Marching On

There is something to be said about the day of a polo match. The smell of the fresh cut grass and hay; the excited, respectful murmurs from high society; and then anticipation that grows at an exceedingly fast speed within each player’s gut.

Lavin could see the crowd gathering from the open windows of the barn. She turned to her pony, Rembrandt, and patted him on his neck, whispering a pleasant greeting.

It had been over three years since the last time she played in a match and not many people knew she would be playing today.

The barn was her hiding place while the rest of her team mingled under the expansive white tent that offered refreshments and shade.

"Guess what I have, Rem," she said to the pony, an air of surprise in her voice. Lavin reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube.

Rembrandt's nostrils flared at the smell.

Lavin laughed airily, placing the sugar cube underneath his nose. She stroked Rembrandt's head as he took the sugar cube from her.

Both animal and human ears perked when they heard thick sounds of riding boots on the hay-strewed wooden floor. She wondered who it could be and saw Harry dressed in white riding pants and a purple polo shirt with the name Sentebale embroidered on the front.

"I didn't believe Ben when he told me you were playing today," he said, leaning against the frame of Rembrandt's stall. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Lavin looked at him. Despite knowing he would be here, it still shocked her to see him.

"Lav?" Harry coaxed.

"I-erm-it was meant to be a surprise," she told him. "My name isn't even on the roster."

Harry offered a very thin smile. "I bet your mother isn't thrilled."

Lavin shrugged. "She isn't but she'll have to deal with it."

"Is your family here today?" he asked.

She nodded, her hand played with the rubber bracelet displaying the name of her charity on it. "Even Dad felt well enough to make the trip."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Your father came? That's wonderful news, Lavin."

Lavin nodded again. "It is."

Silence suffocated them. Both Harry and Lavin fidgeted as they tried to continue the withering, meaningless conversation.

"So, is this how it's going to be?" Harry asked.

Lavin squinted her eyes, her brows wrinkling in confusion.

Harry took a seat on a bale of hay. "Our relationship or friendship, whatever you want to call it. Is it going to be filled with sporadic meetings, awkward silences and empty words?"

Lavin shook her head. "I-no, I don't want it to be like that."

"It looks like it's already like that."

"Harry--"

"No, Lavin, I can't have us be like this. We aren't good on our own."

Lavin felt her emotions overwhelm her. The tears filled her eyes and a restrictive lump formed in her throat.

Her feet were mysteriously inching her closer to him and the delicate touch of his coarse hands were running the length of her forearms. The warmth in his palms jump-started Lavin's adrenaline.

Warm pressure came from Harry's thighs as they squeezed Lavin closer to him. Her thin hands cupped his face and he looked up at her.

"You make this break-up thing look so simple," Harry commented in a low tone, breaking eye contact. "Going on tour in the Faroe's, throwing yourself into work, and finding time to train for a polo race."

"You're not the easiest person to forget, Harry." Lavin passed her thumbs lightly over his cheeks. "I've needed to keep myself distracted."

Harry's hands snaked around the back of her thighs, gripping them. She allowed her fingers to dance down the curve of his neck.

Lavin leaned down and pressed her mouth to his. They were warm and Lavin likened herself to an alcoholic. Once she had one taste, she wanted more. Lavin needed all of him.

She pressed herself against Harry, sliding her hands down his back and lifting his shirt over his head.

His fingertips tickled the skin underneath her shirt and slowly he inched over her stomach, over her chest and finally tossed it aside.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked, cheeks tinged a pale shade of red.

"What we should be doing. Being together," Lavin told him confidently.

"What about--?"

Lavin cut him off with another kiss.

"No. Take our titles away, take our lineage out of the equation and you and I are just people. We're no different than the ordinary person off the street. They're allowed to make their own decisions in their life despite who their ancestors were.

"I am a twenty-six-year old woman and I will decide who I love and who I will be with."

Harry smirked. "And who do you love?"

"You." Lavin grinned.

"And who will you be with?"

"You, always you."

It was Harry who crashed his lips into hers now. Lavin could feel the electricity of his excitement of her profession.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away. He squinted his eyes in question, faint crows feet gathered at the corners.

"Are you worried about what your country will think?"

"No," she answered solidly. "After the tour at the Faroe's they could not stop talking about my brother's and me. They love me and they always will."

A trumpet sounded on the field.

"Time to play," Harry breathed, disappointed they were interrupted.

Lavin rolled off Harry and quickly put her shirt back on. Harry followed suit and slid off the haystack.

"Are we back together?"

"I think we should be. Just as long as we keep it between us," Lavin told him, taking Rembrandt's lead.

Harry pulled her into one last kiss as she was leaving the stable.

"Don't tell Ben I told you this," Lavin said, standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear, "But watch yourself today. He has plans to knock you off your pony."