Page 72 of Risky Match
“No. That would have been much simpler. Unfortunately, we believe you ingested a poisonous substance from an oleander plant. You were lucky. It could have killed you. Do you know how that could have happened.”
“What? Poison? No way.”
“Think about yesterday. What did you eat and drink during the four hours before the match? We want to make sure you don’t accidentally consume the same thing again.”
“Believe me, I never want to go anywhere near anything related to oleanders again. I have no idea how I was poisoned though. I’ve either eaten at our house or had prepackaged food and drinks.”
“Then the answer may be as simple as a leaf falling into your cup of tea. We’ll probably never know. But if there are any oleanders in the yard where you’re staying, be careful to avoid them.”
I’m no plant expert. I’ll have to look for a photo on Google.
“I won’t go near one of them ever again. How long before I’m back to normal?”
“You should be feeling fairly well by tomorrow.”
“That’s good news. Do you know if I won my match before I collapsed? I can’t remember.”
“You were ahead but didn’t finish the match. I’m sorry.”
Is he saying I’m out of Wimbledon singles? How can that be?
“That means I forfeited. Again.”
“What’s important is that you’re alive and can leave the hospital this afternoon. You should rest for another twenty-four hours though.”
I nod, clenching my jaw as my blood boils. I white-knuckle the bedsheets and bite my lip to keep from screaming.
I’m grateful to be alive, but my dream is dead. I won’t be holding up the Wimbledon trophy this year—maybe not ever. Why does this keep happening to me? It’s like I’m jinxed.
Dr. Shepard pats my shoulder “One more thing. Princess Brianna is waiting outside. I’m told you have a doubles match with her in a couple of days. There’s a good chance you’ll recover enough to play. Should I send her in so you two can make plans?”
He’s patronizing me. There’s no way I’ll be playing at Wimbledon again in two days. For fuck’s sake, I’m lying in a hospital bed, recovering from being poisoned. Does he think I’m a fool?
Through gritted teeth, I say, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“She’s been extremely worried about you. Perhaps you could let her see that you’re on the mend before I send her away.”
“Sure.” I mutter.
The doctor walks to the door and opens it. “Your Royal Highness, you may come in. Blake is very tired, so just a quick hello. Then he needs rest.”
“Of course,” she replies.
She hurries to my bedside, reaching for my hand. “Blake, how are you feeling? I’ve been so worried.”
“I’ll be fine. No need to worry,” I say, sharper than I intend. I’m still fuming.
“Do you need anything? Would you like me to sit with you?”
“No. There’s nothing you can do.”
“There must be something.”
“No. You don’t understand. I need to be alone. Thank you for stopping by.”
She looks at me like a puppy who doesn’t understand why she’s been scolded. I turn my head away, hoping she’ll take the hint.
“You need rest. I’ll check on you again later. I’m glad you’re doing better.”
