CHAPTER 6
OLIVIA
After that balcony fiasco, Alex and I quietly split up before anyone could question what the hell we were doing with a parasol indoors.
We slipped back into the glimmering chaos of the Champions’ Dinner like nothing had happened, like we hadn’t just spent fifteen ridiculous minutes locked outside in formalwear, accidentally staging the world’s most unhinged bonding moment.
I tried to act normal, smoothing down my dress and tucking a flyaway curl behind my ear, but my heart was still racing.
That was absolutely fun. I have to admit it.
I scanned the room, trying to steady myself with something familiar. I immediately spotted Maddie hovering near the dessert table, eyeing the chocolate mousse tower like it had personally offended her.
“Mads!” I hissed, weaving through guests in heels I already regretted wearing.
She blinked at me, then narrowed her eyes. “Why do you look like you just committed a minor crime?”
“We may or may not have broken a door,” I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the quieter hallway. “With a parasol.”
Her brows shot up. “We?”
“Alexandra Cadiz.”
Maddie stopped walking. “Please don't tell me this story ends with a dramatic leap from a balcony.”
“No jumping. Just... tactical umbrella maneuvers.”
We slipped behind one of the tall velvet partitions lining the ballroom, just far enough from the buzz of the crowd. I dropped her arm and leaned against the wall, slightly breathless, the events of the last fifteen minutes still catching up to me.
Maddie crossed her arms, smirking. “You’re telling me you and the Alexandra Wilson-Cadiz, the so-called mysterious queen of tennis, pulled off a low-key jailbreak from a locked balcony using party decor?”
I nodded, lips twitching. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
She raised a brow. “So... how was it? Being stuck with Alex? You know, I had an interaction with her earlier, too. She wasn’t as cold as the media makes her out to be, just kind of dry. Like... Aussie sarcasm is dry.”
“I know,” I said softly, not thinking about our interaction and the laughs we shared. “That’s why we ended up stuck in the first place.”
“Because I had an interaction with her?”
“No,” I groaned. “Because I came looking for you, and somehow wandered out onto that balcony. The door locked behind me, and the rest is... history.”
She snorted. “So let me get this straight. You went looking for me, accidentally stumbled into a private moment with Alexandra freaking Cadiz, got yourselves locked out on a balcony... and then broke the sliding door with a parasol to get back inside? That’s your big post-final Wimbledon Champion twist? ”
“Apparently,” I muttered, equal parts exhausted and amused.
She let out a wheeze. “Unreal. You just won the most prestigious tournament in the world and somehow still managed to end the night like a chaotic ninja turtle.”
“I was trying to find you, if you recall.”
“Oh, don’t drag me into your own Mission: Impossible movie.” Maddie wagged a finger at me, grinning. “Let’s just hope there weren’t any security cameras pointed at that balcony.”
“I checked,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry, that balcony’s barely used. No cameras, no foot traffic. We’re in the clear.”
“Then that’s good.” Maddie exhaled with exaggerated relief. “The last thing we need is you trending for attempted parasol-based property damage.”
We just exchanged glances, and Maddie gave me a look that seemed to say, It’s all fine. Then we stepped out from behind the velvet divider, rejoining the soft buzz of the Champions’ Dinner.
As we neared the crowd, Maddie suddenly slowed. “Wait. Look.”
I followed her gaze and spotted Alex across the room, standing near one of the catering staff. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t cold either, just composed, her voice low and calm as she spoke. Her brows were slightly furrowed in concern.
“What’s she doing?” I asked, curious.
“Only one way to find out,” Maddie said, already veering subtly in their direction, pretending to inspect a passing tray of macarons. I trailed behind her, trying not to look too obvious.
We lingered a few feet away, just close enough to catch the tail end of Alex’s conversation. She was facing away from us, so she couldn’t see that we were probably eavesdropping.
“No, it’s fine,” Alex was saying. “I don’t want anyone getting in trouble over it. It was just a jammed sliding door. I used the parasol to pop the latch; that’s all. I will talk and explain everything to the head that it was my fault and none of your staff, it was just a mis hap”.
The staffer looked flustered. “Still, Miss Cadiz, you don’t have to own up to that damage.”
