Chapter Seventeen

It's late afternoon when I'm coming out of the supermarket—hands busy with my grocery bags—when Naomi calls. I see it on my watch, but I need my phone to answer it, otherwise I don't listen to a word she's saying. I lean on a wall so I can hold one of the bags between my waist and the wall and use the free hand to get my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. I don't even have time to say hello.

‘Can you tell me why you're on UK Gossip Today's Instagram post?' she blurts out, as if I'm supposed to know what the fuck she's talking about.

‘What?' I'm still trying not to drop my groceries.

‘Well, you are. You didn't tell me you were seeing someone, let alone a famous guy.'

I think she called the wrong number.

‘Naomi, just … slow down. I have no idea what you're talking about. Aren't you supposed to be calling one of your clients?'

A bus drives by and that makes it even harder to hear her and think clearly.

‘Honey, do you actually think I talk to my clients like this?'

‘I sincerely hope not,' I joke.

‘Is this your cute guy? Lucas Lamaire?'

What? How does she know his last name?

‘Now you're talking nonsense.'

‘It is, isn't it?'

‘How do you know his name?'

‘Who doesn't know who Lucas Lamaire is, Olivia?'

She never calls me Olivia. Ok, that's not the point. Again, what the hell is she talking about?

‘Can you just tell me what's going on? No sarcasm, or jokes, or bossiness. Please, be gentle.' I feel like the floor has disappeared and I'm on a free fall. My head's trying to make sense of what I just heard, but it's doing a very slow and poor job of it.

‘There are photos of you and Lucas Lamaire on the biggest gossip Instagram account of the UK,' she says.

My breath catches, and the air seeps out of my lungs. My head does a 360-degree spin and the floor under my feet are shaking like an earthquake.

‘Livvy, are you there?'

One of my bags full of groceries falls on the sidewalk and tomatoes and carrots are everywhere, and broken eggs too. A guy stops to help. We're both squatting on our knees to save what's left. I don't even know what I'm doing.

‘I am, I just … wait a second,' I tell Naomi. ‘Thank you, thank you so much,' I say to the guy, who gives me an apologetic smile back.

‘Livvy? Livvy, who are you talking to?'

‘A guy on the street who helped with my groceries.'

What a mess. People are going to hate those eggs splashed on the floor, I don't know why right now this seems to bother me more than anything else. I keep walking, I need to get home.

‘Naomi, can I call you back?' Before she starts protesting, I end the call.

When I'm finally home, I drop the groceries on the island and call her back, my hands shaking. There are a million different thoughts running through my head.

‘What's going on, Livvy?' She sounds much calmer now, whereas I'm still trying to wrap my head around what she was saying.

‘I don't know Naomi, this is such a mess,' I sit on one of the stools.

‘Have you been seeing him?'

‘Who?' I'm still in a state of trance.

‘Livvy, listen to me. There are photos of you on the Instagram of the most popular gossip blog in the UK, with Lucas Lamaire, famous tennis player, hello?'

I wish I could hit pause on this conversation right there.

‘Do you know who he is?' she asks.

Apparently not.

‘Do you?' It's all I can manage.

‘Yeah, I do … but it seems to me that you don't.' She begins the sentence with an indignant tone, but ends it softly, feeling guilty realising I'm in shock.

‘Oh, shit,' she says. ‘Ok. First things first. I advise you to get over your shock, do what you have to, but do it fast. Then go check the photos on Instagram. And then, my friend, you're going to have a lot explaining to do.'

‘I don't have an Instagram profile.'

I'm pretty sure right now she rolled her eyes, but she doesn't say anything.

‘I will send you my login and password, you can check it from my profile.'

‘Ok,' I agree without discussing, I still don't know what I'm doing.

‘Call me back when you can.'

‘Yeah, bye.'

I go to the kitchen sink and splash cold water on my face, take a few slow deep breaths, but when I finally manage to open Naomi's Instagram and find UK Gossip Today's profile, I'm still in shock. Even more after I see the most recent post.

It's there. I'm there. The first photo is the two of us holding hands in front of Sketch. I swipe to the left, and there's more. It's me running alongside Luc by the Thames, me at Fresh Me Up having breakfast with Luc on Sunday, the two of us entering the building as Luc holds the front door open for me. Luc, Luc, Luc. Lucas Lamaire.

