Chapter 20
twenty
Are you joking?” The anger in my voice is not well leashed, and Pen’s face twists.
It was clear when we met in the hotel lobby that both she and Karolína had seen the video, but I didn’t realize until I stepped into the practice court area of Caja Mágica that they’d also decided on a solution. Without me.
“It’s an hour-long session so we can take videos and show that her comment didn’t mean anything. We need to pivot before it’s blown out of proportion.”
I glance at Karolína, who’s picking at her shirt, before turning back to Pen. “You want me to spend an hour pretending to enjoy Anya’s company after she lied to the world about me? Again? I thought I was hitting with Valentina.”
“Like Pen said, we’re pivoting,” my coach chimes in.
“Nic, I understand your anger, but if I told you at the hotel, you would have tried to get out of it. I spent over an hour convincing Anya’s manager to do this, and it’s your best chance to right the horrible things people are saying about you.
If you come off like you don’t hate her in these clips, I think we’ll lose some of the heat. ”
I want to say I don’t care what people are saying about me online, but that would be a lie. The various comments about how I’ve always seemed like a mean girl ate away at me on the drive here.
I hate that Pen’s right. Hate that Anya weaponizes public opinion because she recognizes it’s on her side. Hate that I’m going to give in to fix it. Like a puppet.
“Fine.” Grabbing my bag, I walk onto soft, familiar red clay, the steady rhythm of rackets meeting balls sounding around me.
Anya slouches on the bench, her father standing over her with his hands on his hips.
I almost wonder if I’m about to witness the pressure Aleks has told me about, almost feel a modicum of sympathy, until her eyes lock on me and she sits up, smirking.
After I exchange hellos with her father, he steps away to talk to her coach.
The sound of my bag landing beside the bench doesn’t even make Anya blink. She simply stands, her smile widening, and for the first time, I see the resemblance to Aleks. The blue eyes that light up, the slight tilt of the head when they smile.
“If it isn’t the scourge of women’s tennis, stealer of brothers and performance coaches, finally off her high horse.”
Yeah, this is going to be a bloodbath.
“You’re one to talk.”
Anya scoffs. “All you have to do is look at our head-to-head record to know which of us needs help. I just didn’t realize you’d stoop so low for a win.”
Ire heats my blood. I can’t remember hating anyone more.
I so badly want to bite back, to point out how eager Aleks was to leave her and work with me.
But that would make me no better than her and would throw him into more of an uncomfortable situation.
“Hypocritical, considering you’re slandering me on the internet.
Has nobody taught you about libel lawsuits? ”
Her eyes narrow at the change in topic, but a switch flips. The smile slithers back onto her lips. “Slandering? No.” She shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
The reason for her cloying demeanor becomes apparent when Karolína sidles up to us with Anya’s coach and father. My coach observes us uncertainly.
“Ladies, we’re going to do an easy hitting session. Pen wants shots of rallies and you two not killing each other while sharing a bench. Give me sixty minutes of pretend smiles, and this will all be over,” Karolína reassures.
Anya shrugs, walking to the other side of the court and pulling a ball from her skirt. We line up at the service line and trade short balls over the net until we’re ready to move back. After we’ve gotten warm, we shift to the deuce side for a cross-court drill.
Initially, Anya behaves like any other hitting partner, getting the ball back to me.
The moment Karolína and Daria, Anya’s coach, turn to talk, though, that changes.
She hits balls on the line of the doubles court, and since we have to move back to the center each time, I’m chasing them down and breathing heavily long before she is, my back twinging with the effort.
Her father, who watches us like a predatory bird, says nothing.
This is what she does, I remind myself. Psychological warfare, Karolína would say if she were watching. Delilah told me she does it to get under my skin, so if I can put my head down for another forty-five minutes, I can get through this without letting her know she has.
Pen takes videos from beside me, shouting an encouraging “that’s great” here and there.
We continue the drill with our backhands, where Anya does the same thing: forcing me to work harder than her by hitting it as far out of my reach as possible.
Before we expand to full-court rallies, Daria tells us to get water.
I try not to breathe too heavily when we get to the bench, but I’m not sure I succeed. Anya’s still smiling like she’s winning, which is absurd because you can’t win at drills.
