“Calm down!” I hissed, smothering the laugh that was definitely trying to escape. “This is why I painted the little target on my back, it’s okay. I don’t like to think what they would have done to you, Celeste. It almost feels like they were trying to…I don’t know, provoke you?”
“We’ll find out soon enough, because no way are we letting them away with this. It would mean you miss Paris!”
That set my mother off, predictably. Through a flurry of muttered curses, she took out her phone and started sending out frantic messages. “Like hell will you miss a slam, Elin.”
“Mamma, they haven’t done anything yet. It could be a few guys trying to intimidate me into shutting up.” I didn’t believe that; I had seen how serious they were. Maybe that pissed me off most of all, that they expected me to be scared of them. Well, the tennis world would cope without three random assholes in suits, but they might not be so quick to go and play tournaments with their top players boycotting. Talking people into not earning money would be a struggle, but most of us could afford to take the hit.
“When will you know if they’re serious?” Keiko asked, pulling her long dark hair back into a ponytail.
“Tomorrow, I guess. That’s what they said.”
“Then we’ll decide tomorrow. None of us are going to Rome next week, right?” Celeste asked. We all shook our heads. “Okay, let’s go deal with the semi-finals. Sorry, Elin.”
“I’ll have fun watching,” I said, and for once I actually meant it.
I was wrong about it being fun.
Watching Toni in Mexico had been a breeze compared to this match. I played every point with her in my head, tried to look completely unmoved whenever she notched up another point, another game. Doing well here would look good for her going into Paris. Even though I had my eye on the big prize there, I wanted Toni to get as close as possible.
Mira ignored me again, unsurprisingly. Any attempt she’d made as a media personality to disguise her bitterness towards me was well and truly over. I was glad a few people sat between us in the VIP section, and I struck up conversation with some of my fellow pros who’d come to soak up the action and talk shop about the upcoming tournaments.
Somewhere in the middle Toni lost focus, like the trick I’d taught her had stopped working. I knew she must have other coping mechanisms, but I worried for her when the shots and the decisions started being just a little out of step with what Jodie was throwing at her. Before I could get too upset, though, something clicked again, and Toni saw the match out like her life depended on it.
She was going to another final.
I applauded as hard as anyone, but let Jürgen commandeer me to brag for a while so that when the cameras swept over us all, I’d look disinterested: just another working holiday. I knew there’d be some commentary on me being a good sport, staying to cheer on the person who’d vanquished me. What a professional, huh? If only they knew.
Friday night felt like an excuse to have dinner out, and Toni insisted even with the final hanging over her. Seeing her wandering the streets of Madrid at my side, I was seeing her in her element. She had visited the city many times with her mother, not just for tennis, and took great delight in pointing out funny little stores and hidden side streets.
“I had no idea you were so hot on your history,” I admitted when we finally made it to the hole-in-the-wall tapas place that looked like nothing much outside but had a six-month waiting list for reservations. “And how did you get us a table here, anyway?”
“Elin! Señorita Larsson!” The maître d’ almost fell over himself rushing to greet us. “And Señorita Cortes Ruiz, por favor.”
“I dropped your name like a hot potato,” Toni admitted, whispering in my ear. “It’s incredibly sexy how well that works. I intend to do it a lot from now on.”
Well. How could I complain about that?
“Keep this up and my name won’t be the only thing dropping tonight,” I whispered back as we took our seats at a table tucked into an alcove. A little privacy, then. “Assuming I’m wearing anything that can be dropped, of course.”
She almost spilled her water at that. Good to know I wasn’t the only one so easily flustered.
I didn’t look around for once to see if we were noticed. For a few minutes, it seemed like every member of staff dropped by to wait on us personally, but eventually my wine was ordered—Toni stuck to water.
“So tomorrow, I’m going to have an extra guest for the match,” Toni told me, leaning back in her chair, the candles on the table lighting her like a painting. “In the seat next to you, in fact.”
“If this is some ex-girlfriend…” It turned out that for all the speculation and rumours around Xavi, and despite a few failed attempts in high school, Toni had never properly dated any men. Not that it mattered to me one way or another, as long as we were attracted to each other, but it was a reminder for me not to run around making assumptions.
“No, it’s my mother. She decided maybe she can care a little bit for a final. She keeps saying I’ll be like ‘the Spanish champion’ if I win, which isn’t… Still, she’s not normally so enthusiastic.”
“This is a big deal for you, isn’t it? Do you need me to be just
