Chapter Twenty-Six

I find myself surrounded by thousands of people in front of an enormous outdoor screen. Everyone's waiting for the match to start, splayed on the grass or steps of the famous Henman Hill. Here's where Dad used to come to watch the matches he didn't get tickets to. I wonder what he'd say seeing me here right now.

In less than an hour Luc's going to step on the Centre Court and I have no way to make it to the player box. The only chance I have is if he responds to the text I sent him a few minutes ago after being kicked out of the restricted area. But I don't think Luc's worried about his phone right now.

Today at 11:46 am

Me: I need to talk to you. Can you reply as soon as you see this?

Maybe I should just wait until the match is over. Maybe I shouldn't have come after all. I cringe when I think of the guard following me out of the restricted area—my second most shameful moment after the bathroom incident with Luc almost two weeks ago. What was I thinking?

Accepting I can't do anything right now but wait, I have joined the fans sitting cross legged on the grass, feeling sorry for myself and wishing I had done things differently. But I guess I deserve this. He tried, didn't he?

Today at 12:10 pm

Immune to tickles: Olivia, it's Jules. What's going on?

As soon as I get the notification on my phone, adrenaline shoots through me.

Me: I'm at Henman Hill. Is there any way I can join you?

Immune to tickles is typing …

Before I can see Jules' message, my phone dies.

Fucking great.

I look around me and desperation makes me brave to ask around the crowd who might have a power bank. People stare as if I've asked them if they have a ticket into Wimbledon. Until someone actually recognises me.

‘Hey, aren't you Olivia Charlton? Lamaire's girlfriend?' asks a woman about my age.

‘Uhh …' I don't know what to say to that. I just need a freaking power bank.

‘Here, you can take mine,' she offers.

‘Thank you so so much,' I say, so relieved I immediately forget what she just called me.

I realise now people are staring and whispering. It's spreading fast. I have a feeling I need to get out of here soon.

When my phone screen finally lights up again, I go check my messages.

Immune to tickles: What? are you here?

Immune to tickles: Give me a sec, I'm calling you.

An unknown number has called me, and I believe it's Jules'. I call back.

‘Hey, Olivia,' says Jules cheerful.

‘Hey, Jules. Sorry, my phone died.'

‘Can you meet me at the closest entrance of Henman Hill?'

I have no idea where that is, but I agree.

‘Awesome. I'll get you a badge,' he says and relief shoots through me for the first time in this weird day of my life.

Before I go, I give the girl back her power bank. She waves me off and says I can keep it, as long as I give her an autograph and take a selfie with her. I hesitate, but I'm guessing it's the least crazy thing I'll do today. I make sure to ask her where the next entrance to Centre Court is, or whatever that means. She finds it amusing that I don't know this and points me in the right direction after describing the way there.

I put my heels back on and make my way to the meeting point, Jules is not there and I wonder if I have come to the right place. But before I give up, Luc's little brother shows up with a wide grin on his face to greet me by the entrance.

‘Jules, I'm so sorry for this,' I say, guilty for causing him so much trouble.

‘It's no problem really. But, here, you're going to have to use Mum's badge,' he says discreetly into my ear into our embrace. He places his mum's lanyard around my neck and takes my hand before I can even think.

The security gives me a doubtful glance but decides to turn a blind eye after he checks Jules' badge. Then I'm in. Finally.

‘Thank you so much for doing this, Jules.'

He looks back at me, amused as we walk through the crowd heading to the Centre Court in a hurry to catch the beginning of the match.

‘What?' I say.

‘Nothing.'

I don't know if it's because he's happy I'm here, or because his brother will be happy to see me here. Maybe both.

#

I find myself once again in front of a screen, this time in a private area inside the Centre Court building. I told Jules I'd rather not make an appearance at the player box right now. I have no idea how Luc will react when he sees me, it can be either bad or good, and I don't want to be a distraction. I might have also taken the advantage of the private bathroom to freshen up. I'm sure I've made the right decision when I rinse my feet under the shower.

The match is about to start. Luc looks focused, but not nervous. I realise that when he enters the court he turns a part of him on and another off. His expression changes, his body language too. My heart is hammering against my chest, my skin is prickling.

He's wearing the same white outfit from his previous matches. The cap backwards. He has ear buds in. I wonder what he's listening to. He waves to the crowd and throws them a wide smile. Someone's taking his and his adversary's—Moretti—backpacks and places each on their respective benches. He picks a racket. He takes his jacket off. A coin is tossed. Moretti wins and is going to serve first. They begin the warmup. The crowd is loud, screaming both their names. Fans are holding signs with messages to their favourite player. A heart shaped one reads Marry me Lamaire. I shouldn't be surprised. Still, I am.

