Which meant I really could hide no longer. I was also starving. Winning tennis matches took a lot of energy, and I burned through calories even harder than I burned through racquets and tennis shoes. Taking evasive action from where my mother had cornered our King, I edged around part of the room to tackle the buffet table.
“Carbs before champagne?” asked a familiar voice, with its attractive Spanish lilt. “A woman after my own heart. But I brought you a drink all the same.”
Toni handed over a flute of champagne, her own already half-empty. Thirsty despite my water and energy drinks downed between games and sets, I tipped the glass back and finished it in one big mouthful.
“Thank you. I think I needed that.”
“Congratulations. That was…something. Although you’re probably really sick of hearing that by now.”
I couldn’t help smirking as I confessed the truth. “Oh, I might look like it’s all too much to bear, but you’d be surprised how much you want to keep hearing it. Trust me, try being on the other side of it, and you miss it a lot.”
“Celeste gave you a good match. For a minute there…”
“Well.” I found myself to eager to change the subject. “You scrub up nicely, out of tennis gear.”
“I figured, being in VIP and all. Thanks for that, did I thank you already?”
I shook my head. “Not necessary, it’s a nice perk. My civilian friends have all had a turn, and they only care so much about strawberries and champagne after a while.” Great. Way to sound like a lonely loser whose friends don’t even like her. “Is there anyone here you wanted to meet? I could introduce you.”
“Nobody is going to want to talk to the girl ranked ninety-nine when the winner is in the room,” Toni said, but she squeezed my arm to show she was joking. “I have a thing later, actually. But I’ll see you tomorrow, at the Champions Dinner? My federation are sending me as their one guest.”
“Spain only get one guest? But you have—”
“Oh no, I live in Spain now, and I train there. But I’m Mexican, so I play for Mexico.”
“Ah, sorry. There’s so many people to keep track of, and as you can see, I’m no social butterfly.”
“You’re doing great from where I’m standing.”
My mother chose that moment to visibly wave me over to join her royal conversation.
“Excuse me, I have to go be very Swedish and downplay my achievements a lot.”
“Not too much, you hear? See you tomorrow.”
And before I could so much as shake her hand, she was gone. I couldn’t blame Toni; I wanted nothing more than to leave myself. Instead, I made my way over, without food, to engage in more small talk, this time in the more relaxed form of Swedish.
“Do you have a dress, for tomorrow?” the queen asked me, bringing my attention back to the formal dinner that I usually did everything to duck out of after the official red-carpet photos.
“I do,” I confirmed. “Blue, of course. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Well, that makes a change.” My mother couldn’t help commenting, since almost every big party was a battle of wills between us. “Every time I have to drag you there.”
I gave an uneasy laugh, hoping the subject would change. An American news crew broke free of the press area and gave me an excuse to move on. So what if I walked to the huge windows overlooking the way out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Toni? It didn’t mean anything. Well, not much of anything, anyway.
Chapter Five
Parisa yanked her bedroom door open after I knocked for the third time. “You’d better be dying. Or have killed someone. It’s barely eight. On a Sunday.”
“I was thinking about my dress,” I admitted, trying to catch her attention quickly. While I got up at six most days for my run, no one could ever accuse my personal assistant of doing the same. Usually I didn’t mind; it gave me a couple of hours each day not talking about rankings and appearances and photoshoots.
“That’s a first. I can’t get you to think about your dresses when you’re actually wearing them, so what gives?”
“It’s just… You had a couple of other options that you said were better?”
“I said they were sexier, but yeah. There’s a Carolina Herrera and a Givenchy somewhere in the pile I have to return. Why?”
“No harm in looking at our options, is there?”
“Are you going to wear it to watch the Men’s Final or something?” Parisa had almost finished waking up. I had to get out of there before she got too curious. “Or do you want to change between the red carpet and the event? Because people keep asking if we’re going to bring back the traditional dance…”
“Sure, I’ll dance if you want.” We both blinked at each other for a moment at that revelation. So what? I liked dancing. I’d taken classes before tennis swallowed my whole life at thirteen. I could even, to a point, keep the beat. The rhythm in most songs was just like varying the speed of a rally, to me. “What does that buy me?”
“I’ll look out every dress option we have.” Parisa pulled her hair up into a temporary bun, all business. “Does this mean I can get someone in for hair and make-up too?”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Do your worst.”
“If you’re really in a good mood, you’ll go with your mother to the match today.”
“The last thing I feel like today is more tennis, but if I can convince her to come get a massage, then fine.”
“The team thanks you.”
Part one of my mission secured, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Naturally, Mother had beaten
