Chapter 174: A Little Too Interesting

Chapter 174: Chapter 174: A Little Too Interesting

Christopher slipped his phone back into his pocket before returning to the table.

He had barely taken his seat when one of his friends looked at him.

"So."

Christopher glanced at him.

"So?"

"Who was that?"

"No one."

The answer came too quickly.

Several of them laughed.

"That was definitely not no one."

Christopher picked up his glass.

"It was a friend."

"A female friend?"

"Yes."

"Who calls you at this time of the day?"

Christopher gave him a look.

"Apparently, a female friend."

The table broke into laughter.

One of his friends leaned back.

"Come on, Archibald. You know we’re going to ask."

"Ask what?"

"Who is she?"

Christopher considered the question.

"Someone I met recently."

"At the Student Union event?"

He nodded.

A few knowing looks passed around the table.

"So you actually met someone there."

"I met several people."

"But one of them called you."

"Yes."

"And you answered."

"Obviously."

"And then you went outside to talk to her."

Christopher looked at them.

"Are you all keeping track of me now?"

"You disappeared."

"I was taking a phone call."

"From a girl."

"Yes."

They laughed again.

One of them leaned forward.

"All right. Serious question."

Christopher raised an eyebrow.

"How many girlfriends have you actually had?"

Christopher paused.

"Actual girlfriends?"

"Yes."

He thought for a moment.

"Two."

That earned a few surprised looks.

"Two?"

"That’s it?"

Christopher nodded.

"Two."

"Since when?"

"My first was before St. Albion."

His friend pointed at him.

"Ah. So the famous one was your second."

Christopher already knew where this was going.

"Yes."

"You were a first-year."

"Yes."

"And she was a second-year."

Christopher nodded.

Another friend laughed.

"Everyone remembers that."

They did.

It had been impossible not to.

She had been one of the most sought-after girls on campus that year—the sort of girl people casually referred to as the campus belle.

Beautiful enough to attract attention wherever she went, accomplished, socially prominent, and already well-known even among students outside her year.

Then she had started dating Christopher Archibald.

A first-year.

The Prime Minister’s son.

The two had become one of the most talked-about couples on campus.

"She was gorgeous," one of his friends said.

"She was."

"Every guy wanted her."

Christopher smiled faintly.

"Apparently."

"And somehow you got her."

Christopher gave him a look.

"She approached me."

The table erupted.

"Even better!"

"Of course she did."

Christopher shook his head.

"That wasn’t the point."

"What was the point?"

Christopher took a drink.

"We liked each other."

That quieted them for a moment.

It had been a real relationship.

Not a publicity arrangement.

Not a convenient match between two prominent families.

They had genuinely liked each other.

For a while.

But eventually, things changed.

They wanted different things.

Or, more accurately, Christopher had begun to realize that the relationship demanded more from him than he was willing to give.

She had wanted more of his time.

More attention.

More certainty.

And Christopher had gradually felt himself pulling away.

In the end, he had been the one to end it.

But he had never told people the details.

He certainly wasn’t about to start now.

So when one of his friends asked,

"So what happened?"

Christopher simply shrugged.

"We decided we wanted different things."

His friends exchanged looks.

They knew better.

They had been there.

They knew Christopher had been the one who ended it.

But he wasn’t the kind of person who kissed and told.

So nobody pressed him.

Instead, another friend leaned back.

"And you’ve been single ever since?"

"More or less."

"That’s almost three years."

Christopher nodded.

"Has it really been that long?"

"Yes."

One of them laughed.

"That’s ridiculous. You get asked for your number constantly."

"People ask."

"And you say no."

"If I’m not interested."

"Even when they’re beautiful?"

"Beauty isn’t everything."

His friend stared at him.

"You’re impossible."

Christopher laughed.

There had been plenty of girls.

Some had been beautiful.

Some intelligent.

Some charming.

Some had been very obvious about their interest.

But he had never felt the need to pursue someone simply because she was interested in him.

He liked people.

He enjoyed company.

He enjoyed going out.

But romance wasn’t something he chased.

One of his friends studied him.

"So this girl..."

Christopher glanced at him.

"What about her?"

"You actually enjoyed talking to her?"

Christopher paused.

Then answered honestly.

"I did."

Several eyebrows rose.

"There."

"What?"

"You said it."

"Said what?"

"That you enjoyed talking to her."

Christopher laughed.

"That isn’t particularly significant."

"It is when you’ve been single for almost three years."

"I’ve been busy."

"Student Council?"

"Among other things."

His friend smiled.

"So you’re interested."

Christopher shook his head.

"I didn’t say that."

"But you’re curious."

