Chapter 23
twenty-three
Imissed Brisbane by a day. Not ideal, but it’s given me extra time to train ahead of Melbourne, both alone and with Matteo. Mixed doubles qualifying matches begin today, which means we’re finally going to be put to the test.
As if that’s not anxiety-inducing enough, our Stratosphere rep, who we were meant to be meeting a couple of days ago, got delayed and now wants to meet a few hours before we head onto the court.
I didn’t do anything wrong by not playing Brisbane; the Australian Open was the first tournament my new contract says I have to play in.
More than likely, they’ll want to say their hellos and do a quick shoot in our game-day outfits for social media content.
Still, not even the sight of the Wards—Lilian and Austin waving from the observation bridge above the courts, Eli with a wide grin and two thumbs up—is enough to calm the clip-clop of my heart as Matteo, our teams, and I exit a court in the village.
The Australian summer sun is absolutely brutal, though the air is nice and dry.
Melbourne Park’s grounds are bustling despite it being days before round one matches.
Fans with various country flags amble about, pointing at players on the bright blue practice courts and oohing and aahing in time with the whack of tennis balls against strings.
Matteo grabs me loosely around the wrist once we break from the group, tugging me gently past the courts and to a quiet corner, tucked away from view. “You doing alright?”
“Just nervous. You know, match-day jitters.”
He scans my face like he doesn’t believe me, but other than telling him about the wave of foreboding that hit me like a slap in the face near the end of our practice, I have no better way to explain it.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “It’s the start of the season, that’s all. This would’ve happened in Brisbane.”
His brows furrow, and he squeezes my hand. “I have no doubt that you’re going to be amazing. Today and this whole tournament. The whole season, even.” I give him what I hope is a convincing nod. “I’ll meet you in the Strato suite?”
Another nod. His eyes dip to my lips briefly, but it would seem that our agreement not to identify exactly what we’re doing means we’re also keeping it under wraps.
We go our separate ways. I change into my outfit for the day—a lavender two-piece kit.
The top is a tight tank with a short V-neck and a collar with a white stripe.
The skirt is my favorite part: pleated and loose, with a thick white stripe across my waist and a smaller stripe above it, the Strato logo bold on the side.
Three and a half hours before our qualifying match, I meet our rep, Rebecca, in the Stratosphere suite, where Matteo stands against the wall with his arms crossed, brooding. His outfit matches mine, though the majority is black with small darker purple accents. Rebecca hugs me tightly.
When she pulls away, she’s beaming, “Delilah! It’s so great to meet you in person. So sorry to do this before a match, but hopefully it won’t take too long and you can both be warming up in no time. We just want a few photos of you together plus a quick Q and A.”
“Of course. Thank you so much for having us. We’re excited to be repping Strato on the court,” I answer. Matteo seems unbothered by my speaking for him, his arms uncrossing as he comes up beside me.
Rebecca claps enthusiastically, her energy infectious enough that any lingering foreboding is washed away. I match her smile, posing the way we’re told: first with rackets in our hands facing forward, then back-to-back, then a few iterations of poses we might take during a match.
After about half an hour of posing, she pulls two chairs to the middle of the room so we can sit side by side.
The videographer sets up a camera, and when he indicates we’re rolling, she asks, “Can I have you both tell us your names, your home countries, and why you’re excited about this tournament? ”
Knowing Matteo would hate going first, I jump in. “I’m Delilah, I play for the United States, and I’m excited to be playing mixed with someone new this January.” With a wink, I add, “Helps keep the tour interesting.”
Rebecca laughs with me before nodding to Matteo.
He clears his throat. “Matteo, Italy…” He trails off. When his eyes meet mine, I smile encouragingly. “I’m excited to be in Australia for hard court season again.”
“How long have you two been practicing together?”
“Roughly twice a week for a couple of months.” I elbow Matteo lightly. “Not that he needed the practice. He’s a natural.”
“You were playing just as well when we first started.” He turns to Rebecca. “If I could bet on it, I’d say she’s the one who’s going to win us the match today. Watch for her killer drop shot.”
I can’t contain my smile, and I only barely stop the urge to lean into him. His words and the twitch of his lips shake something loose in my head.
A drop shot, knocking someone off balance and sending them skidding in a direction they weren’t ready for. Matteo, who came into my life and changed everything, catching me entirely off guard.
Rebecca asks a few more questions, then we play a quick game of favorites, where I’m able to accurately tell her Matteo’s favorite pre-match snack (organic trail mix), favorite surface (clay), and his favorite recovery activity (swimming), among other things.
Matteo is just as knowledgeable about my own favorites, and when the camera switches off and we hop to a stand, Rebecca seems more pleased with us than I could have hoped for.
“This was perfect. Thank you both so much for taking time out of match day to do this with us.”
I wave her concern away. “We’re happy to. Thank you for warming up our brains before we warm up our bodies,” I joke.
Rebecca turns to Matteo. “And thank you for recommending her to us. You were right that she’s exactly what we’ve been searching for.” Her eyes back on me, she finishes, “Strato is so excited to be working with you in this greater capacity.”
I’m untethered, floating in space. I nearly stagger back, my arms crossing reflexively and holding tight. I don’t understand until, suddenly, I do.
The conversation with Francesca outside of the women’s locker room, when she first posited the idea that Matteo would be a good doubles option. Him stepping out of the men’s locker room and meeting my eyes before he disappeared out the door.
