16
“Lore Designer Gabriel Hader Reportedly Dressing Luna Aldridge… but for Which Event?”
—Trim
MY GAZE WAS aimed straight ahead at the cranberries on my wall as Gabriel zipped up my dress.
The cranberry wallpaper looked identical to the one I had in my childhood bedroom.
Small bunnies ran along the floorboard in a perfect line.
Vines of bloodred cranberries crawled across the walls above.
I had called a wallpaper specialist to source it for me earlier this year.
(You’d be surprised how vast the wallpaper industry is.) It was the first sheet of wallpaper I put in this house.
Gabriel, one of the designers at Lore, who’s been designing dresses for me since I won my first Wimbledon singles title five years ago, was the first to compliment it.
The Lore studio was located in the city, similar to most fashion houses. But he claimed the hour commute here gave him an excuse to clear the rest of his schedule for the day. Personally, I think he was looking for a reason to eat all the shortbread cookies I kept stocked in my pantry.
“No necklace,” Gabriel said to Kelsey. “It’ll take away from the dress.” He dusted cookie crumbs off his fingers above the small barrel in the corner of the room.
We were in my guest-bedroom-turned-dressing-room for these fittings.
It had the largest mirror and the least number of objects on the floor, most likely because Walt cleaned the space whenever he slept here.
Seamstresses were making last-minute adjustments and steaming clothes that I had tried on, zipping them up into garment bags.
Kelsey shook her head passionately. “No, no, it will add to it.”
Gabriel stared at my neck. He was the only designer who inserted himself into Kelsey’s styling process. (Most likely because he was responsible for the majority of my clothes.)
“Fine, something dainty then,” he hummed, sliding another cookie into his mouth. “Next,” he clapped.
Everyone—Gabriel’s assistants and team of seamstresses—turned their heads as Kelsey and I stepped behind the dressing screen to get me into the next dress.
I’d be lying if there wasn’t a new sense of relief relaxing my shoulders since watching that interview.
Most of the conversations online were similar to Hello London!
: Many were horrified that I was in a relationship so soon after a divorce (eight months after a thirteen-month marriage seems allowed, in my opinion), while others were dying to know more about the budding romance.
But even more had no idea I was divorced in the first place because they knew nothing about tennis—only Kieran’s movies.
They recognized me but didn’t know I had been married to begin with.
I tried my best to avoid the tennis industry’s opinion altogether.
I pulled the next gown on, a sapphire blue silk dress that wrapped around my neck in a halter formation, exposing my back.
“For this one, hair up,” Gabriel said, pulling my hair into a makeshift ponytail, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “Show off those cheekbones.”
I turned my head, watching how the blue of the dress hit the light, shining on my face.
“I think he’ll like this one,” Gabriel said.
“Hm?” I questioned, leaning into the mirror, and slipping teardrop earrings that Kelsey handed me into my ears.
“You think I don’t read the news? I may look old to you, but I do have access to the internet.
I know why you’re going to these premieres.
” He gave me a pointed look, waving his finger.
“I’m not going to pick your brain, don’t worry, that look of horror is enough evidence.
My point is that he’s going to be stunned when he sees you. ”
I shook my head. The idea of Kieran being “stunned” by me gave me a sick stomach. That was like picturing the kid in my eighth grade science class dropping gum in my hair and then asking me out.
“Gabriel, can we take a quick break? I just want to get a few things packed,” Cecilia asked.
He nodded, and I followed her down the hall into my bedroom, finding Amir and Serena there already. (All hands on deck when it came to our trips.) I took a seat in the chair by my window as Serena reviewed the bullet points in her planner with me.
“Your flight will arrive at eleven A.M. British Summer Time—six A.M. our time—tomorrow,” she confirmed. “We won’t leave until ten tonight for the airport.” I nodded. “You’ll have press the day we arrive and then a film premiere of Mr. Alexander’s the day after.”
“Wonderful,” I said, full of dread.
Amir held up two books, raising them in the air like a game show host. I wrinkled my nose, pointing to the one behind him on my nightstand.
I picked up a pile of shirts off the floor and began folding them, one by one, dropping them into the suitcase.
“I’m not packing your black sneakers because of the white-attire policy,” Cecilia reminded me, holding the white sneakers up.
“What time did you want to do dinner tonight?” I asked. Dinner was on me. One last team meal before we were across the Atlantic for two months.
The three of them froze.
“What? Are we not doing dinner anymore?”
“Dinner’s still on,” Serena clarified. “It’s more about the guest list… Kieran’s team requested that we have one last meeting to confirm logistical details, so they’re coming tonight.”