“Ah.” Toni looked a little sheepish. “My head wasn’t really in it today, and it was a rough draw—that angry little Canadian? Anyway, I kind of got dumped out in the first round.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re free to come back to Paris with me? And we can train for the Open together?”
Toni nodded in confirmation, and I wrangled her into my lap for a celebratory kiss.
“Yes to all of that,” she said. “I love you. Sorry for letting that slip on the phone.”
“I love you too,” I told her. “On the phone, in person, anywhere…”
“Good,” Toni said, pulling the sheets out of our way. “Now let me show you just how much.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It would have been a little easier if we could have stayed in our bubble, but the arrival of the French Open proper meant an avalanche of press for both of us.
“Do you want to do a joint interview?” Parisa asked over lunch, on the Sunday before the first round began. “It won’t sound like you, which means it’ll pull focus from the actual tennis. On the other hand, it’s a lot of press coverage.”
“Not all of the reaction will be positive,” I pointed out over my plate of pasta. “I don’t want to end up with protests and boycotts, not after I just made a big deal about how I need to play and the tournament needs me. Us.”
Toni smirked a little from across the table. We had been intending to eat alone, but Parisa had tracked us down easily enough, with my mother and Mira in tow. They’d just pulled chairs over, much to the waitstaff’s horror.
“It might be a good thing, then, that you can’t meet each other before the semi-finals. If you do cross paths, I’ll handle the headlines, but it’s going to mean at least one sit-down with TV. That work?” Parisa had her planner out, various plans and contacts sketched out all over the page. Not for the first time, I was in awe of how she kept track of it all.
“So now we can focus on tennis?” my mother asked, getting an approving nod from Mira. Great, those two joining forces could only spell disaster for me. Retirement suddenly looked like a great option all over again.
But first: two more slams.
Winning the early rounds wasn’t too strenuous, which was its own kind of relief. Everyone at the top of the field had improved in the few weeks I’d taken off, and between them, Celeste, Toni, and Keiko were playing some phenomenal tennis. So too were Fatima and even the young upstart Sarah, who seemed to be keeping her temper in check. Her presence came in handy too: The longer she stayed in the competition, the more headlines focused on her and kept some of the heat from Toni and me.
There was definitely something to be said for having every other day without a match in Paris, even if we were mostly confined to the hotel and the practice facility. We would come back with reddish smudges of clay in all sorts of places, clean up, and spend our evenings together back in that bubble the outside world hadn’t quite popped yet.
“This is nice,” Toni said, from where she was already soaking in the bathtub. She’d called down to have some fancy bath oils and rose petals sent up, only to beat me into the tub because I was taking too long over my evening Pilates. By the time I slipped into the water, facing her across the steaming water, she was grumbling that the oils just made the flowers stick to her skin.
There was nowhere in the world I’d rather be, and I supposed it was only fair I tell her that.
“Me too,” she agreed. “I wish it could always be like this. We’re both playing well, you seem happier on court than you were when we met, maybe longer than that.”
“Mmm. There’ll be some times where it doesn’t line up, but with your ranking climbing like this you’ll be qualifying for everything that I am. It’s just…”
“Yeah?”
“If I can wrap it up with two out of the three left this season, I think that might be it for me.”
She sat up, splashing her hands and making the water surge up on my chest like a warm wave.
“Seriously? I thought that was about being unhappy. So soon? Elin, really?”
“I am happy, with you. I don’t need the tennis, even though you’re right, it has been coming easier for me. But I think I can enjoy it more because it doesn’t feel like forever now. It feels like the exit might finally be in sight.”
“Wow.” Toni shimmied forward, causing more little waves. She was tucked snugly between my thighs at that point. “I mean, it would be insane. Going out on top like that. You could win all three, you know that, don’t you?”
“Unlikely. But I think I have enough in the tank for two. Then there would be a kind of long, public farewell, I guess? If I can’t do it, then I’ll play next season. But I don’t want to play until I’m too old for it.”
“Mmm, that’s right, your birthday is next week. At thirty-three you’re my older woman.” Toni gave me a wink, her grin downright cheeky. “Oh, I’m not complaining.”
“Well, you young ones are always coming for my crown,” I teased, even though we were both well aware she’d be twenty-seven the day before Wimbledon. “I thought I should start having some fun with that.”
“Are you telling me there’s a line outside?” She dragged her fingertips down the inside of my thigh, her nails short and blunt, but enough to spark a reaction all the way down. “Because I was planning on taking my time tonight.”
“I think you’re already more than I can handle,” I confessed. “I’m not looking for anyone else.”
“Good,” Toni replied, shifting position so she could
