15
“The True Timeline Behind Luna Aldridge and Kieran Alexander’s Romance”
—Hello London!
KIERAN’S PUBLICIST, NARI, had directed us to the exit: a back door that many of the other guests had to leave through because other doors had been blocked off while the carpet was rolled up.
“You’re going to go down the hall until you see a steel door and exit that way.
Your car will be waiting at the sidewalk, as will every photographer.
Which means you have less than a minute from the time you get outside to the time you get into the car to appear romantically involved,” she explained.
My stomach buzzed with anticipation.
I was about to be photographed as Kieran Alexander’s newest girlfriend.
I was about to be photographed with a man for the first time since my ex-husband.
Kieran was the epitome of professionalism as we walked down the hallway, following my bodyguard.
He wore no signs of stress or thought, like a stoic soldier preparing for the day’s drills.
My hands were clammy, and suddenly, the height of my heels made me shaky.
The smell of caviar from the kitchen was beginning to make me nauseous.
The words were squeezed out of me: “I can’t walk out first.” He turned quickly, surprised by the break in silence.
“Why?” he asked, over his shoulder.
All I could picture were the sudden shouts and flashes blinding me.
They’d shoot me with personal questions that hit my chest like flying arrows, and my face would fall, and every emotion I was feeling would be evident in my eyes.
They’d block my path and corner me, and for once in my life I think I’d cower.
They’d ask about Jeremiah.
“I’d rather not,” I responded. His eyes traced my discomfort, flicking to my unsettled nail picking.
“All right, let’s go.” He offered me his hand, stepping in front of me, no questions. It felt like a temporary truce.
The door ahead swung open. The air exploded with noise, but Kieran’s body shielded me from the lights.
The city street was filled with more than just black SUVs and paparazzi.
Onlookers from nearby restaurants and bars hoped to get a glimpse of one of the many celebrities who had arrived on the carpet hours before.
Once Kieran stepped out of the building and his presence was known, everyone erupted.
He quickly waved to fans across the street as they cried his name, leading us to the car ten steps ahead.
Two bodyguards divided a path, giving us space.
He paid everyone quick glances, taking long strides across the pavement.
Camera flashes blinded my peripheral vision, and the wine from earlier stirred in my stomach.
I stiffened, refusing to flinch. I couldn’t help but squeeze Kieran’s hand as the photographers shouted and pushed toward us. The air was thick, and the attention was heavy, but I focused on his shoulder blades and the feeling of his ring pressing into my knuckle.
His other hand came around to the side of my hip, as if to ensure I wasn’t pulled away, guiding me into the car.
We were only outside for thirty seconds.
We tore our hands apart the moment we were behind the closed door, facing opposite windows until we drove down the road, and Kieran stepped into a separate car.
My drive home was long and restless. Usually, on the way back to the hotel or home—it depended where I was staying—the weight of my dress would pinch my shoulders, and the sound of the radio would lull me to sleep. I’d wake to my driver, Craig, opening my door and letting the light in.
Tonight, he was surprised to find me awake and opening the car door before he had even closed his.
“Thank you, Craig. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smiled, stepping onto the sidewalk.
“All right, Ms. Luna. Have a good rest of your night now,” he said with a wrinkle of concern on his forehead, and a hand on his round belly.
“You too.” I waved goodbye and walked up my front steps. The street was blanketed in stars and lamplit curtains. The only sound this far outside the city was the sound of my heels, and the neighbor’s cat in the window.
My mind was clouded with noise, though. The hollers when I had arrived. Kieran’s burning stare from across the carpet. Kieran asking me to dance. Kieran touching me. Kieran asking me questions like an acquaintance. Kieran clutching my hip in front of the paparazzi as if he understood.
Tonight was too much. The thoughts were breaking a barrier in my head and spilling out of my ears.
I peeled my hand off the railing and opened the door.
The cold hardwood of the foyer soothed my feet. My dress fell to the ground with its own weighty grunt, the gold belt smacking the floor. I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe my mind.
Dealing with press was one thing. I could avoid interviews. Pretend I didn’t hear photographers. Bypass the red carpet. Those things could be controlled.
But Kieran… I couldn’t control that. I couldn’t control when he argued with me or dictate when we got along. I had no understanding of why his deep blue eyes bored into me with those long, full stares, only for him to remind me moments later of how inconvenient it was to watch me play tennis.
I didn’t have time for this. Soon I’d be flying to London for Wimbledon, and then I was in Europe for two months.