The match begins, and I hold my breath. He loses the first and second games easily. Then he also loses the first set after 45 minutes. His expression hasn't changed. He's still focused and determined, but now sweaty. He's doing that thing of his, tugging on his T-shirt on the shoulder, touching his nose then pulling a strand of his hair behind his ear before throwing the ball in the air and hitting it with his racket bouncing it to the other side of the net.

He loses the second set too, after forty minutes. My heart sinks. It seems as though the crowd favourites Moretti. Both players seem to be immune to the cheers and screams and whistles around them, theirs heads are somewhere else. On the game. On the title.

I've been sitting on a chair all this time, but when the third set begins I stand up. If he loses this set, he loses the match and the title. If he wins, he needs to win the next set too so they can go to the fifth set. Don't even ask how I know this, the narrator just said it.

I bite my nails, I curse, I throw punches in the air, I scream yes. Moretti is winning 2-3, then it's 3-3, then Luc is winning 4-3, then 5-3, then Moretti comes back for a 5-4 and 5-5. I don't think I can watch this anymore. Luc wins another game, and now it's 6-5, then he wins the next game, and the set too. I feel a rush of adrenaline take over me. He did it. He won the freaking set after almost an hour and a half.

While I'm going out of my mind, despite looking visibly tired and drenched in sweat, Luc seems focused, which seems to me is the most important thing in a game like this. He's drinking water sitting on the bench, waiting for the match to continue, staring pensively at an invisible point somewhere in the middle of the court. I can't imagine what's going through his head now, knowing that he needs to win the next set for a chance to win on the fifth set. I don't know how he can be so calm. But I guess that's part of his job.

During the fourth set, he begins to let out his emotions a little. He mutters something to himself when he hits the ball against the net, or when he doesn't manage to get to the short balls coming from Moretti. He cheers more when he wins a point, making a fist and flexing his elbow closer to his body. He looks at somewhere in the middle of the crowd, which I guess must be his family, Maurice and Daniel in the player box.

He rearranges the cap on his wet hair, which he tugs behind his ears. And now as he wins one more game against Moretti, he lets out a scream. Yes. It is as if it's been trapped all this time, there's so much emotion in that scream, I can see the veins on his face.

Luc's winning 5-4 on this set. Now the crowd seems to be entirely in his favour. How insane is that? I guess people just enjoy a good fight, in this case, match. As it stands, if Luc wins the next game, they're on for the fifth set.

Today at 5:31 pm

Me: I'm coming.

Jules: About time!

It's time. As I walk away from the TV, my heart is upset with me. It hammers, it kicks, it rushes, it's loud in my ears and has found its way up my throat. There's no turning back now, I'm here for this, I have to do this, because I want to do this.

After walking through long hallways, turning a few times and asking people along the way for directions, I open a door and it feels impossible to control my heart and the goosebumps taking over my body at what I see. I find myself in the middle of the crowd in the famous green seats, the grass court and Luc just before my eyes. It's a feeling I'm not able to describe. It's nothing compared to watching on TV. It's real, it's huge. It's Wimbledon. I stand there frozen, overwhelmed by the cheers. Everyone's standing up from their seats to celebrate one more point, I can't tell from which player, but considering how the crowd seem crazy about Luc's comeback, I'm guessing it was his.

‘Olivia, here.' I hear Jules almost shouting a few steps down to the left. He has a big smile on his face. He sits back on his seat next to his parents. I join them and sit between Jules and Annette.

I can't believe I'm here. This is so insane my mind feels foggy.

‘Just in time,' says Dom winking at me. Annette seems nervous, just as I am. She looks at me with a smile on her face and gives my hand a little squeeze, then looks back at court, fidgeting with her fingers on her lap.

‘Thank you,' I say to Jules, who nods and winks at me.

I try to find myself in the game again, and Jules points out a big green sign in the back of the court where I can follow the game. It has an oversized Rolex watch with the players' names and respective points under it, and for how long they've been playing. Just as I'm finding myself on the game again, I hear Luc letting out a scream and assume he just scored.

‘One more for Luc and the fifth set is on,' says Jules.

Oh God.

Luc hasn't seen me yet, he's too focused on moving fast from side to side, sliding his already dirty white shoes on the grass. Both players determined to score this point. The ball keeps bouncing from left to right, right to left. The crowd's holding its breath. I feel like I can't breathe for a long time. Then after twenty-six strokes, Moretti scores. It's 40-30 for Luc now.

C'mon, one more.