Christopher didn’t answer immediately.

Perhaps.

He had enjoyed talking to Vivienne.

She was unusually direct.

She had asked for his number herself.

She had called him.

And, apparently, she had wanted to hear his voice.

That last thought made him smile faintly.

He caught himself and took another drink.

His friends noticed.

They didn’t say anything.

Yet.

--

The Following Morning

By Wednesday morning, the first notices for the Annual Sports Festival had appeared around St. Albion.

The Student Council had published the official announcement on the university website.

The Student Union had posted a corresponding notice on its own student bulletin page.

Printed copies had also been placed on the large noticeboards outside the academic buildings.

And by breakfast, students were already talking about it.

Claire was the first of the four girls to stop in front of one.

"Wait."

Vivienne stopped beside her.

"What?"

Claire pointed at the notice.

"They’ve posted it."

Amelia came closer.

"The Sports Festival?"

Claire nodded.

Eleanor joined them, reading over her shoulder.

The notice was headed:

ST. ALBION UNIVERSITY

ANNUAL SPORTS FESTIVAL

FIRST WEEK OF OCTOBER

Claire continued reading.

"Seven days."

Amelia leaned closer.

"That’s right."

The schedule was divided across the week.

Monday–Friday: Preliminary and elimination rounds.

Saturday: Finals for the other sporting events; polo semifinals.

Sunday Morning: Polo final.

Sunday Afternoon: Awards ceremony for all sports.

Vivienne’s eyes moved farther down the page.

There was a separate section for the polo tournament.

POLO TOURNAMENT

Registration opens Wednesday.

Maximum number of teams: sixteen.

Elimination matches: Monday–Friday.

Semifinal matches: Saturday.

Final match: Sunday morning.

Awards ceremony: Sunday afternoon.

"Sixteen teams," Amelia said.

Claire nodded.

"Maximum."

"That’s still a lot."

"It has to be," Eleanor said. "Polo is probably the biggest draw."

She wasn’t wrong.

Around them, students were already discussing the tournament.

Some were interested in basketball.

Others were talking about swimming, fencing, tennis, or athletics.

But polo had attracted an entirely different level of attention.

At St. Albion, it wasn’t merely another sport.

The university’s polo tradition was old, prestigious, and closely associated with its wealthiest students.

And because student organizations could register independent teams, the competition would not simply be between colleges.

Claire pointed toward the bottom of the announcement.

"Look."

Vivienne read the line.

Student organizations may register independent teams.

"So the clubs can enter too," Amelia said.

"Apparently."

Vivienne looked back at the polo section.

For some reason, the announcement made something stir in the back of her mind.

Polo.

She remembered this.

Not from her own memories.

From the novel.

Her gaze lingered on the schedule.

In the original story, the polo tournament had been one of the major events of the Sports Festival.

And Anthony had played.

Not for the Student Council.

For the Polo Club.

Vivienne remembered that much.

She had read the scene more than once.

Anthony had played alongside Damian.

And Evelyn had been there too.

The whole thing had been treated almost like a small battlefield disguised as a sporting event.

The teo of them had been supporting Evelyn, who had been involved with the tournament that year, and their team had advanced deep into the competition.

She looked down the list again.

Then another memory surfaced.

Christopher Archibald.

Her eyes widened slightly.

Wait.

That name.

Of course.

That was where she had first remembered him from.

In the novel, Christopher had been involved with the Student Council and had played polo for the Student Council team.

And that year...

His team had reached the final.

Against Anthony, Damian, and Evelyn’s side.

Vivienne stared at the notice.

The novel had made Christopher little more than a supporting character.

A prominent senior.

A talented polo player.

A student council figure.

Someone who had appeared around the edges of the main characters’ story.

And yet here she was now...

She had his number.

She had spoken to him last night.

She had heard his voice.

Vivienne quickly looked away from the notice.

She really did change from the Vivienne of the novel. But why would that matter?

The original story had never been her life.

This one was.

Claire glanced at her.

"What are you thinking about?"

Vivienne blinked.

"Nothing."

Claire narrowed her eyes.

"You looked serious for a second."

Vivienne smiled.

"I was just wondering who will enter the polo tournament."

Claire nodded.

"Probably half the university."

Amelia laughed.

"Especially with sixteen slots."

Vivienne smiled faintly.

She looked at the announcement one last time.

For some reason, one particular thought stayed with her.

Christopher Archibald.

She remembered from the novel.

She knew he was a good polo player.

And somehow...

She was looking forward to watching him play.

Vivienne smiled to herself.

She didn’t think too much about it.

She simply found the thought rather nice.

Then she hurried after her friends.

--

Tbcj