CHAPTER 16 #2
I wonder if he’ll read the impersonal text and be able to tell through the phone that I almost sent three words instead. Three words that would outshine any of my complicated feelings.
But I’m not brave enough. I’m not awake enough.
Instead, I hit the green heart emoji three times and put my phone face down on the nightstand. Suzy always said that a bad loss disappears after a good night of sleep. I lost more than a tennis match tonight.
Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear my phone buzz a few times. I’m sure it’s Aurelio.
I turn away from the phone.
*
I wake up at 5 a.m., as though I need to get up for my usual walk with Aurelio.
It’s even darker outside my window now than it was before, the stadium lights finally dim.
The quiet that felt so comforting hours ago now feels a little like emptiness, like loneliness.
How embarrassing is it that I miss Beck’s snoring next door?
How embarrassing is it that I asked for this change, but at the same time, I don’t feel ready for it?
I try to resist the urge, but I eventually grab my phone off the nightstand.
I squint at the blinding screen, seeing that I have a plethora of notifications.
Fernanda texted me four times. I ignore those.
Vince texted me twice, asking me if I’m okay.
I just tell him that I have a new room and that I’ll see him at the Wimbledon Ball later today.
Beck hasn’t said a word, but what did I expect?
For him to bang on my penthouse door and apologize? Not his style.
Aurelio called me twice, which shows how deeply I was sleeping. Usually, with our travel schedules, I’m sensitive to the phone ringing at strange hours. When I didn’t call him back, he texted.
Aurelio:
Amy, how are you? Where are you?
That message is timestamped first. I hate that he was worrying about me instead of celebrating his win. About 15 minutes later, he texts again.
Aurelio:
I’m happy I won with my family here. I could feel my mother watching me.
I wish you were here, too. I miss you.
I can see that he tries a new tactic here, trying to move on from my match against Fernanda. He probably assumes that I’m avoiding the topic. He’s not wrong.
Finally, around one in the morning, he sent an audio file.
When I open it, the beautiful music of Vivaldi fills the penthouse. It sounds like a dream, like our first dance under the stars, when we were strangers. My eyes fill with tears, though I try hard to blink them back. Sometimes you know that if you start crying, you’ll never stop.
I put the file on a loop, so it keeps playing, and then lay the phone on my chest, over my heart. I close my eyes, begging the darkness to take me again.
Instead, all I can think about is that I wanted to send Aurelio three words, but I sent three heart emojis instead.
The song feels the same way, but much better.
I drift off to sleep, bittersweet tears clinging to my lashes.
*
I knock on Beck’s hotel room door, wearing the loathed silver dress.
He makes me wait a few beats before he answers.
When he opens the door, I’m not surprised to see he’s already dressed for the ball.
He wears a beautiful black tuxedo and matching shiny shoes.
Usually, black tie is a signal that my father will be his best, most charming self.
The version of Beck Bowman who complimented me in front of the world at his anniversary ceremony a few weeks ago.
So, I am a little surprised to see dark circles under his eyes as he hovers in the doorway. I wonder if it’s because he feels bad about how he behaved at the match. Or worse, how I behaved.
I try to remain business-like, exactly as I vowed to myself in the mirror this morning. “Are you coming?” I ask, shifting from one silver heel to the other. “Vince is waiting for us in the lobby.”
My father’s brow furrows. “You got Vince a ticket?”
I don’t tell him that I desperately wanted a friendly face, so I begged the Wimbledon organizers to give me an extra ticket. They only gave in when they heard Vince was Barbara Dade’s younger brother. Instead, I lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “He’ll have fun. He needs a day off.”
Beck doesn’t protest my assessment which causes another alarm bell to ring. He just rubs his chin, staring at me. “What?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you ready?”
I stayed in bed for hours this morning, mentally working myself up to the Wimbledon Ball.
A tradition that isn’t replicated at any of the other Grand Slams, the winner’s ball is one of the greatest parts of becoming a Wimbledon champion.
You get to rub elbows with old tennis legends, millionaires, and the opponent you just beat on the court.
For me, it’s an exercise in torture.
The only plan that got me out of bed was to detach and avoid.
I’ll pretend for the evening that I just “lost my cool” at the match.
I’ll laugh and shrug if anyone brings it up.
