27
“Is Luna Aldridge’s Newest Relationship a PR Stunt?”
—Star Reporter
I TOSSED THE ball in the air, and once it made contact with my racket, it flew. It was always the most mind-numbing, longest second of the match.
Once that first serve was out of my grasp, it was the only moment I had no idea how to prepare for the next hit. I had to wait for her returning hit and watch the ball travel through a viscous liquid.
I always watched my opponent’s matches. This one, I studied how she leaned on her left foot too much and favored a forehand. But her strategy could change at any point, and I wouldn’t be able to curate my own tactics until she responded to my serve.
I watched as her sneakers slid against the clay court, kicking up the red dust. The thwacking sound of her racket against the ball reached the sky and bounced off the seats. Suddenly, the viscosity fell away, and the ball was racing toward me at full speed.
You’re too talented to be doing this for anyone else but yourself.
I pushed out the voices, I let people’s expectations of me fall to the side, and I didn’t go in with the intention to win.
Instead, I thought of the memories I shared with Kieran.
I imagined my mother sitting far behind me on the ground, her legs crossed and a pitcher of iced tea beside her.
I pretended that I heard her charm bracelet clink as her hands flew above her head with encouraging shouts.
I hit the ball with all of the power radiating from my body, and I swear I heard her excitement.
7/18 Friday, Round 1 Winner: Aldridge
7/19 Saturday, Round 2 Winner: Aldridge
7/21 Monday, Round 3 Winner: Aldridge
7/23 Wednesday, Round 4 Winner: Aldridge
7/26 Saturday, Quarterfinal Winner: Aldridge
7/28 Monday, Semifinal Winner: Aldridge
7/31 Thursday, Final Winner: TBA
My knee was throbbing after the last six matches, but I felt alive. Every night, I’d condition and practice again. One hour of cardio, two hours on the court, followed by a night with Amir, Cecilia, Mary, and Willow. (I couldn’t face Deidra on non-business matters. Not yet.)
One night we watched the Seine together and got drinks at a bar overflowing with people. We sat on the curb outside, watching all the lit apartment windows above, taking cracks at people’s conversations.
“Bonjour, madame,” Mary lip-read with a thick (and horrible) interpretation of a French man, her martini glass flying in the air. The man in the window we had been watching was not nearly as passionate and definitely said more than two words.
“Je suis tellement amoureux de toi,” Willow narrated the woman standing across from him.
“Bonjour… madame,” Mary responded again, but with slow confusion.
“You suck at this game—you’re supposed to say something else!” Willow argued, pushing Mary, who had toppled onto my lap because she was laughing so hard.
Another night, we ordered room service and sat on the carpet of my hotel room playing Uno. The next was spent searching the local flea markets for fun clothes to wear in Cannes next week.
With the women’s final two days away, the Cannes Film Festival and Saving September Paris premiere were right around the corner.
Almost everyone in PR was rushing to make final arrangements, schedule content, and triple-check event timings and press releases.
Meaning there would be no fun plans for tonight.
Fortunately, Amir and Cecilia weren’t part of the PR team, so they were eager to at least go for breakfast.
The three of us sat at a corner café with a view of the Eiffel Tower in front of a blue sky.
“I have got to be the worst nutritionist in this business.” Amir shook his head in horror as I ate a second croissant.
“I had a protein-rich meal after my run this morning,” I reassured him while the buttery flakiness stuck to my lips. I wiped them away. “Now stop ignoring my question.”
Amir picked at the yogurt and fruit in front of him. He shrugged his shoulders. “Boats scare me,” he mumbled.
“Is this about renting the tiny boats?” Cecilia piped in, looking up from her journal.
“I really want to go,” I confirmed. “And everyone’s too scared to.”
“We should talk about what you’re wearing for Cannes instead! Or the last match! Or anything else but boats,” Amir complained.
“We miss the boat rentals every year. Just once—just for an hour—I want to—”
“Oh, shit,” Cecilia muttered.
Amir and I stopped. “What?”
Instead of answering, she shoved her phone forward, showing me—
“Oh, shit, I forgot,” I gaped.
“Forgot to tell us you had a public conversation with your ex-husband?” Amir gasped, twisting the phone in his direction, taking in the photos of me and Jeremiah on the practice court at Wimbledon.
Cecilia’s thumb raced across the screen. Amir leaned over her phone watching. “All of these articles are trying to figure out whether the two of you are together again or if you hate each other,” she read, her nose scrunched in concentration.
“It was the night before the final, I didn’t want to think about it any more than I already was.” I rubbed my temples. This could not have come at a worse time. Jeremiah was becoming a constant thorn in my side. It was a matter of time until it hit a vital organ.