It gets worse when I read the caption.

UK Gossip Today's Instagram

Has Lucas Lamaire found a new match for his heart? The current number two tennis player in the world was seen in London on different occasions with the same brunette. The four-time Grand Slam champion hasn't been seen with a woman in public since he and his last girlfriend, the Spanish tennis player Malia Ferdinand, broke up two years ago. Lamaire is currently in London pursuing the most renowned championship in the tennis world: Wimbledon. Today he's playing for a spot in the semi-finals on Friday. If he wins, he'll play against Andrej Dordevic. Who's the hottie who's been getting Lamaire's attention? Is it a match before the match?

What in the fuck? Why do I feel like the world's stupidest person alive? Why do I feel like the whole world has just seen me naked on social media? Why can't I breathe?

There are so many things wrong about this Instagram post, about today, about this very moment. Over 30,000 people have liked the post, and almost the same amount have left a comment. There are people trying to guess who I am, others are saying how they wish they were me, ‘lucky girl,' and others are mean comments I'd rather not mention.

Fuckfuckfuck.

I don't know what's worse—the betrayal or the violation of privacy.

I lean forward and press my forehead on the hard stone of the kitchen island. I close my eyes and stay there, because I don't know what else to do apart from giving myself time to let it all sink in. But the world has other plans for me today. My phone starts vibrating non-stop. There are messages from Mum asking what's going on. Nate has sent me links and screenshots of different news sources, including ESPN.

Today at 6:05 pm

Nate: Keeping secrets aren't you?

It's everywhere! There are calls from Dad and Lexi, and even from some of my co-workers, including Caleb and Haley.

The only person I want to talk to is unreachable, because I just found out he happens to be playing a tennis match at Wimbledon right now. The realisation that that's what he has been doing this whole time since he arrived hits me hard.

How did I get here?

A wave of moments come flushing in my mind all at once. Him giving his phone number to Lesley must have been an autograph and how Andi looked at the two of us together. The way he's always hiding his face under his cap, his athletic body and the calluses on his hand, the way he's always amused when we talk about tennis, or the way he acted when I asked his name. The private dinner at Sketch, how he's often wearing sports clothes. His temporary stay. The whole team behind him.

How could I have been so blind?

I don't feel like talking to anyone, instead, I make things worse by checking the news. Things escalate when I decide to google his name. Photos of the two of us come up first, then news about the matches he played in the past week, and then photos of his ex. His gorgeous ex, Malia Ferdinand.

I settle for checking his Wikipedia profile. Another bad idea.

Lucas Dominique Lamaire

French tennis player

Lucas Dominique Lamaire is a French tennis player. He is currently ranked No. 2 in the world by the Association of Tennis Professionals, after winning the most recent French Open.

Born: November 6, 1993 (age 27 years), Reims, France

Residence: Monte Carlo, Monaco

Height: 6' 1''/ 1.85m

Country (sports): France

Grand Slam titles (singles): 4

Plays: right-handed (one-handed backhand)

Coaches: Florian Provost (2002–2018), Maurice Bellegarde (2018– )

Prize money: USD $85,657,178

Official website: lucaslamaire.com

Early life and background

Lucas was born in Reims, France on November 6th, 1993, to Annette and Dominique Lamaire—who was also a professional tennis player and became tennis coach and founder of the Lamaire Academy after his retirement. Lucas has a younger brother, Jules Dominique Lamaire, who is also a professional tennis player in the boy's category. Lucas grew up between Paris and Reims, where his family owns the Champagne House Lamaire. He started playing tennis when he was only six years old.

Personal life

Lucas Lamaire dated tennis player Malia Ferdinand for almost two years. The pair decided to part ways because of distance and busy schedules. Lamaire hasn't had a public relationship since.

Lamaire is an avid advocate for raising awareness for ocean pollution and is passionate about nature and wildlife.

There's more. Way more than I can handle right now, or ever. I'm afraid of looking out the window and finding out that there are reporters crowding the front of the building. I can't look at my phone because I don't know what to do with all the messages and people calling.

Today at 6:25 pm

Caleb: Damn girl, why am I finding out about this on the news?

