Max was so damn proud he barely heard the umpire calmly call the match. Repeating what he already knew. Miss Fontaine was the winner.
Two—six, six—one… six—one.
Chapter 18
"Can you believe this?" Gaby was springing around Tess's room like a Ping-Pong ball on crack.
"Of course I can. You've had an awesome week. You're into the round of sixteen. And, oh yeah, you're beautiful, witty, and the camera adores you, What's not to love? Of course Chris Evert wants to interview you for Tennis magazine. She's no dummy."
Gaby's cheeks grew a bit pink at the praise, but she was way too wound up to be completely abashed. "God, I can't believe I'm into the second week of my first Wimbledon." She squealed a little and stamped her feet. "I mean, I can, I was there, but you know what I mean? Three rounds and I'm still in it."
Tess turned back to the mirror and finished applying her mascara. "Of course you are. And you earned it, every step. Took out Davina in three, the Romanian in straights, and yesterday—"
"I know!" Gaby crowed. "I beat my first top-ten player!" She fell backward onto Tess's bed, arms spread-eagle, beatific smile on her pretty face. Then she hooted and drummed her heels on the bed. "Amelie so choked in the third."
Her enthusiasm was infectious and Tess found herself snorting a little, too. "Big time. But you're the one who put the fear in her." She turned away from the mirror and waved her mascara wand at the teenager. "Be warned, the word's going to get out now. I saw Elena Branch's coach scoping out your match."
"But she lost late yesterday, right? And he was probably scoping out Amelie, anyway, not me."
"Mauresmo's game is well-known, yours isn't. And you've been making quite a splash in London." As had Tess. She'd been careful not to overexpose Gaby, keeping her as focused as possible, but the media coverage had grown to include both the sports media and the more traditional straight news outlets. And Tess had taken full advantage.
The tabs were still paying attention, too, but in London, that was par for the course for any celebrity. Tim Henman, Greg Rusedski, and Andy Murray, the new young Scots player, had all bowed out early, leaving the British with no favorite sons to cheer on. In their place, they'd adopted underdog Gaby. Tess had long been a favorite here and, by extension and their working relationship, they'd happily embraced the rookie player, as well.
Keeping Gaby mostly under wraps hadn't kept Tess from making the media rounds on her own. She'd been a guest with the commentators for both the U.S. cable and major networks and the BBC, And had enjoyed herself immensely each time. To her surprise, and that of various network officials, she'd been something of a ratings boost. Apparently, her brand of somewhat sardonic—okay, snarky—color commentary had been a hit with the public. Some papers had quoted a few random listeners as saying they appreciated her insight and liked that she had the courage to say what everyone was thinking, but was too afraid to put out there. Tess had no such fear. After all, at this point, what did she have to lose? There were no sponsors to piss off, no advertisers to threaten to pull her commercial endorsements. She was free to do and say what she wanted.
As long as it worked in the network's favor, anyway. And so far, so good.
"You have to be twice as prepared from here on in, Gaby, because they're going to come prepared for you. They know a little more about your game now. They know you've got an arsenal of weapons and that you're not afraid to try them all."
Gaby rolled over on her side, facing Tess. "I want to work on my serve-and-volley game more. It's been the only thing keeping me here this long, but I'm still having a hard time coming in really confidently After the interview later, let's get back out there. Sir Robin's court is lighted."
Tess looked at Gaby via the mirror. "You already had your practice session today, and a good workout. We're not going to overdo."
She flopped onto her back again. "Now you sound like Max."
Just what Tess didn't need, a Max reminder. Like he hadn't already infiltrated her brain on a regular basis these past couple of days.
Wexley House was huge. They could stay here weeks and never run into each other. But she'd been far too aware he was under the same roof as she was. Especially at night, when she was lying in bed with a whole lot more important things to mull over than her increasingly confusing feelings for Max Fontaine. Much less remember things she had no business remembering.
