Chapter 15
Maggie
Four Years Ago - Melbourne
This is it. I can feel it in my bones. I can taste it on my tongue—everything I’ve worked so hard for the last few years is right in front of me.
I try not to think back on last year’s match and my first ever time playing in the Australian Open, where I lost to Elena in the qualifiers.
I was crushed, but that loss taught me a lot of lessons.
Mainly that I needed to take my training a lot more seriously.
I smirk, knowing that I’ve spent the last year at the Coastal Beach Country Club, living and breathing tennis alongside my best friend.
I risk a quick glance to the stands and see Rowan leaning forward in his seat, knee bouncing, his hands clasped so tight his knuckles are white. My sister, Andreea, sits next to him, clutching her pearls. The sight makes me smile. The two most important people in my life are here. I got this.
Elena serves the ball and I return it with a backhand.
I’ve watched her gameplay so many times now, her movements are familiar.
I anticipate her next move and take a slice shot, adding just enough backspin to throw her off her game.
The low bounce does exactly what I want it to, forcing her to pivot and attempt the next shot.
Even though she hits it with enough force, the ball hits the net and bounces unceremoniously off the court.
I raise both my arms in the air as the crowd in the sold out arena cheers wildly. Rowan and Andreea are on their feet, hugging and jumping up and down with joy and I laugh, pointing at them with my racquet and beaming.
Elena smashes hers against the blue court a few times before approaching me at the net.
I can tell she’s furious, and as much as I want to gloat, I reign in my smile.
Last year when she won, I told her congratulations and she ignored me.
Now, she shakes my hand so hard it hurts, but I don’t pay her any mind.
“Good job, this time,” she bites out and I yank my hand back with an eyeroll.
“Better luck next time,” I say and shake the umpire’s hand on my way to the stands. Rowan bends down and hugs me so tight, I’m afraid he might crush me or lift me over the stand’s railing. He does neither and lets me go, planting a kiss on my forehead.
I laugh and clasp hands with my sister, who’s too short to attempt the type of hug over the railing that Rowan did.
“I’ll meet you both back at the hotel,” I say, stepping back and waving at the crowd.
“We’ll have the champagne ready.” Rowan winks at me and I shake my head as I make my way off the court.
“Cheers, miss Australian Open Champion,” Rowan says as we clink champagne glasses and grin at one another.
“I hope dad is kicking himself for not coming out here. I can’t believe he hasn’t bothered to call and congratulate you at least,” Andreea says and my smile falls.
It’s been a year since I left home and put some distance between me and Dad.
Our relationship has been strained since I told him I was moving to Florida.
He wanted me to stay at his club where he could keep an eye on me and my progress.
“I don’t need his praise, I’m not doing this for him,” I mumble, downing the rest of my champagne. I love my sister, but sometimes she cannot read the room or the fact that I clearly don’t want to talk about my parents’ absence from the game.
My dad hasn’t shown up to any of my events since college, and my mom considered coming only if I put her in a “nice place.” I decided it wasn’t worth my time to entertain her so she stayed home.
Rowan clears his throat and wraps his fingers around my hand—the one that’s fidgeting with the empty flute. He gently pulls until I let go of the glass and he refills it. I give him a grateful smile and he winks. The flirty gesture mixes with the bubbly to make me feel lightheaded in the best way.
Things between us have been good. Better than good. Ever since I moved to Palm Beach to be closer to him, things have been amazing. Although I lost in the qualifiers last year, Rowan was still there, cheering me on, even though he didn’t make it to the qualifiers himself.
Once we both returned to Florida, we made a plan together—started a more intense training schedule, focusing on sprints, running, lunges, and weight training.
We entered more competitions, quickly climbing up the ranks in our individual categories.
And now, we’re both here. Rowan’s finals for the men’s single category is tomorrow and I can’t wait for both of us to go home as champions.
“What are you going to do with three million dollars?” he asks me as we take a seat on the plush couch in our shared suite.
“Go shopping?” Andreea laughs from across the room, making herself comfortable in the lounge chair.
I glare at her profile but she ignores me, instead scrolling through her phone.