Haley: Why didn't you mention the simple fact that you're dating one of the hottest men in the world? You go Olivia!

Lexi: Livvy, are you ok?

I toss my phone at the couch.

I turn on ESPN and there he is, playing. I can't even believe what my eyes are seeing. It's as though I still hoped that everyone around me was wrong and that it was only a misunderstanding, despite what Wikipedia said.

It's really him, dressed in white sports clothes with his cap backwards. I'd recognise that ass and those magnetic eyes anywhere in the world. His last name's on the corner of the TV, LAMAIRE, indicating his score, probably. I have no idea. And I don't care. I can't focus on anything right now. I turn it off, get dressed and go out for a run, because that's the only thing that can help me clear my head.

Yes, I already ran this morning, and yes it's pouring outside, but I go anyways. The least of my problems is getting wet running in the rain. And so I run. Faster than I normally do. Angrier than I ever have. Hurt and betrayed. The only person in the world most unaware of my own life. I want to run until I burn all my thoughts away, because organising them won't do.

By the time I get back home it's late. 10:00 pm kinda late. At some point during my run I stopped and screamed at a tree. As if she were the one to be blamed. I cursed and yelled all my reasons for being mad and angry. I talked to her as if she were myself. I did not cry. Tears didn't even try to form. I guess they were afraid of me, of what I would do if they dared come out. I stopped when my voice became hoarse and I started coughing.

I left a trail of water behind me. It started at the hall of the building, then the lift until my front door, where I'm taking off my soaking wet running shoes and socks.

‘Who's there?'

Oh for fuck's sake, is Mrs. Thompson still awake?

This time she opens the door before I open mine. I consider ignoring her and try to get in my flat as fast as I can, but I don't make it in time.

‘Olivia, is that you?' she says, peeking out her half-opened door, as if she could see clearly. She's holding on to her walker, which is now trapped between the door and the door frame. I feel bad and go help her.

‘Yes, Mrs. Thompson, it's me. Do you need help?'

‘No, no, no help.' She raises her hand at me.

Despite her age and the fact that she spends most of her time at home, Mrs. Thompson always looks impeccable. Her grey hair is neatly combed and tied in a perfect bun, and her strong perfume penetrates my nostrils as soon as she opens the door. She doesn't smell like old people, she smells heavenly.

‘There was a young man knocking on your door. He was waiting for you until half an hour ago,' she says.

I don't know what to say to that, I'm not in the mood for small talk. I'm not in the mood to talk at all. My voice is still hoarse from screaming at the tree.

‘We talked for a while. He sounds like a gentleman, and way too French.'

I'm glad she can't see me rolling my eyes.

‘He said he had a long day. He sounded exhausted. Did you know he's a tennis player?'

Great, even Mrs. Thompson who can only see shadows knows who Luc is. Ok, that was mean.

‘Did he tell you that?'

And why am I interested to know that again?

‘He just told me his name. I recognised it from the TV,' she says with a happy grin on her face.

I sigh.

‘I even asked for an autograph. If my Paul were still alive he'd have loved to have an autograph of a famous tennis player,' she says beaming. ‘Anyways, he seemed worried, and I'd say even a bit sad.'

I bet.

‘Right,' I say.

‘Didn't know you had a famous boyfriend, love,' she says, fishing for some gossip.

‘I don't. He's not—' I begin but don't finish. I don't have the energy. I'm just not up for explaining something I don't even understand myself.

‘Well, that's too bad. He seems like the kind of man every woman would want,' she says and winks at where she believes my face is.

Exactly.

‘I'm tired Mrs. Thompson. I should get going. Can I help you with your walker?'

‘No, I'm fine, thank you, love.'

I hold the door for her anyway.

‘Have a good night,' I say.

‘You too,' she says, slowly closing the door behind her.

I go straight to the bathroom, and after leaving my wet clothes on the sink, I shower silently, listening to the drops of water falling on the bathroom floor.

I put on my favourite grey pyjama set of tank top and shorts and hide myself under the duvet. Luc's scent has adhered to the side of the bed he has been sleeping on. Great. The T-shirts he left behind are neatly folded on one corner of the bed. I kick them to the floor as an act of vengeance. I'm glad I don't think much more until I black out.