Chapter Eleven #2
‘Of course. That’s what I think every time I step out on court – that I can win, and then I can win again and again. Otherwise what would be the point?’
I got it. Sort of. It wasn’t like you could go into a game with a defeatist attitude just because somebody was ranked higher than you.
But I also wasn’t a competitive person, and the thought of setting myself up for repeated disappointment, because being the absolute best in the world was the only thing that would make me happy, filled me with dread.
What else made him tick, other than tennis?
What else filled him with joy? Because I was yet to find a single thing.
‘Are you going to put that in your piece?’ he asked, turning to look at me in the dark.
‘I don’t know. Are you going to ask me that every time you say something profound?’
He smiled. I liked it when he did that, although it was only ever a half-smile, a sort of turning up of the corners of his mouth.
Did he ever laugh uncontrollably about something, the sort of laugh that left you clutching your stomach with tears rolling down your cheeks?
I doubted it. That would require a loss of control and that seemed like something Marcus was reluctant to do.
‘You do know that you can pull out of our arrangement at any time, right?’ said Marcus.
‘Um, yes? That’s what I assumed?’
What were they going to do if I changed my mind – make me pretend to fancy him?
‘I hope you didn’t feel under pressure to say yes to all of this – I know Dean can be extremely persuasive. And you’ve only just come out of a relationship. It could get messy when your ex finds out,’ said Marcus.
His knee was dangerously close to mine again, but there was no point in us touching each other now, was there, with nobody here to see it?
‘That’s not something that concerns me,’ I said, even though maybe I did want Charlie to find out. I wanted him to know what he was missing. That somebody else wanted me. And for him to know that he wasn’t the only one who’d moved on.
My phone pinged. Marcus watched me with interest as I scrolled through a message from Zoe, wincing as I realised what she and other people I knew might have seen.
Um, Ava? Why are you splashed all over the Ok! magazine website watching Marcus Taylor play with the caption: Racquet Man in Love??! Call me!
Thankfully, the taxi chose that precise moment to stop outside the front entrance to my hotel.
I needed to work out how the hell I was going to explain any of this to Zoe and I definitely couldn’t do that with Marcus watching me out of the corner of his eye.
She was going to think I’d gone mad – we told each other everything, so if I suddenly started being all cagey, she’d know something was up.
‘Right. See you tomorrow afternoon at your match,’ I said to Marcus, unclipping my seat belt and opening the door at record speed. I was sure I could see the driver checking us out in the rear-view mirror – surely he didn’t read the UK gossip mags?
‘I take it you’ve forgotten that Dean has arranged for me to give you a tennis lesson in the morning?’ said Marcus.
‘Oh yes,’ I said. Shit – I had forgotten. ‘Tennis really isn’t my thing.’
‘I bet you’ve never even played it properly. With someone who knows what they’re doing?’ said Marcus.
‘No, but I’ve got the basics down – hit balls over the net, watch them repeatedly fly over the fence, spend half your time running after them. Rinse and repeat.’
Marcus tutted. ‘Your respect for my sport is truly dazzling, Ava. Why did they pick you to write this profile again?’
‘No idea,’ I admitted.
My phone beeped again – Zoe wasn’t the most patient person and she’d be dying to find out what was going on.
‘Good to know,’ said Marcus.
‘Look, sorry, I’m just being grumpy because I know I’m going to make a total fool of myself and also I’m possibly the least fit person you’ll ever meet.’
‘It’s fine, Ava, it’s not like I’m dying to play with you either. I’ll have Dean ping you the details.’
‘Great. Can’t wait.’
I flung myself out on to the pavement, slamming the door behind me. Marcus wound down his window.
‘Me either,’ he called after me.
Up in my room, I debated whether or not to call Zoe right away and get it over with, deciding there was no point in putting it off.
She wasn’t one to give up and her messages would only get more and more insistent if I didn’t respond.
I changed into my pyjamas (no, not the mushroom ones, not even I would pack those for a trip to Monaco), put my hair up, took off my make-up and basically made myself look and feel like a normal person again.
The woman who had been photographed getting out of that car earlier this evening had not felt like a version of myself I recognised.
I lay on my bed, propped myself up with pillows and dialled Zoe’s number. She snatched it up before it even rang my end.
‘What is happening?’ she shrieked. ‘I’ve got everyone at work messaging me, although apparently Amanda knows about it already, and I’ve told them there’s no way it could be true because you would have told me. Right?’
Of course I would have told her, if any of it was actually real.
‘It just all happened so quickly . . .’ I said enigmatically.
‘What did?’
I held my clenched fist against my mouth – this was so hard! If I didn’t want her picking up on what was really going on, I was going to have to go to town with the pretending.
‘We’ve sort of . . . made a connection?’ I said, knowing immediately that this was not the way I talked about men I liked, and certainly not to Zoe.
‘What sort of connection? And Ava, why are you talking like a character from a Jane Austen novel?’
‘Perhaps I’m tired?’ I suggested, wondering why everything I said was coming out like a question. A question posed by Elizabeth Bennet.
I grabbed a glass of water from my bedside table and glugged at it, loosening my throat.
‘What’s all this about, then?’ asked Zoe. ‘Because last time I saw you, you had unwashed hair and were pining for Charlie and now you’re saying you’re falling for Marcus Taylor?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Is the feeling mutual?’