“Don't worry about it, and I’ll cover all the damage,” she said firmly but not unkindly. “I don’t want this incident affecting anyone else. It was just me.”
The staff was about to say something, but then just said their thank you.
She gave a small nod, then walked away.
Maddie turned to me with raised brows. “Well, damn.”
“She didn’t even mention I was there.”
“She took the blame and offered to pay for it all,” Maddie said, sounding almost impressed. “That’s not Mysterious Queen behavior, that's more like a Knight.”
Before I could say anything else to Maddie, a familiar, poised voice spoke from behind us.
“There’s the champion.”
I turned, and my eyes widened. Amelia Wilson was standing in front of me, holding a champagne flute with the kind of elegance that didn’t need effort.
“Oh, Mrs. Wilson. Hi,” I stammered, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
Maddie gave me a quick side glance and a small smirk before mouthing, Good luck, and making a swift, polite excuse. “I’m gonna give you two a moment. I see the dessert cart calling my name.”
She vanished into the crowd, leaving me standing face to face with a tennis royalty.
Mrs. Wilson smiled warmly. “I just wanted to say congratulations, Olivia. You played with such control and fire. It was one of the best Wimbledon finals I’ve watched in years.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” I said, heart thumping for the second time that evening. “That really means a lot coming from you.”
She tilted her head. “You know, watching you out there brought back memories. You’ve come a long way since the days we’d find you sneaking extra drills after hours at the academy.”
I smiled, a little bashfully. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“We noticed,” she said with a knowing look. “Even back then, it was clear you had something special. You weren’t just working hard, you were working smart. That’s rare at that age.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat, unsure what to say. But then she continued, her tone shifting ever so slightly, like she was sliding into a well-practiced pitch.
“I know this might be a long shot,” Mrs. Wilson began, her voice calm but laced with affection. “But our academy’s graduation is coming up next week in Brisbane, and we would be truly honored to have you as our guest speaker.”
She paused, her expression softening into something almost motherly.
“You’ve grown into such an extraordinary young woman, Olivia, not just as an athlete, but as a person.
The kids look up to you.” A warm smile touched her face.
“And really, who better to inspire them than the reigning Wimbledon champion?”
My eyes widened. “Wow. Mrs. Wilson, that’s... I mean, thank you. Really. I don’t even know what to say.”
She chuckled softly. “A simple yes would do.”
I laughed, still stunned. “I’d be honored. Truly. But are you sure I won’t be crashing anything?”
“Not at all. You’d be the highlight,” she said warmly. “Everything will be taken care of; flights, accommodations, the works. Just bring yourself and maybe some of your team and a few words for the graduates.”
“Then I’d love to,” I said, feeling a genuine swell of excitement rise in my chest.
Mrs. Wilson smiled, pleased. “Wonderful. I’ll have someone from the team reach out in the next few days with the details. And again, congratulations, Olivia. You're killing it out there.”
She gave my arm a light squeeze before drifting back into the crowd, leaving me still half stunned, smiling to myself as I’d just won something all over again.
I stood there for a moment, then turned my head just in time to see Maddie peeking around the corner with a mini creme brulee in hand and a raised eyebrow.
“What was that about?” she asked, already halfway through a bite.
“I just got invited to Brisbane,” I said, still a little dazed. “To speak at the academy’s graduation.”
Maddie grinned. “Well, look at you. Champion, role model, motivational speaker. Don’t forget us when you’re on your international tour with Amelia Wilson.”
I bumped her shoulder, smiling. “As if I could.”
·····
The rest of the night passed in a soft, golden blur. By the time my team and I finally got back to the hotel, I was carrying my heels in one hand and blinking through waves of exhaustion. My feet ached, my dress felt too tight, and my brain was running on whatever sugar was left from dessert.
Dad was already settling into the couch, unlacing his worn sneakers. I was about to head for the bathroom when he said, “You did well tonight, Liv.”
I paused, turning back to him. He was looking at me, not the way the crowd had, not like the world saw me tonight, all dressed up in glitter and glory, but just as his kid. Just Olivia Smythe.
He patted the space beside him, and I sat down, curling my legs up under me.
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, no rush, no noise. Just a dad and his daughter, sitting in the quiet after the storm of a dream coming true.
Then he sighed. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I sat up a little. “What is it?”