“This is bad, like being-caught-in-woven-wedges bad.” She kept reading. “They’re questioning if you’re taking advantage of Kieran—what the hell?”
“Shit, shit, shit.” I pressed my eyes closed. “Why now?”
“Please explain what happened!” Cecilia hurried me.
“Jeremiah cornered me. He was obviously dissatisfied with how our previous conversation had ended because he asked me to practice as if nothing had happened. Then he was explaining that he had paid his dues and that it was time to forgive him now. That he’s suffered enough, and it was my turn to step up. ”
She narrowed her eyes. “What else haven’t you been telling us?”
I covered my mouth and mumbled. “ImayhavekissedKieran.”
They both leaned forward. “Huh?”
I picked up my head. “I may have kissed Kieran.”
“What?!” they shouted. A few tables turned to stare at us.
“When?” Amir probed (quietly).
“Why!” she demanded (less quietly).
“With tongue?” he questioned in a hushed tone.
I hushed, “No, Amir!” I shook my head and recalled the basic facts of the night. “It was at the Mansfield Mansion. Kieran said that there were a few guests watching us argue and I was about to blow our cover, and, well… you know what came after that,” I mumbled.
“No, no, no. You need to explain,” Amir urged.
“Yes, that,” Cecilia backed him up.
“I don’t want to think about it!”
“Oh, I get it.” He smirked, leaning back in his seat all smug.
“Don’t you dare try to use your Romance Radar on me. Shut it off, right now.”
“Regardless!” Cecilia cut us off. “You need to go out and fix this tonight. I’m calling Nari. She’ll make sure Kieran is wherever you are tonight and the two of you will be seen together so we can get this resolved. Then you will explain that kiss in full detail after.”
The chaos of trying to switch my and Kieran’s schedules around tonight cut our breakfast short. I spent the rest of the day practicing, trying to ignore the pictures of me and Jeremiah, before I rushed to shower and change into a minidress.
Cecilia told me that Kieran would be at my hotel room after an interview. I needed to be ready to “socialize and look in love.”
Looking in love was questionable. The idea actually made my stomach twist and ache with nausea.
The last time Kieran and I had spoken, it was in this room, where I had competed with Death for the title of Most Sickly. Then I spilled my guts on personal stories and fell asleep, after which he proceeded to carry me to bed. With my luck, I probably had drool on my face!
A knock sounded, and I rushed to the door, flattening the linen of my short black dress.
“Hi,” I exhaled, opening the door.
His response was delayed. “Hi.” I tried not to explore where his shirt was partially unbuttoned. “You look… nice,” he said.
“Thank you. You also look nice.” I nodded. “We should go,” I urged, trying to fill in our awkwardness.
I kneaded my palms, searching for a topic, as we left the hotel and walked under the shop lights and awnings. Store windows, trees, and even the cobblestone sparkled. But then he relaxed his hand, offering his open palm at his side.
“Oh, yes, yeah.” I separated my hands and let them fall. His thumb brushed my palm with hesitation, before his hand engulfed it, his fingers nestling between each of mine.
“You okay?” There was a dip in his usual deep voice.
“Of course.” I smiled to prove it.
He hummed. And then, “You don’t have to lie. You’re allowed to not be happy all the time. I assume you wouldn’t judge me if I wasn’t?”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” I realized there was no point in lying. “I could be doing better.” He waited. “What?”
“That’s all?” he asked, not convinced.
I rolled my eyes. It was easier to forget about our entwined hands when he was being irritating. “It’s more like a mountain of things that are on the verge of tumbling down and flattening me out.” Like it was right now, with the thought of Jeremiah ruining this entire season and stunt for me.
His index finger left my knuckle to poke my hip. “Don’t hold back on me, Aldridge.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Jeremiah cornering me on the court choked me. “Just a lot of ex drama.”
His gaze lingered. The emotion in my throat wasn’t disguised well. But he didn’t probe about my divorce, only asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
He nodded, understanding.
“Do I look that stressed, or do you just know me better than I thought?” I asked, trying to laugh, but his response yielded the opposite.
“I’d like to think the latter.” My mouth was dry. “I think anyone would’ve noticed you were acting weird, though,” he said, changing the tone.
“Acting weird? How?” I argued.
“You’re stiff as a board, and more than usual. Come on, Aldridge, loosen up, we’re in Paris! Isn’t that what you said?” He laughed, looking at me with a devilish grin.
“You ass, you heard that?”
“You screamed it from your open balcony.”