Ha, course it wasn’t. Not that I had feelings for him either, but even if I had, I think I could safely say that they would not have been reciprocated.
‘Ava?’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you had sex with Marcus Taylor?’
Nope. I couldn’t do this. Zoe knew me too well and although we’d daydreamed about many a celebrity in our time – she’d never quite got over her Harry Styles crush and I was firmly in the Robert Pattinson camp – we’d always had the foresight to know that these were nothing more than fantasies.
Hell, living with Charlie for years had soon made me realise the depth of what could actually be expected from a real-life romance.
There would be no awards ceremonies or luxurious facials or personal trainers or exotic beach holidays for me and honestly, I was fine with that; what I’d had with Charlie had been more than enough.
And yet, if I dug deep, being in Monte Carlo, spending time at the country club and at posh dinners – it was exciting.
‘Ava, I’m getting really worried here. Are you drunk? You can’t be jet-lagged, you’re only just past France. What is wrong?’
Aaaaargh. Nope, sorry, I was going to have to come clean.
‘Okay. But you’re going to have to promise – no, swear – that you won’t tell a single soul,’ I said, my voice sounding grave.
‘Tell them what?!’
‘We’re pretending to date. Okay? Marcus Taylor and I are faking a relationship so that he can show the press that he’s not a total robot and I can make Charlie jealous. Oh, and Amanda likes the idea, so that’s another reason for doing it.’
I fiddled with my fingernails, chipping away at the red polish I’d hastily applied the night before leaving London.
Stupidly, I hadn’t brought the bottle with me and couldn’t do any touch-ups so I should probably stop picking at it.
The type of woman who lived or stayed in Monaco did not have raggedy nails.
‘You’re joking?’ said Zoe.
I adjusted myself, sitting more upright as I didn’t think being slumped on a bed was the correct position for a conversation as important as this. And Zoe didn’t sound happy. I was clearly going to have to fight my corner here. This was my decision, I reminded myself.
‘I’m not, and I stand by it,’ I said, holding my head up high even though Zoe couldn’t actually see this attempt at bravado. Zoe could be tough, but I was fully prepared.
‘Whose idea was all of this?’ asked Zoe, clearly utterly perplexed.
I explained what had happened, from bumping into Marcus on the plane, to the pictures the French woman had clearly sold to the press, Marcus’s temper and the repercussions for his sponsorship deals and Dean’s initially unbelievable suggestion.
‘And so in the end, we both decided that there were more pros than cons. We’re both single, nobody’s getting hurt here. So why not?’
‘I can think of several reasons,’ said Zoe, sounding massively disgruntled. ‘You’re extremely fragile at the moment, Ava. I’m not sure potentially being ripped to shreds by the British press is going to help you to repair your damaged self-esteem.’
‘I hardly think a few pics of me watching Marcus play tennis will result in me being ripped to shreds.’ At least, I very much hoped not.
‘Also, I’m not fragile, I was just shocked and a bit blindsided when Charlie left.
It’s normal to grieve a relationship. Did you know there are several stages of—’
‘Yes, you’ve already told me what you read in your self-help book about how to get over a break-up. I’m just not convinced you’re thinking clearly,’ she said.
‘And so what if I’m not? What if pretending to date Marcus Taylor is, I don’t know, fun?’
I frowned to myself. Did I mean that? Because how could it be?
And yet, I had to admit that this was the most exhilarating thing that had happened to me in years, perhaps even a lifetime.
It was the stuff of daydreams, wasn’t it, a handsome sports star on your arm, being photographed while serenely watching Wimbledon (I could see it now, and had already been giving my outfit some thought).
Part of me felt as though I deserved to do something just for the hell of it, because, up until now, almost every part of my life had been controlled by my parents, and then in a way by Charlie, not because he was controlling per se, but because I’d naturally put his needs ahead of mine in certain – most – scenarios.
And sure, the fake dating thing might well go pear-shaped, but it couldn’t feel any worse than Charlie moving out, and essentially Marcus had more to lose than I did.
Amanda would be disappointed if she found out it was all a hoax, but I’d never exactly said the words ‘I’m dating Marcus Taylor’, I’d just let her believe what she wanted to believe.
The worst thing she could do was pull the article, and honestly?
Much as I wanted this Luxe piece to come off, more than any other job in my entire career, I’d lost out on stuff before, and I’d survived, and if it came to it, I supposed I would again.
‘I think you should sleep on this,’ said Zoe. ‘Think about it carefully, Ava. Please don’t rush into anything.’
‘Good idea,’ I said, thinking of the restaurant trip, of the photos of us that hadn’t yet surfaced and were way more incriminating than anything that had seen the light of day so far.
I ended the call with Zoe, trying not to let her burst my bubble. And then I frantically texted her the most important thing I’d forgotten to say:
Promise you won’t tell anyone about this, Zo, even if you don’t agree with it. Marcus and I made a pact not to tell anyone. You’re the only person who knows this isn’t real!!!
I watched as three little dots indicated that Zoe was typing.
They kept disappearing and reappearing and in the end she just sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Disappointing my best friend wasn’t a great feeling, but also, she’d get over it.
Turned out that upsetting people didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would.