“They’ve put you all in a condo? How can that be safe?”
“Security only allows athletes and coaches to enter. Guests have limited visiting hours and they—”
“Oh! Sweetie, guess what I watched this morning while I was walking on the treadmill!” She didn’t even notice she’d cut me off.
“What?”
“I try to walk at least a mile or two every morning. I even put on some Taylor Swift sometimes, but don’t tell your dad because he thinks her music is just—”
“MOM. What’d you watch this morning?”
“Oh! It was this little special on the CBS.”
She loved saying “the CBS” like it was a thing.
“Have you heard of Frederick Archibald? They did a feature about his upbringing and his special path to the Olympics.”
My stomach dropped at the mention of his name. Was there no escaping his celebrity?
“Apparently he’s a prince or something in England!”
I laughed and shook my head. “Mom, he’s not a prince. He’s just on the swim team.”
She shushed me. “No no, believe me. Hold on, let me open up the Google.”
Oh Jesus.
Ten minutes later—after she’d accidentally restarted her computer and updated her antivirus software twice—she pulled up the article.
“All right! It says here—” She paused and shuffled around, and I knew she was finding her tortoise shell reading glasses. “His father was the Duke of Farlington and before he passed away, Freddie was just called Lord Frederick Archibald, but now he is His Grace, Frederick Archibald, Earl of Norhill and Duke of Farlington!”
Wait. What? I laughed. That couldn’t possibly be right. She made it sound like Freddie was living in Middle Earth. I didn’t even know dukes were still a thing that existed.
I turned away from the window and pressed the phone closer to my ear. She kept rambling on about the CBS special, but I couldn’t wrap my head around what she was saying. Freddie was a DUKE? He’d touched my hand! He’d touched my butt! He’d basically knighted me and I’d tossed my panties at his face like a commoner. Jesus.
“Mom, I have to go,” I said, overwhelmed by the discovery.
“Oh? So soon? All right, okay. Just use that hand sanitizer and try to find Frederick. I’d love to show your meemaw a photo of you with British royalty.”
Oh my god. “Okay Mom. Sounds good.”
“Oh wait! It’s also says here that three weeks ago—”
I hung up before she could continue to ramble. I loved her, truly I did, but once she got going, there was no stopping her. It was either cut her off midsentence or turn into a mummified corpse out on that balcony.
By the time I made it back inside, Kinsley and Becca had exchanged their unicorn onesies for jean shorts and t-shirts. We started making our way down to the food court, and though my stomach was rumbling nonstop, I couldn’t help but focus on what my mother had just told me. If Freddie really was British royalty—wait, are dukes royal? Who cares. If Freddie really was a duke, the chances of him and I ever getting another moment alone were slim to none. He probably wouldn’t be hanging out around the Olympic village like other athletes. He’d be off sipping tea with baby George.
“Are you thinking about Freddie?” Kinsley asked as we stepped out of the elevator on the first floor.
I shrugged and lied. “No.”
“Because there really is something you should know before—”
I held up my hand. “Honestly, could everyone please stop talking about him?”
Between my mom and Kinsley, I’d never get him out of my head. I was in Rio to play the field, not get hung up on a guy after day one.
I’D GROWN USED to Kinsley’s popularity back in Los Angeles, but walking around with her in the village felt like accompanying Taylor Swift to the Grammys. When we stepped into the food court, heads snapped in our direction. Athletes, families, friends, coaches—it didn’t matter what country they were from—they all knew who Kinsley Bryant was, thanks to her marriage to Liam Wilder and her meteoric rise to soccer fame.
I slipped behind her and let her take the brunt of the attention. She delighted in it in a way I knew I never would. I liked the sponsorship opportunities and perks that went along with being an Olympic athlete, but I also enjoyed walking through the grocery store in sweatpants without having to worry that the paparazzi would be waiting to snap photos of me outside. Kinsley didn’t have that luxury.
“Better get used to this,” Kinsley said, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Once you carry the flag in the opening ceremonies, people all over the world will know who you are.”
I bristled at the thought. When the Olympic committee had asked if I’d like to be one of the flag bearers during the opening ceremonies, I’d been honored and had agreed without a second thought. Now, as I followed Kinsley past tables and noticed the curious stares, I wondered if maybe I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t quite ready to exchange my relative obscurity for fame.
“Woah, watch it,” Becca said, pulling me out of the way just before I collided with a group of athletes weaving in the opposite direction.
The food court was a bona fide watering hole for sports stars of all countries. We headed toward a juice bar nestled near the back wall and I scanned over the crowd, taking it all in.
It was remarkably easy to spot the different sports; the telltale signs gave each one away. The rugby and weightlifting guys made their way through four or five different lines, stacking up their trays with enough sustenance to last a normal human a full year. A group of Serbian basketball players had taken up residence in the corner of the food court, towering over the crowd and making the team of Australian gymnasts sitting beside them look like hobbits.