Stratosphere calling Shay, my agent, a few days later.
I feel so monumentally stupid. What I believed was a reward for how hard I work was instead handed to me. Once again, I got lucky. Just like when I befriended Austin, which led me to the Wards and all the other life-changing chances I’ve been given.
I’ve got nothing to show for my work, and after everything, people are still treating me like a charity case. Every time I think I can get out from under the thumb of debt, something gets added to the calculator hanging over my head.
I will forever be indebted to others.
Worse than that, Matteo went behind my back and has lied every day since.
I thought I was angry with Chase a couple of weeks ago, but if that was anger, this must be incandescent fury.
Or maybe it’s the betrayal slicing away at the skin of my levelheadedness.
I can scarcely think as I stare unseeing at Rebecca, whose eyebrows are drawn as she looks back and forth between us.
She’s speaking to Matteo, but I can’t hear a thing.
It’s not until she apologizes that I find words. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I do need to get warmed up though, so I’m going to have to step away. Hope that’s okay.”
I don’t wait for her answer, turning on my heel and walking out.
“Good luck this week!” she calls.
I’m pacing outside when Matteo steps out, his head hanging, both our rackets in his hand. Snatching mine, I drag him with me until I find an empty room down the hall.
I turn on him, taking in his pinched brows and the eyes that glide over me affectionately. That only serves to make me more angry, more indignant that our entire relationship was born from a lie. At least on his end.
“Delilah, please.” He reaches for me, but I move out of the way.
“You told Stratosphere to up my deal.” I meant for it to be a question, but it comes out a statement. Strong and marked with a fraction of my frustration.
Matteo’s arms drop to his side, and he backs up. “Not really. I talked to my old rep—”
“Why?”
“Wh—Why? Because I heard you were concerned and wanted to see if there was something I could do to help.”
“I’m not a charity case, Matteo.”
“Of course you’re not. I know that. It wasn’t charity. I had a call scheduled with them for something else and worked you into the conversation. Let them know how much you could help their brand.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know that too. I wanted to help.”
“How did you manage it? Austin said, and you even admitted, that they were upset with you after your blowups on court.” The words are barbed, and I see them land. Watch him realize he’s losing one of the few people who saw him as more than the anger that fed him.
“They called to tell me I needed to get my shit together. I told them I was hoping you and I could play mixed doubles together. That playing with you, along with minimizing my outbursts, should help. It was a peace offering to them—I’ll get my shit together and in exchange for them letting me keep the deal, here’s this amazing player with a presence unlike any other who they were sleeping on.
” Anguished, he says, “Delilah, it was entirely up to them whether to follow through. I just—”
“Why didn’t Shay know? She’s on top of every single thing.”
“I asked my rep not to tell her or you when I gave them your name. Figured it might make you feel like you had an obligation to play with me or something. I don’t know.”
“And now? Now that you know me, know how I feel about being someone else’s charity case, why haven’t you told me? Did you really think it would never come out?” I cross my arms. “Why would you not tell me as soon as we had that conversation the first time we hooked up?”
Another jab. This time, he flinches, opening and closing his mouth.
“I…I guess I didn’t think about it like that?
It wasn’t like I paid them to up your deal.
I didn’t know any of the particulars. I just pointed out that someone they sponsored deserved more.
They must have done their research and realized I was right. ”
“But they took it seriously because it was you saying it. It wasn’t me catching their eye.
” I remember the money I set aside in the bank account I now share with only the twins.
The one they’ll draw from to fund part of the used car they’re buying this week.
An eighteenth birthday and Christmas present from me.
That money came from my first big Stratosphere payment, and that was brought on because of him.
He’s shaking his head, desperate for me to hear him, but I’m done listening. Feeling that familiar bite behind my eyes, I say, “You should go. We can warm up separately.”
Matteo steps into my line of sight. “Delilah, per favore. You have to—please understand. I’ve been doing everything in my power not to feel as weak and helpless as I did the day…” He trails off, but I can fill in the blanks.
The day his mother passed away.
Changing course, he says, “I heard you were struggling, and I thought I’d pass your name along. I didn’t want you to feel the same way. You’re such a strong player with so much potential. I thought I was helping.”
I take a step to the right, trying to reach the door.
Matteo sags against the wall with a loud thump, unintentionally cutting me off.
He looks like he might fall to his knees.
“Please, please. You seemed helpless that evening, and if I could…if I could just find a way to make that go away for you…I thought—”
“And do you see how, in doing that, you made me feel weaker and more helpless? You got me an increased deal, no matter what small part you played in this, and it’s proof I can’t even get a strong endorsement of my own merit.
I work so hard, and yet it feels overshadowed by all the things I’m handed. ”
“I don’t have the power you think I do. And it is your merit that got you the deal.
I gave them a name, and every reason they listed for upping the deal was the truth.
” I move again, but he pleads, “Delilah, please. I pointed them in your direction, and you shined the way you always do. It’s always you.
Luck has nothing to do with it.” He sounds as miserable as I feel, and I’m about two seconds from the dam breaking.
“Don’t do this. I love you. Please don’t do this. I never meant—”
“I need to go, Matteo. Please.” The waver in my voice finally does the trick. His shoulders slump as he steps out of my way. I’m out the door and in a bathroom seconds later.
I take ten minutes to cry in a stall before I splash water on my face and search for Francesca.