CHAPTER 5
ALEXANDRA
The All England Club had RSVP’d us as a family, which apparently translated to: no, Alex, you don’t get a choice not to come.
Mom declared me a “full gremlin” when she caught me on the carpet in sweatpants earlier, and by the time she finished lecturing me about eye contact and posture, I was in a dress I didn’t pick, headed to a dinner I didn’t want, with Dad on deck as my “human shield.”
So now here we are, sweeping into the venue like we’d rehearsed it. I stepped into the venue beside my parents and a step behind Archer, who was already being swept into a conversation with the men’s doubles champions.
I nodded politely to a few former players I recognized. Even shared a quick exchange with the doubles winner I’d hit with before.
Somewhere behind me, my parents were swept into conversation. I turned to say something, then stopped. Just like that, I was standing on my own, the noise carrying on without me, the room still moving while I stayed fixed in place.
I let my gaze drift, not really landing on anything.
I shifted my weight, adjusted my grip on nothing in particular, doing that familiar thing where I tried to take up less space.
If I stayed still enough, maybe no one would expect anything from me.
Social energy was a finite resource, and I’d already spent most of it just showing up.
Just as I turned toward the drinks table, Mom sidled up beside me, her champagne glass delicately balanced in one hand.
“Oh,” she said with an unmistakable edge of teasing, “I think your friend just arrived.”
“You know I don’t have any friends on the tour.” I glanced at her, suspicious.
She simply raised her brows and tilted her head toward the entrance.
I followed her gaze, and there was Olivia Smythe.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. The red dress hugged her like it had been designed with only her in mind, catching the light every time she moved.
Her hair framed her face in soft waves, her skin still holding that post-Wimbledon glow, like victory hadn’t drained her but made her untouchable.
She wasn’t just beautiful, she was devastating, the kind of beautiful that made the whole ballroom tilt toward her without her even trying.
My stomach did a weird turn. Fantastic.
“Mom, she’s not my friend,” I muttered under my breath.
“Oh?” she said, arching a brow. “That’s strange, because I’m pretty sure I saw a clip of you fist-pumping in the stands like her personal hype squad during the final.”
“Not you too!” I dropped my head into my hands.
“Maybe you should try congratulating her,” Mom said with a teasing lilt in her voice. “I think she’d love to meet her bench cheerleader.”
She clinked her glass lightly against mine before walking away, clearly pleased with herself.
Oh, please, I want to go home now.
I lingered at the table for about 5 minutes, swirling the wine in my glass. Then the music softened, and the lights in the ballroom shifted to a golden hue. A gentle voice hummed through the speakers:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats as we begin the evening’s program.”
Ushers began moving through the crowd, gesturing people toward their assigned tables. I followed, weaving through clusters of tuxedos and gowns until I slipped into the empty chair beside Mom.
The emcee’s voice carried across the room, smooth and practiced.
“Tonight, we celebrate the champions of Wimbledon, your men’s and women’s singles, doubles, mixed doubles, juniors, and wheelchair athletes. Each one of them embodies excellence, discipline, and heart.”
Polite applause echoed through the hall. I clapped along, though my focus wandered. It was hard not to admire the lineup of winners around the room. All earned. I knew that better than most.
Then came the part everyone was waiting for.
“And now, please welcome your Gentlemen’s Singles Champion, Archer Cadiz, and your Ladies’ Singles Champion, Olivia Smythe.”
Archer and Olivia are stepping into the spotlight.
Olivia’s dress shimmered under the lights. Archer offered his hand with a dramatic little bow, and she took it with a graceful smile. The music shifted into a soft waltz. They began to dance.
It was all... very charming. The golden boy and Wimbledon’s newest queen. The crowd was eating it up.
I took a long sip of wine. Honestly, I would’ve much rather been back in my hotel room, hair up, hoodie on, watching bad reality TV or reading a fantasy novel I’d never finish.
Still, I found myself smiling a little. Maybe it was Archer. The way he lit up the room, effortless, magnetic, like he was born for this. He really did have my dad’s charm. I had to give him that.
But soon enough, the novelty wore off, and my mind started drifting, specifically to the utterly stupid image of me and Olivia dancing.