Like the way his lips had curved that tiny bit as he stared down at her, all enigmatic and intense that night by the front door, the same night he and Gaby had moved in—what now seemed like a million years ago. Or that time she'd caught him looking at her the day Gaby had won her first-round match, looking at her with such open curiosity, as if he'd never really seen her before. She couldn't get that sort of stunned look out of her mind. Wednesday hadn't helped matters any, either.
Gaby had taken out Sylvia Mariscu, the young Romanian who was trying to break into the top by doing well here. Yeah, well, not this week, Tess thought with a private smile. Gaby had seen to that. And when Gaby had fought a grueling second-set tiebreaker to take the match, Max had stood and dragged Tess, seated in the row behind him, to her feet as they hooted in victory… and then pulled her into a bear hug. That had been disconcerting enough, but instead of letting her go right away, there had been a moment—just a moment, but it was one of those moments, like in the first round, that just stuck, tunelessly, in her mind—when she'd started to pull away and he'd tightened his hold.
The look on his face had been one of surprise, like he hadn't quite meant to do that, but somehow had anyway. She'd intended to smile down at him, make some smart-ass remark, anything to regain her footing which had somehow, somewhere, gotten wobbly when he'd put his hands on her. Instead she'd just smiled down at him like some kind of lovestruck idiot with a goony smile plastered all over her face.
Then Aurora and Vivian had tugged her away and into another embrace as the celebration continued, mercifully ending the moment before she did something even more ridiculous— like the afternoon hadn't already been surreal enough. Even now she had to shake her head, remembering how it had started. The Godmothers Do Wimbledon.
She wasn't sure the members would ever recover after allowing Vivian DePalma on the grounds of the All England Club, what with her rather… interesting tribute to their stuffy all-white rule. Somehow Tess didn't think the executive committee quite expected a wide-brimmed, feather-festooned day hat, with tiny strawberries fixed into the folds of tulle that circled the brim. A concoction that would have looked outrageous even at Royal Ascot, which was saying something.
As if that weren't head-turning enough, Vivian had added an eye-popping all-white ensemble featuring a fitted-bodice jacket—complete with a sparkling, diamond tennis-racket brooch on the lapel—worn over her version of a retro, turn-of-the-century ankle-length tennis skirt, and capped it off with strawberry-trimmed bobby socks and white leather sneakers. It was a wonder they'd let her back on the grounds again yesterday.
But even with all that distraction, and Gaby's exulted leaps as she celebrated on the court, it had been that moment in Max's arms, that brief look of surprise on his face as his hands had tightened on the small of her back, that stuck with her.
No, she didn't need any Max reminders.
"You were like the Tiger Woods of tennis," Gaby was saying. "All those stories about how you were out there for hours right after a match, practicing. So how come you won't give me a little more time? I mean, come on, what's the worst that can happen?"
"The worst that could happen is you end up like me. Injured to the point of no repair before your thirtieth birthday. Career over."
Gaby was silent for a moment and Tess continued with her primping. Finally, Gaby said, "Do you miss it really bad? Playing, I mean?"
Tess paused for a moment, eyeliner poised. "More than anything," she said finally, opting for the truth. Her voice was a bit gruffer than she'd have liked, but Gaby had caught her a bit off guard. "It was my w
hole life."
"Is that why you're coaching me? To feel like you're still connected to it?"
It was an obvious question, but Tess wasn't quite prepared to answer it. Mostly because, now that it had been asked, she wasn't really sure what the truth was. "I'm not coaching you." She waved her eyeliner to emphasize her point. "No matter what your brother says. I'm just mentoring you a little, while you're in between coaches."
In the mirror, she saw Gaby smile and roll to her back again.
"What?" Tess asked. In her short time around the younger Fontaine, she'd learned to be aware of that particular little smile.
"Nothing. I shouldn't be so nosy. Max is always telling me that."
"You won't know if you don't ask," Tess said automatically.
