27. Cathy
27
CATHY
One week later…
O ur mornings have taken on a new rhythm. Ivan and I head to the tennis court almost every day now, a strange ritual we’ve fallen into.
The court is tucked behind the mansion, bordered by high hedges, offering a quiet space where, for a little while, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
As I bounce the ball against the ground, I glance at Ivan across the net, trying not to let his intense gaze throw me off. His expression is cool, but I can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You ready for this, or are you already regretting letting me choose the game?” I tease, sending the ball flying with a solid serve.
He returns it effortlessly, his smirk growing. “I don’t think I’ve ever regretted a challenge in my life.”
“Is that so?” I dart to intercept his next shot, barely making it in time. “We’ll see about that.”
The game unfolds with surprising ease. We volley back and forth, and each time I score a point, I hear a low chuckle escape him. It’s as if, with each play, a layer of his guarded composure falls away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so… relaxed.
“Nice try,” he says after I miss a shot, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Almost.”
I roll my eyes, catching my breath as I prepare my next serve. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You expected me not to? I’ve been waiting to win since you insisted on playing yesterday.”
“Oh, we’re keeping score?” I shoot him a challenging look. “Should’ve told me sooner.”
The game picks up intensity as we both start playing with more determination. I manage to score a difficult point, and when I glance over, I catch him smiling—not the restrained, closed-off smile I’m used to, but something genuine.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he warns, but there’s warmth in his tone that surprises me.
“Too late,” I quip, unable to hold back a grin. “Think I might be winning here, Ivan.”
In response, he steps up his game, but there’s something lighter about his presence, as if he’s actually enjoying the back-and-forth banter. I realize I am, too. For a few moments, we’re just two people on a tennis court, testing each other, laughing, and letting our guards down in a way that feels almost normal.
When the game finally ends, I’m panting and leaning on my racket, trying to catch my breath. Ivan walks over, his expression thoughtful as he hands me a water bottle.
“Not bad,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.
“Not bad yourself,” I reply, taking a long drink. Our eyes meet, and in the quiet of the court, there’s something unspoken between us—a recognition, maybe, that we’ve let each other in just a little.