I’ll treat my father like a coach and nothing more.
It’s the best survival strategy for me after such a public meltdown.
I don’t have another big tournament for a few weeks, so Beck and I can deal with the actual fallout then.
Plus, Fernanda and Aurelio deserve the Amy that’s happy for them. I’m determined to be that Amy tonight.
They deserve my joy more than Beck deserves my anger.
Beck hesitates. “Will you come inside for a minute?”
The formal, polite tone he uses throws me off. “Sure,” I answer, cautiously stepping into the room with him. “But we don’t want to be late.”
After the door is closed behind me, he cuts to the chase. “I got a call from the WTA today.”
“The WTA?” I echo. “Why?” The WTA manages all of the players in our league.
They help with the world ranking system, the tournaments and scheduling, our insurance, and other business ventures.
It’s like if the NFL commissioner called Patrick Mahomes.
Either spectacularly good or spectacularly bad.
Considering the week I’m having, I’m guessing it’s the latter.
Beck cracks his knuckles. A nervous tic. “They’re ‘worried’ about our relationship.”
I cross my arms. “Me, too.”
He huffs. “They wanted to reach out and offer their assistance in repairing our relationship. They offered counseling services.”
It hits me all at once. “Because of what you said? At the match?”
Beck’s eyes glimmer with anger. “And what you did, Amy.”
His impatience sparks my own. “So? We don’t have to accept the help.
They won’t take it any further, not when it’s Beck Bowman on the other line.
” Even as I say it, I wonder if it’s true.
Has his reputation taken too many hits? I think back to my mother’s magazine article, ripping Beck to shreds.
I think back to Suzy, quitting in disgust because of my father’s behavior.
I think of Vince, who quietly rebels against everything my father believes in.
How many people that really know my father would go to bat for him? Would I, if pushed?
Beck grunts in agreement. “Right. I know. But I thought maybe tonight we could act more...” he trails off. “More like father and daughter. Get them off our backs.”
It takes me a moment. I finally choke out a laugh of disbelief. It hurts my throat. “Even tonight, Dad? Even tonight you want to make it all about you?”
The words hit their intended mark. Beck narrows his eyes. “It’s about us. Or do you just want to throw your tennis career away? We need to convince them that this tournament was an anomaly.”
“But we both know that isn’t true, don’t we?” I smile at him. He flinches at what he sees on my face.
“Amy.” He tries to reason with me. “Tonight is the first step to getting things back on track. You still have the U.S. Open in a few weeks.”
I straighten my spine, standing as tall as I can. He still looms over me. “Tonight is about showing up for Aurelio and Fernanda. That’s it.”
Beck throws up his hands. “Aurelio and Fernanda? Why?”
“Because they’re my friends,” I say firmly. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Now, it’s almost 7. We better hurry. The car is waiting downstairs.” I smooth down my up-do, sling my purse back over my shoulder, and open the door. Beck doesn’t move. “You coming?”
I don’t look to see if he’s behind me as I walk out the door.
*
Beck, Vince, and I are a little late to the ball.
It’s decked out for the festivities. The All England Tennis Club’s ballroom has been filled with dozens of circular tables, a small dance floor and DJ booth in the corner, and a gorgeous, strange chandelier that seems to be partially made of recycled tennis balls.
A well-informed event organizer in a headset hardly blinks when she sees us, steering us gently towards a premiere table near the DJ booth.
I can see a few royal family members have been placed at our table, probably to ensure we’ll behave.
I can already see Fernanda holding court a few tables away.
Her gold dress glitters in the warm lighting and so does her expression.
Her gigantic, circular trophy is laid on the table, right at her fingertips.
Her gaze slants in my direction, so I hurriedly look elsewhere before we can make eye contact. I still don’t know what to say to her.
Aurelio is similarly surrounded by well-wishers towards the center of the room. I recognize a few celebrities congratulating him, including Serena Williams and her husband. Just behind Aurelio, at his table, I can see Antonio and Aurelio’s father sitting and playing cards. It makes me smile.
I can’t avoid Aurelio’s gaze. He must have been looking for me. When he sees me, his whole face lights up. My heart starts racing in response. He looks too handsome in his suit, a classic black with a forest green tie. I love him in green.
I nudge Vince with my elbow. “I’m going to congratulate Aurelio.”