"Exactly!" Gaby agreed. "So don't think I'm not grateful for your mentoring." She made air quotes around that last word. "It's just…"
Tess let the sentence dangle, knowing Gaby was purposely trying to bait her. As the silence spun out, she finally looked at Tess's reflection in the mirror. Tess merely arched an eyebrow back at her. One that she noticed needed a little evening up. Dammit, she'd never get out of here on time.
Gaby sighed. She was pretty good at manipulating situations to her advantage, but she had a way to go to catch up with Tess. "So, if you don't want to coach, what do you want to do now?"
Digging the tweezers out of her makeup bag, Tess went to work on plucking errant hairs. And very specifically avoided the very same question she'd avoided asking herself for the past few days. She was thrilled for Gaby, ecstatic, but watching her play had still taken an emotional toll on Tess. Not so much in the moment, when the adrenaline was pumping. She'd managed to focus then, shut out her memories. But at night, lying in bed, it was a different story. Then she'd replay the entire match over in her mind, visualizing herself out there instead of Gaby, reliving how she'd have played each point. It was stupid torture and she knew it, but there it was anyway. And better than thinking about Max all through the night. Talk about torture. "Right now I want to finish getting ready. I have to be out of here in less than fifteen minutes."
"That's not an answer."
Tess smiled, checked her teeth for lipstick smears. "I know."
"But you said if you don't ask—"
"I never said you'd always get the information you seek, young Padawan." Gaby giggled and Tess focused on skimming a brush over her cheekbones, then turned around. "What do you think?"
"Wow." Gaby sat up. "You look hot."
Tess smiled and did a little curtsy. "Why thank you."
Gaby instantly forgot all about her own worries and became all sixteen-year-old teenager again. She scooted to a cross-legged position, eyes sparking with a whole new kind of nosy interest. "So, who's the hot date with? Trying to make Max jealous?"
"None of your—what did you just say?"
She smiled, all sly now. "You heard me."
Of course, Gaby had long since seen the headlines earlier in the week, the infamous photo of her and Max in the players' lounge. But both Tess and Max had, on separate occasions, explained to Gaby—in detail—that the papers had made something of nothing. Tess had even reminded Gaby why she'd charmed her way into the commentators' booth with Mary Carillo and John McEnroe on opening day. Well, the part of the reason that had pertained to Gaby and Max, anyway. She'd used her time with the colorful hosts to shoot down rumors and hopefully shift the focus to Gaby's game and her hopes to do well in the tournament.
She'd have probably been more successful if the camera guys on the Graveyard Court that very same day hadn't caught her and Max staring intently at each other, smiling. She could have done without the permanent reminder herself.
"Why in the world would you ask something like that? Max and I are, at best, civil with each other. You know that better than anyone."
"He hated losing that bet to you."
"Hey, I've been gentle and he knows it. And if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be talking to one Ms. Chris Evert here shortly. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be off somewhere primping, too?"
Gaby lifted an unconcerned shoulder. "No photographers this time, just an interview. I think we're doing it by phone."
"Nervous?"
Gaby just laughed. "I've given more interviews since you started coach—sorry, I mean, mentoring me," she added dryly. "I can't think of anything she could ask me that we haven't rehearsed, like, a million times."
Tess fished her small clutch out of the dresser and popped the lipstick she was using inside. "How are you holding up?"
Gaby flung herself back, arms wide, all dramatic once again. But grinning ear to ear. "I love all of it. I love the attention, I love signing autographs." She rolled her head toward Tess. "And most of all, I love winning!"
Tess shot her a similar grin in response. She knew exactly how Gabrielle felt. "Yeah. It's pretty intoxicating." She walked to the foot of the bed and nudged Gaby's foot with her leg. "Just make sure you pace yourself. Get some rest tonight."
"Are you going to see anyone famous tonight?"
It was funny. Gaby could be worldly ingénue one second, starstruck teenager the next. Tess found herself hoping Gaby was able to hold on to that fleeting time in her life longer than Tess had. "I don't know," she replied. That was the truth. She'd been invited by the network she'd done the commentating for to a shindig schmoozing some of the tournament and commercial sponsors. She couldn't have planned that one better if she'd dreamed it up herself, but she had no idea who else would be in attendance.
