CHAPTER 40
George
We’re rallying back and forth, neither having said a word, and I’m growing more agitated by the second. He’s so stiff, so like my father, that I forget Gordon is pretty good too. Good enough that he could’ve been a low-ranked pro if he’d chosen that life. Or perhaps if he was allowed to.
I’m better though.
I unleash a forehand in the opposite corner and it whizzes past him before he even has the chance to move. He raises an eyebrow but takes another ball from his pocket and serves it over gently.
I bat the ball aside and walk over to the net, breaking the silence, unable to handle it any more.
‘Go on then.’ My jaw is clenched, mood already darkening at his smug face. ‘What do you need to talk about?’
He sighs, overly dramatic for a man who doesn’t really care about anything. ‘I really don’t want to tell you this, George, especially before a match . . .’ He tails off, looking to the side and my pulse starts to speed up.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’ve thought about it and I think you’d rather know than continue to be played for a fool.’ He bounces a palm on his racket, looking uncomfortable.
‘Gordon. Tell me,’ I command, my voice strained.
‘It’s Leo.’ He looks up and my heart plummets to my stomach. ‘She’s the anonymous source to the Daily Mail.’
‘Fuck off.’ I don’t believe him.
‘It’s true, George.’ He stares me straight in the eyes until I can’t take it. ‘Only the three of us knew about the Paris Match interview, that they mentioned Olivia. And you know it wasn’t me. I bet you told her, didn’t you?’
Fuck. ‘I did, but that doesn’t mean it was her, Gordon. She wouldn’t do that.’ She wouldn’t. I think of her in my arms, of opening up, of dancing in the suite, the museum. She wouldn’t.
I think I’m falling for you, George.
She wouldn’t.
‘And what makes you so sure? Because you’re sleeping with her?’ He throws an arm up. ‘Come on, George. Grow up.’
How does he know? I know I’ve not exactly been subtle, but I’ve never explicitly said. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because that’s how I know it’s her. I got a tip-off from a friend of a friend at the Mail.
’ He shakes his head in disgust. ‘She’s been trying to sell a larger story on you.
All about dating “Mr Darcy”, Britain’s number one hope for Wimbledon.
’ He looks at me again, his face serious.
‘About how your mental health has affected your game.’
Anger boils under my skin and I notice my hands are shaking; he’s never mentioned my mental health out loud. It makes me realize that he is aware, just hasn’t cared to address it. ‘I don’t believe you, Gordon. She wouldn’t do it.’
She wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t do that. Not after everything we shared.
I suddenly feel uneasy.
Everything I shared with her, everything she saw. Me at my most vulnerable.
No. I trust her. She’s real. We’re real. I stand my ground, staring Gordon down.
‘I don’t believe you,’ I say again.
‘Wake the fuck up, George. You’re being played.’ He groans in frustration. ‘I really didn’t want to do this today, before the match. But you need to know.’
I still don’t believe him; I can’t believe him. I say nothing, keeping my face blank, cold. I thought I was in love with her already. I am. I go to walk away, unable to process this fully.
‘I have proof.’ Gordon stops me in my tracks and I look back to see him taking his phone from his pocket, handing it to me on an open message with an email attached.
My breathing stops. ‘Olivia sent you this?’
‘I didn’t want you to know, but yes.’ He hangs his head. ‘It’s her friend who tipped me off.’
‘You’re still speaking to Olivia?’ She’s a journalist now. How does she have access to this? Everything is getting too much; I need to get out of here. ‘Why would she tell you? She hates me.’
‘We’re friends too, George. Remember that? Just because you wanted to fuck up your relationship doesn’t mean that I did.’ He pockets his phone. ‘Her friend works for the Mail. Thought she’d like to know what her ex-fiancé was getting himself into.’
‘Just because Olivia is saying it, doesn’t mean it’s true.’ I’m clutching at straws here, but I don’t believe Leo would do something like this. I just don’t. But he has the email?
‘Ask her then.’ He shrugs. ‘See how she tries to deny it, but you’ll know.
Women like her will do anything for money, for their fifteen minutes.
’ He looks over at me again. ‘It was her at the Lacoste party last year? Begging for an autograph, no?’ He scoffs.
‘Thought I recognized her, but it only clicked when we were here, when I realized what she’s capable of. ’
I can’t take this any more. My breathing is laboured, but I can’t show him this weakness.
I grab my things, my heart pulsing, blood raging in my ears. I need to get out now.
Walking off the court, I hear him call after me. ‘You know it’s true, George. Don’t let her win.’
My mind goes blank, the pressure starting to crush me from inside out.
I don’t know anything any more.