A year ago, I would’ve been dancing around my London flat with Notting Hill playing on the TV in the background while Kelsey and I picked my tournament outfits.
Wimbledon used to have a section of my heart the same way a mother’s heart belonged to her children. Now there was a throbbing gap left.
I’d be stepping foot into a country that was no longer mine to call home.
England belonged to Jeremiah.
He was England’s crown jewel of tennis, ranked number one in the world.
And the person who every tennis fan believed was to blame for his six-month break was me.
I couldn’t do anything to change their perception of me in relation to him. I could date Kieran and try to repair my image, but they’d always believe I was the reason for Britain’s best tennis player taking a break and losing his edge.
Photos of me and Kieran were everywhere.
They spanned every magazine, social platform, and talk show. Every tilt of Kieran’s head, breath from my mouth, and repositioning of our hands was caught on camera. There were several close-ups of our intertwined fingers and the proximity in which I kept our conjoined hands near my hip.
He was a gem in his black suit.
I shook my head trying to forget it.
I gripped the tennis racket, thwacking the ball across the court as Felix shouted out commands.
Cecilia, with her dirty blond hair stuffed into a bun, sat on the bench, a stuffed tote bag from college at her side.
God only knew what was in there. Never underestimate a woman with a large bag.
Especially one in charge of screening your calls.
Ugh. I grunted as the next ball made contact. Again, and again, and again.
“Water!” Felix shouted.
I let my arm go limp, jogging over to the bench for a drink.
“You’re pushing yourself,” Cecilia commented. I nodded with the water bottle pressed against my lips. I let it spill down my chin and neck. “More than usual,” she said, her tone becoming suspicious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get under your skin so much before.”
I closed the bottle. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” She raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted, jogging back onto the court.
“Fine, pretend like you have no idea! But don’t walk away yet, I get at least three minutes during these breaks. Deidra sent me this to show you.” She walked over with her phone turned sideways, a clip from Hello London! loaded. She pressed play.
An English woman in a tweed jacket holding a coffee mug spoke with a woman on her right. “Now, this only feels right to talk about since Wimbledon is beginning in a few weeks. Do you know what I’m referring to?”
“No, I don’t think so,” the other woman responded, her brow wrinkled.
“Last night, Kieran Alexander and Luna Aldridge were seen together at the Luka Limited event.” A split photo of Kieran’s red carpet appearance, and then mine, materialized behind them.
“What do you mean by together?”
“Well, they were seen chatting inside, and then spotted leaving the venue together,” she gushed. A new photo appeared behind them, one from Kieran’s and my staged walkout.
“Lottie, that doesn’t mean anything! They’re holding hands, for God’s sake.”
“I completely disagree! Listen to this,” she began, briefly reading off a teleprompter, “Last weekend, actor Kieran Alexander attended the Charleston Open in South Carolina. This isn’t an event that many celebrities frequent, compared to the spectacle of Wimbledon.
What makes this even more interesting is that he was only present for the last match: Aldridge versus Tunisia.
I’m not sure if you remember, but Alexander and Aldridge were also photographed playing tennis together on what seemed like a date.
I thought this was a new romance of sorts—just look at the way he’s watching her in those photos.
” Said tennis photos from two weeks ago appeared.
She continued on. “But a reliable source tells us that Luna Aldridge and Kieran Alexander have been friends for many years. There’s even a photo of him picking up her purse at the RBY party three years ago, which is the night they first met,” she squealed.
Said photo appeared. “Their eyes are locked in this romantic gaze, and the rain is falling around them like they’re in a movie. ”
The other TV host spoke up. “Didn’t she just get divorced from Jeremiah Evans? That’s quite soon.”
My heart spasmed. I gripped the racket at my side.
“It’s entirely possible that they were unhappy before that divorce. You saw Jeremiah Evans’s interview—he admitted to how unhappy they were,” Lottie argued
“He also admitted to her being a mental case!”
“I don’t know, Sydney. I’ve gone through a divorce, and when you’re in the weeds of that process, there are a lot of feelings and many moments where you blow things out of proportion.”
“Did you not hear the recordings of her screaming at him?” she asked in disbelief.
“I did, I did. I’m not accusing anyone of lying, but I’m also not going to act like I know anything about their marriage or divorce.
What I do know is that things can be taken out of context.
I’m just speaking from personal experience.
And truthfully, if this girl was really so hateful, how come she is the first woman we’ve seen Kieran Alexander photographed with more than once since his last relationship five years ago? This means something.”
The clip ended, and Cecilia looked up at me with determination.
“Luna, the plan is working.”