Rowan laughs but I can tell it’s an uncomfortable one.
I know he’s always struggled financially, and every bit of game prize money he’s made so far has gone to his mom and helping her with house payments.
Not to mention he’s still living in his friend’s guesthouse to save up for a house.
I smile and drape my legs across his lap. His palm is warm but rough against my bare thigh and I suppress a shiver. If my sister wasn’t here right now, I’d be climbing on top of him, running my hair through his dark blond hair, grinding on his—
Rowan’s smirk brings me out of my lust induced daze. “What?” I ask, cheeks on fire.
“I said, that must be quite the shopping trip.”
“Maybe I’ll buy a boat,” I joke. “We’ll keep it docked at my house. Maybe you can live on it,” I tease.
Rowan groans and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll use my prize money to buy a house for myself. Happy?”
“Very. No offense, but that guesthouse is a little too cramped.”
He shrugs and leans in closer to my face, his grip tightening on my leg. “Doesn’t bother you enough to stop coming over,” he whispers low enough so my sister doesn’t hear.
Rolling my eyes, I shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. His hand inches further up my thigh and under my tennis skirt.
“Shut up!!” Andreea yelps from across the room and Rowan yanks his hand back as I sit up, pulling my legs back. Shit, did she see us flirting?
I haven’t told her about the agreement, and the last thing I want is for her to catch us in the act.
“Everything okay?” Rowan asks, clearing his throat and clutching a pillow over his crotch. I smirk but turn around when my sister shoves her phone in my face.
“They think you’re dating!” She laughs, like that’s the most ridiculous thing that could ever happen. I don’t know why, but the thought of her not approving makes my stomach sour. Is it because she thinks less of Rowan and his upbringing? Or is it because she doesn’t think I’m good enough for him?
Rowan takes the phone and flips through the article that was just posted. I hover over his shoulder and catch some of the key words—up-and-comers, dating, new ‘IT couple’ of tennis. My eyebrows scrunch together and Rowan looks at me in concern.
“They’re just speculating,” he says, showing me the headline picture.
It’s one from earlier today when he hugged me over the railing and kissed my forehead.
In the close up, I’m grinning as his lips press tightly against my forehead and his hands cup my cheeks.
I can’t stop the flutter in my stomach. We look cute together.
But then the headline comes into focus: David Taylor’s Daughter Turns Heads at the Australian Open: Is She Dating a Newbie?
I hand the phone back to Andreea and bite my lip. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid by not dating. The constant pressure from the media, the rumors, all the things that could end a relationship.
“I can’t believe them—they didn’t even acknowledge your win in the title, just that you’re David’s daughter,” Andreea says, pacing around with her balled up fists. “I’m going to call someone about this. Stupid reporters,” she mutters, taking her phone and storming out of the suite.
Rowan looks after her with his eyebrows raised. “I know your sister can be intense, but I’m glad you have her in your corner. I don’t think I’d survive her ire.”
I stand and cross my arms over my chest, taking over the same spot she was pacing a second ago.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stepping close to me and wrapping me in a hug. I resist at first, but then his comforting scent envelops me and I give in. I always do.
“I don’t want this for us,” I mumble against his shoulder and his arms stiffen around me. I swallow and push the words out even though it’s not fair. Even though he didn’t do anything wrong. “I don’t think we should give them any more reason to publish those kinds of articles.”
He pulls back and I shut my eyes tight. I hate this. I don’t want him to stop touching me, supporting me, showing me affection. But I don’t want to put the spotlight on him this way. He deserves to be in it for his accomplishments, not because he’s with me.
“You know I don’t care about those articles, right?
” he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
My eyes flutter open and land on his lips.
His nice, soft, inviting lips that have been my comfort for years now.
Ever since that first night we made the agreement.
Ever since he told me he couldn’t accept—not without kissing me.
I swallow hard and meet his hazel gaze. He looks…sad. The crinkles at the corners showing his concern for me. So I give him a smile and hug him tight once more. “I just think we need to show less PDA. I don’t want to deal with the media any more than I have to, okay?”
Rowan is quiet for a moment but eventually he says, “Anything for you, Mags.”