"Will you tell me all about it tomorrow over breakfast?"
"You've got a very big match tomorrow, if you haven't forgotten."
For the first time, Tess spied a bit of nerves in the way Gaby darted her gaze immediately to her feet. "I haven't, trust me."
Tess sat on the edge of the bed. "We'll have plenty of time in the morning to go over strategy. You just do your normal match-day routine. I'll be there every step. I promise."
Gaby sat up and impulsively hugged Tess. "Thank you," she whispered fiercely. "I would never have made it this far without you."
Tess gently dislodged herself from the teenager's quite powerful grip. Both because she didn't want to crush the dress she was wearing, and because she was suddenly worried about just what role she truly was playing here. Yes, in addition to the boost it had given her other mission here in London, she had been enjoying her time with Gaby, and she had come to care very much about her, but she wasn't going to be a permanent fixture in the teenager's life. She couldn't have Gaby getting too emotionally attached in return, or worse, thinking she needed Tess to win matches. She took Gaby by the shoulders and stared her directly in the face. "You earned every single point out there. Any help I've given you is merely nudging the talent you already have."
"Isn't that what a good coach is supposed to do?"
"Gaby."
Her lips quirked a little. "A girl can dream, right?" She laughed. "This is all a dream, isn't it?" She lay back on the bed again. "Maybe Aurora really is a fairy godmother." The smile spread across her face.
"Don't let her hear you say that—it will go straight to her head, which is big enough, thank you," She got up and walked to the door. "Go charm the socks off of Chrissy, then get plenty of rest tonight. We'll talk about all of it in the morning."
"Okay. Oh, one more thing, can you do me a huge favor and go out through the west entrance when you leave?"
Tess turned back. "Why would I do that?"
Gaby's grin was impish. "Because Max is out on the west patio making some calls. He'll think you look hot, too."
Tess just laughed and shook her head.
"You know," Gaby called out as she left the room, "maybe Aurora or Vivian could give you what you wish for!"
Clearly, Gaby had some deluded idea that what Tess wanted or needed was a guy. Preferably, her older brother.
As Tess left the west wing, she carefully skirted around the patio, staying out of sight, but managed
to spy Max sitting out there, the sun setting behind him, head bent over a notebook as he talked quite animatedly on his cell and scribbled something down. Hopefully the name of Gaby's next coach. Still, the setting sun made for an arresting shot, she found herself thinking. He was intense. It all but vibrated off of him at times. And it did draw her, in some inexplicable way she was doing her damnedest to ignore.
No, if Aurora and Vivian really had special godmother powers, she wouldn't waste her wish on romance. She'd get them to figure out how to solve her financial crisis. In lieu of that impossible miracle, it was best she get out there and make it happen herself.
In another week tops, Max and Gaby would move on to the next tournament. And she would return home to Florida. She really didn't want to think about why that made her sad. All she needed to think about was how she didn't intend to go home empty-handed.
Chapter 19
"Gabrielle, what a surprise, my dear. What brings you down here so late?" Aurora closed her book and quickly slid her glasses off. It was a small bow to vanity, she supposed, and at her age, a rather silly one, but she'd never liked the look of glasses on a woman. And she couldn't see herself fussing with contacts, either. So she kept up the pretense of good vision when she could. And thanked her close friends for allowing her the illusion. "Shouldn't you be resting for tomorrow?"
The lanky teenager strolled across the parlor and slid into the chair across from Aurora, both of which angled toward the fireplace in Sir Robin's private library, As opposed to the general library found on the first floor, this one was tucked away in his private wing of the residence. Aurora had discovered it on one of her daily walks—Vivian would say she'd been snooping, but a woman her age had to keep her health up, did she not? And what with the typical English rainy afternoons, she'd simply found it easier to do her walking indoors.
Not So Snow White Page 24