she looked up and saw me, a slow smile spread across her face.
“Freddie,” my mom continued. “I know you’ve a lot to think about right now, but just know that I’m arranging everything in your best—”
“Mum I’ve got to go.”
I hung up before she could respond and stood to greet Andie.
“Before you say anything,” she said, “I came straight from practice.” She pointed to the mess of hair atop her head. The usually light strands were damp with sweat and her cheeks were still flush from her workout. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and I swept my gaze over her features quickly, trying to commit the pink shade of her bare lips to memory without her noticing.
“I hope you’ve worn a bathing suit under that thing,” I said, gesturing to her track pants.
She smirked, glanced over her shoulder to the empty natatorium, and then reached for the zipper of her jacket. I averted my gaze as she undressed, though I didn’t know why. Force of habit, perhaps.
She cleared her throat and I glanced back toward her, laughter spilling out before I could stop myself.
“What in the world have you got on?”
She was wearing a tight blue spandex top that covered her arms down to her wrists and zipped up the center of her chest until it ended at the base of her neck. It looked like what surfers wore during competitions, and the bottom was even worse: baggy red board shorts that cinched above her waist and fell below her knees, turning her figure into an amorphous blob.
“What is that?”
She smiled. “A swim shirt. I found it in the gift shop on the way over. And the trunks are to dispel any assumptions of…impropriety, should we have any spectators.”
“Right well, the place is deserted,” I said, waving to the empty natatorium. “Besides, you can’t possibly wear those trunks to swim. They’ll pull you down like an anchor.”
“No. They’re light.” She proceeded to hop up and down to prove her point. “Look. See how high I can jump?”
My smile spread wider as I shook my head. “Please tell me you’ve got a normal swimsuit on under there.”
She leveled me with an annoyed gaze. “Fine.”
With a sigh, she tugged the slip-knotted drawstring and the baggy shorts fell to the ground, revealing light blue bikini bottoms. Thin strings tied on either side of her slim, tan hips, and I took in the sight with a heavy inhale. The tight swim top stopped just below her belly button, revealing the last few inches of her tiny waist. She had an athlete’s body, lithe and strong, but there was no denying she was all woman. She’d put on the swim shirt to hide herself, but instead it served to accentuate the outline of her breasts, full and tempting. She was bloody gorgeous and I needed to get in the cold water straightaway.
“Maybe I should have had you keep the trousers on,” I said, standing up and tossing my towel to the side.
The sooner we hopped into the pool, the better.
She laughed. “This was your doing, remember? You made the bet.”
Her words reminded me that in travelling down this road, I was betting on much more than poker.
Andie