Page 51 of The Truth About Myths
Gritting his teeth, Henrique smashed. The ball hit the prince in the chest.
A deadly silence descended over the court.
Rafaela raised her arm. "How entertaining. But we ladies also need some exercise. What if we played doubles? I can play with Henrique and—"
Henrique shook his head. "I will partner with the princess."
Isabel frowned, her gaze shifting from Alfonso to him. "I don't know. It’s been years since—"
"Portuguese versus Spaniards? But then… We are far from home, and I don't intend to embarrass our country with a lousy performance."
Isabel pulled herself up to all her diminutive height. "Why not?"
A thrill coursed through him when the proud princess abandoned the prince and glided to his side of the court, and he controlled the impulse to puff up his chest and make indelicate gestures at their Spanish audience. After a terse nod in his direction and a thorough inspection of her racket, she positioned herself forward and to his left, her stiff corset making her dress look like armor.
Henrique groaned. What had possessed him to incite her into this? He couldn't care less if they failed, but now he linked their game with her exalted country, he would endure her displeasure after they lost.
Rafaela threw the ball, a very mild, very gracious serve, almost as if afraid to hurt the leather sphere.
Isabel had no such compunctions and returned the ball with savagery, her arm as punishing as her tongue lashings. The ball zinged past Rafaela, who narrowed her eyes in a very feminine, very predatory way.
So the game began.
It was tight. Rafaela and Alfonso were well-matched, their technique flawless. While Isabel had no service to be proud of, her competitive streak could scare even the staunchest of generals. No point was lost for her, and the potential strength in that svelte body defied the laws of physics.
Rafaela won the point and blew Isabel a malicious kiss. The princess's face turned an alarming shade of red.
Henrique caught her arm and whispered in her ear. "Mind her not. You are superb. Portugal could not be better represented." He meant it as a joke, but it came out with a ring of truth.
Isabel searched his eyes and gifted him with a sweaty smile. "Thank you. You are not so bad yourself."
Henrique placed a hand above his chest and returned to his place, still not used to the power of those smiles.
For all their constant bickering, they made perfect teammates. Pride filled his chest at being on the same side as hers. As the game progressed, he knew what balls to go after and which were hers. He trusted her to do her best, celebrated her victories, and cursed their defeats.
It led them to the match point. The crowd hushed. Isabel moved with predatory grace and advanced toward the net, her hips swinging from side to side. Henrique's breath came in short bursts, not because of the physical strain but because her derrière was mere feet away from him. He shook his head. Cleaned sweat from his brow.
Rafaela, her face flushed and hair undone, followed the ball's trajectory with her chin. When she sprang to block Isabel's backhand, she missed.
“Match point!" Dio screamed.
The audience clapped half-heartedly.
Henrique found Isabel’s gaze. A luminous smile lit her face, her green eyes flashing. Henrique felt her smile's power inside his chest as if she had charged it with electricity. His pulse sped, and he had this strange feeling of elation, making every single atom of his body alive. The cheers of the onlookers mingled with the rapid thud of his heartbeat. In four strides, he demolished the distance between them. He grabbed Isabel by the waist, her small, beribboned waist, and swung her in the air. Her eyes twinkled, and she hollered an unladylike howl.
"We won! We won, Henrique."
She placed sweaty hands over his shoulders, and he lowered her slowly. The crowd hushed. Victory was heady, but Isabel's smile inebriated him. The pastel gowns and flannel coats vanished, or they were still there, but Henrique had stopped seeing them. He had so much to say. If this was feeling patriotic, why had he not enlisted sooner?
"We won."
He lowered his face, his lips craving her cherry-colored smile.
A throat was cleared, and an outstretched arm intruded on their private celebration. The crowd's cheers came back in a hush, and with it, Alfonso's breathless voice.
"Good game," Alfonso said.
Isabel shook herself, and in a dash, her composure was back in place.