Ignoring Pen videoing us on the bench becomes difficult after she yells, “Nic, smile please! You want to look happy!”
“Hard to be happy when your parents can’t stand you,” Anya mutters.
My head whips around to find her eyes focused on her water bottle. “What did you just say?”
She bats her lashes. “What?” she asks innocently. “I said I’m so glad we’re getting this break. I’m parched after the way you ran me all around the court.”
The urge to stab her ratchets up. Pen tsks loudly, and I glance away. I won’t smile, but strangling her would go viral, and that would be bad for a multitude of reasons.
Did Aleks say something to her about my parents? No. The notion disappears as quickly as it materialized. Which means Anya noticed it all on her own.
Heat rolls over my shoulders, nausea building in my stomach. The sound of balls hitting strings is amplified, and I grip the mati pendant on my necklace.
I need this to be over.
Karolína approaches us, concern etched into the lines beside her eyes. “Full court, then we’ll play a tiebreak and be done. Sound good?”
“Of course!” Anya answers brightly. She stands, grabs her racket, and heads back to her side of the court, her eyebrows coming together as her father begins talking to her in Russian.
“Karolína, I’m going to kill her.”
“Really? You appear to be enjoying yourself.” My eyes narrow. My coach laughs. “I’m kidding, Nic. It’s obvious she’s quietly needling you and trying to drive you crazy on court.”
“So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
“Do you want your coach to step in and make it seem like you can’t fight your own battles?”
She’s right. I sigh. “No. But if I say something, Pen will tell me I’m being too heavy-handed for an hour-long PR hitting session.”
At that moment, Pen hip-checks me. “That’s because you’ll yell at her, and that won’t look good by anyone’s standards.”
“I’m going to hire a new agent slash manager,” I threaten halfheartedly.
“Yeah, right. I’m the only person capable of handling your attitude, your schedule, and your socials.
” Picking up my racket, I fix the strings so they’re perfectly aligned but don’t respond.
“I know you’re mad at me, and that’s fine.
Just get through this session and your sponsor event tomorrow and I’ll give you a break from PR shit, okay? I promise.”
“Fine.”
Anya spends the rest of the half hour running me around the court to the point that I barely get my racket on a ball, the session entirely useless. I should win awards for the number of times I ignore the urge to smack a ball at her head, cursing Pen.
By the time I’ve finished my session with Anya, another with Karolína, and am cooling down and recovering in the physio room, I’m still fuming. Aleks finds me there, and though I’m happy to see him, I refuse to show it.
Until this point, I’ve been able to keep the fact that he’s Anya’s brother mostly out of my mind, separating the two.
Life has just begun to feel easier, whether because of our physical arrangement or the fact that I’ve been listening to him—not overtraining and doing things for myself that aren’t related (or only tangentially related) to tennis—I don’t know.
But today was a reminder of all the reasons I didn’t want this in the first place.
“Good workout today?” he asks.
I shrug. “Where were you?”
“Went to get food with Natasha and Dima, remember?”
Sitting up from the table, I tilt my head, hardly recalling his mention of it last night. “Oh. How was that?”
“I laid everything out for them. Dima told me not to feel guilty about it. That even without understanding my reasoning, it was proof he could leave if he needed. That he’d be okay too.”
I offer a small smile, hoping he listened, that the knot of guilt is lessening. “I’m glad. And Natasha?”
Concern slips across his face. “She’s going to retire and go back to school. Tennis has never been good to her. She wants me to be there when she tells my parents tomorrow.”
“And you’re going to be, right?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what time, but I’ll push for lunch so I can make it to your event.”
“How do you feel?” I dig my fingers into my hip muscles.
His eyes flick to the motion before they’re back on mine. “Good. I’m glad my experience can help Natasha. And Dima’s words made me feel better too.”
My chest crunches at the expression on his face, so like that of a child. I want to hug him, a new and surprising urge I’ve developed.
I’m still not sure we make sense at this point, still riled up from my hitting session with Anya, but he needs my kindness, not my uncertainty. So I smile again. “That’s great, Aleks.”
His eyes search my face before he asks, “Dinner or leftovers at the hotel?”
I don’t even have to think, entirely uninterested in going out. “Leftovers.”