I don’t even know where that came from, but it was soft and slow and made my chest feel ridiculous.
I leaned toward Mom, hoping she didn’t notice how warm my face felt.
“Mom, just gonna go and congratulate the mixed doubles champion,” I said, praying my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
She narrowed her eyes at me instantly. “Don’t try to sneak away again.”
“I’m not,” I said, feigning innocence.
“No slipping out through the kitchen this time,” she warned.
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Would I ever?”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Back soon,” I promised, already halfway turned. I just needed some air... or silence... or both.
I found the side door without needing to think; I’d used it before, when I was younger. I used to do this every time mom won her Wimbledon titles, slipping away while the cameras chased her.
I open the sliding door and step out onto the balcony. I let myself breathe for the first time all night. It was quiet here. Peaceful.
The last time I’d been here, it was Archie who stole the spotlight with his first Wimbledon title.
I remembered watching him parade around like he’d just conquered the whole city, as if Big Ben itself had tolled in his honor.
Now I'm standing here again, just like last year, and the thought almost made me laugh.
The door behind me slid open.
I turned slightly, expecting maybe one of the staff or an usher to check if I was lost. Instead, a woman stepped out, tall, maybe in her mid-twenties, with a sleek dark green dress and sharp features.
Her brown curls were pulled into a neat bun, a few tendrils escaping around her face. She paused the moment she saw me.
“Oh my god,” she said, eyes going wide. “You’re Alexandra Cadiz.”
I blinked. “Uh... yeah.”
She looked stunned for a moment. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect... well, I mean.. hi.” She stepped forward, holding out a hand. “I’m Maddie. Maddison Ruiz. I manage Olivia Smythe.”
I raised a brow but took her hand, giving it a brief shake. “You manage Olivia?”
“Yeah,” she said, a bit breathless. “God, this is weird just seeing Alex Cadiz, the mysterious queen.”
“Didn’t expect a fan encounter out here,” I said, half sarcastic, half awkward.
She shrugged, still smiling. “Didn’t expect to meet you hiding out on a balcony.”
I gave her a look. “I’m not hiding.”
She smirked. “Sure. You just needed air. From... the overwhelming joy of being in a room full of people.”
Okay, fair. “Touché,” I muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
She relaxed a little. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask for a selfie.”
“Thanks,” I said, exhaling.
She glanced back toward the sliding door, then turned to me again with an apologetic smile.
“This might be the least cool thing to say after meeting you, but... do you happen to know where the restroom is? I’ve been wandering for like ten minutes and didn't plan on crashing into the Alex Cadiz while looking for it.”
I tilted my head toward the hallway. “Go through the glass doors, turn left at the end, and it’s the second door past the staircase. Big gold plaque. Can’t miss it.”
“That was... disturbingly precise. How often do you sneak out here?”
I shrugged. “Often enough to know the floor plan.”
Maddie let out a laugh. “Well, it was an honor, Your Majesty of Brooding Corners. If I don’t get lost again, I might see you back inside.”
She grinned, then slipped through the sliding doors, leaving me alone again. I stayed out there for a bit longer. I was just starting to settle into the quiet when I heard the soft shuffle of the sliding door again.
“If you’re looking for the restroom, it’s—” I started, glancing over my shoulder mid-sentence.
And froze.
Olivia Smythe stood in the doorway. She looked just as surprised to see me.
I cleared my throat first, shifting awkwardly. “Sorry,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “I thought you were just another person lost and looking for the restroom.”
She gave a soft laugh nervously. “I mean... I might be. Kind of. I was looking for my manager. She wandered off and wasn’t answering her phone.”
“Ah.” I nodded, stepping aside to give her more room. “She was just here, actually. Left maybe five minutes ago.”
She stepped out slowly, glancing around the balcony like she wasn’t sure if she should stay or not. “Of course she did,” she said under her breath, more amused than annoyed.
“She was lost too,” I added, trying for casual. “Told me she didn’t expect to run into me out here while looking for the restroom.”
That earned me a small, surprised smile. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
There was a brief, awkward silence between us. Still, I managed to speak. “Congratulations... by the way.”
She glanced at me, eyebrows lifting just a little.
“Wimbledon,” I added. “That final was intense. You earned it.”