Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(19)

“Hello Mum.”

“Frederick!”

She and Caroline were the only people who ever called me by my full name. I despised it. Henry had been named after my father, which left me to inherit a moniker from my great uncle, a stuffy bloke with red cheeks and a belly so round I used to wonder how he fit into the chairs in our dining room. He’d moan on about etiquette and the ‘old ways of British aristocracy’ any chance he got. In other words, he was a real bore and someone I hoped to never become.

“I’m thrilled to have caught you. Are you busy at practice?”

I wrapped my towel around my waist and took a seat on the bench.

“No, I’ve got a few minutes. How are things in London?”

She sighed heavily as though I’d just asked her to open up during a therapy session. “Dreadful. I’ve got Georgie driving me mad, but you know how hard it is to stay cross with her.”

I smiled. “Nearly impossible.”

“Precisely. And well, I’ve already begun planning the winter ball here at the estate. Of course with your upcoming engagement, it needs to be more lavish than ever before. I’m thinking of bringing on a party planner to help with everything.”

My chest tightened.

“Right.”

“It’s a significant event, Frederick. When Henry passed so soon after your father, I wasn’t sure how we’d manage. Whether you like the title or not, you must bear it. You are the Duke of Farlington and your marriage to Caroline is just what this family needs. She’s been reared for this since childhood and she’ll make a wonderful duchess one day. She’s familiar with running an estate and her family is so close to ours. It couldn’t be a more perfect union.”

I leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, listening to her go on.

“And speaking of Caroline…I know you’re busy with your races, so I’ve asked her to accompany Georgie to Rio, to make things easier on you.”

I sat forward with a start. “What do you mean? You’ve invited Caroline to Rio?”

“Georgie’s only eighteen. She needs a chaperone, and it’s not as if you’ve got the time. I would go myself, but I have too much to do here.”

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?”