He hesitated, then rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It’s about your sister.”
My stomach tightened. “Is this really the time?”
He gave me a look, not sharp, not pushy, just steady. “I know things haven’t been great between you two. I’m not asking you to suddenly fix everything overnight, but Liv... she’s still your sister. And she’s coming home soon, at least for a bit.”
I swallowed. “She’s in Birmingham, right? Finishing up her internship?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “She’ll be flying in for your celebration. She asked if it was okay. Wanted to be there.”
“She wanted to be there?” I blinked, surprised.
“She’s proud of you too, you know. She watches your matches. Might not say much, but she does.”
I let out a slow breath, unsure of what to feel. There were so many things between us, words that were never said, fights that ended in silence, years of growing apart. But still...
“You don’t have to be best friends again,” Dad said, gently. “But I want my girls to at least be in the same room without pretending the other doesn’t exist. Especially now. After everything.”
I nodded slowly, the weight of it sinking in. “I’ll try.”
He smiled. “That’s all I’m asking.”
I leaned back again, resting against him. The room felt a little quieter, a little heavier. But maybe that was okay. Not everything had to be perfect. Sometimes, just showing up mattered more.
Eventually, I pulled myself away and headed back to my room, the weight of the day finally settling in my bones. I peeled off the layers of my evening and changed into something soft and comfortable. After I drank a glass of milk, I sank into bed, and the silence wrapped around me like a blanket.
My thoughts kept circling back to my sister. Bianca.
She's two years older than me, infinitely more composed. We used to joke that we were twins born in different years, mirror versions of each other with matching laughter and matching secrets. We shared everything.
She was the bookworm, always buried in a new novel, with our Mum curled beside her on the couch. I was the one on the court, chasing balls with scraped knees and blistered palms, Dad calling out drills from the sidelines, beaming when I nailed a serve.
Tennis was my thing. Books were hers. It balanced.
And then everything tipped.
When I got the scholarship to the Wilson Academy in Brisbane, I was nine.
Just a kid. I didn’t even fully understand what leaving meant; I just knew Dad was proud, and I loved the sound of applause and the smell of a freshly strung racquet.
Dad and Mum had agreed that Dad would go with me so I could chase the dream they believed I was meant for.
Mum, Bianca, and Nan stayed behind.
At first, we Skyped every day. Shared photos. Bianca sent me postcards with book quotes and doodles. I sent her blurry selfies and videos of kangaroos. But slowly, the time difference stretched. The calls grew shorter. She stopped replying.
When I was twelve, Dad decided we had to cut my time at Wilson Academy short because Mum got sick. Bianca didn’t feel like my sister anymore. She was distant and cold, not because she was cruel, but because she was hurt.
And I was too naive to see it.
I tried to bridge the gap. Told her about Brisbane. About my serve stats, the sunrise runs, and the city lights from the academy. She smiled politely. Said nothing. I kept talking. Kept trying. But our closeness had become... brittle.
Then Mum died. And something inside her snapped.
We had this horrible fight, a few days after the funeral. It started small, something about shoes left by the door, I think. But it escalated fast. Years of silence turned into heat.
“You weren’t here,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “You left. You chose tennis. You weren’t here when she needed you. Must be nice being the golden child. I hope your guilt for not being here all those years gets you a standing ovation.”
It landed like a gut punch. I froze, stunned, like all the air had been knocked out of me.
She didn’t yell. She didn’t even look angry. She just said it calmly, cutting, like she’d been waiting to throw that line for years.
I wanted to say something, anything. But what do you even say to that?
I didn’t come back for applause. I came back because I had to. Because Mum was sick. Because everything hurt.
But in that moment, none of that mattered. She never apologized.
And maybe I never truly forgave her.
It wasn’t fair. I was just a kid, and I didn’t know any better. I followed my dream because Mum and Dad believed in me. I didn’t even fully understand what was happening back then.
Now here I am, years later, still carrying the ache of being twelve years old and wondering how it all broke apart so quietly. Still hoping maybe one day she’ll see I didn’t abandon her, I just followed a path someone else opened for me.
I close my eyes, the weight of old memories pressing into the silence. Maybe I can’t fix the past. Maybe she’ll never understand. But I still carry that hope anyway that we will get to talk about it.