Luc goes for his serve. Just as he takes position he decides to look up, and when he does, his eyes are aimed straight at me. Though we are way too far from one another, I feel the magnetic field between our eyes build up despite the distance and everything else in between. He has seen me. He's trying to understand what's going on, probably realising its not a vision, it's really me. He gives me a boyish grin in disbelief, the sight makes my lungs stop working for a few moments. This is good, right? He's smiling.

People must have noticed our exchange, because now everyone's staring my way. Moretti shoots a smile at the box too. Even the royal family, for Christ's sake. When would I ever in this world imagine myself being watched by William and Kate? Then I see my face on the big screen on the court.

Bloody hell.

The crowd is laughing and whistling and cheering and applauding. It's the kind of cheer people do when they're hoping for a couple to kiss.

The screen is now split into two, half is my face, the other half is Luc's. Luc's smiling, his face flushing. I've never seen him flush like this. I don't know if I just keep smiling with my very much blushed face, or if I should hide myself in my hands. I do the latter because I can't help it. This is too much attention for someone, even for Luc, it seems.

Mother of God.

The chair umpire reminds Luc that he only has a couple more seconds to hit the ball or he loses the point. I guess I still ended up being a distraction, almost making him miss a point. Somehow he finds a way to focus again. He does his ritual before the serve, only faster this time because his time's almost up. The chair umpire keeps asking the crowd for silence after the commotion. He still manages to serve.

God, I wasn't expecting this.

My stomach's flipping, my heart's begging for some normality again so it can go back to its normal rate.

Luc scores and wins the set. Jules high fives me, Annette gives me a hug, Dom too. Maurice and Daniel are in the first row of the box, in front of us, they too high five us. It feels weird to high five Maurice, even more to see him smile at me. I guess we might have something in common after all.

Luc and Moretti go inside. They get a little time before the match continues. People still keep staring at our box. I don't know what to do with my heart. I wish I could just hug him already.

I didn't need convincing to be here. I didn't need my conversation with the girls, or to hear what Jules said to me earlier. He's still a person despite the fame. I also didn't need Nate telling me I was in denial, or Dom trying to make me accept his access card to Luc's player box, or Mrs. Thompson telling me not to let complicated turn into regret. But I needed them all to remind me what I've felt and known all along: I've been trying to convince myself that I don't and can't be with him, even though my heart knows it's completely the opposite. Yes, I've been in denial since our first dinner together. I need him, like I've never needed anyone before.

As soon as I stepped into Nate's car I knew I couldn't go about like today was a normal Sunday with lunch at my parents'.

‘I'm glad you stopped to listen,' said Dom, winking.

All this time my heart and mind have been playing against each other. My mind was always ahead in the game, until my heart made a comeback and won the match.

The fifth and last set is about to start, the court goes completely still. They've been playing for over four hours and it feels like an entire day. Luc has gotten a new racket, Moretti, new shoes.

Jules explains me that Wimbledon's fifth set can go on forever. Forever? Four hours is already torture enough. Luc scores the first point, then Moretti, then Luc, then Moretti. Each time Moretti scores I think I'm going to die. How can a match last this long?

Five hours of match. I don't even have fingernails to bite anymore. I'm unable to behave myself on the seat, shifting all the time. I scream and jump, despite knowing that there are many eyes staring. A hurricane of emotions is taking over me, of both watching this dreadful match and of wanting to talk to him.

Then Moretti misses one point, which now are counted in a different way 1, 2, 3 and so on. I really hope someday I'll understand this game's rules. I mean, first is 15, 30 and 40—why just 10 for the third point? Then there is 1, 2, 3 … on the fifth set, and Jules just told me this is only for Wimbledon, for other championships it's different.

‘This is madness,' I say.

Jules laughs nervously at me and says, ‘If he scores now, he wins. That's all you need to know.'

Oh God.

Now there's so much silence you can hear the drops of the heavy rain that just started falling. Everything else is still. The smell of wet grass is dissipating fast in the air, the anticipation of who's going to score next is almost tangible.

Luc serves, and he fucking scores with an ace. I hear him shouting yes and going on his knees, his head touching the ground trying to take in what just happened. Then he lays on his back while we all hug each other, screaming. His family in disbelief that he has won Wimbledon for the first time, me in complete disbelief I'm here experiencing this in the first place.

Once Luc gets up, he goes greet Moretti over the net and both players exchange words, a hug and slaps on their backs.

‘Vittorio's his best friend,' says Jules.

‘Oh, really? I can't imagine what it would feel like to play such an important match against a best friend,' I say.

Things are about to get better. Luc is walking toward us. He has this determined look on his face, this wide grin. It's a combination of happiness, excitement, naughtiness and a hint of tiredness—just a little bit. He's now running and jumping over fences and the crowd is going wild, my heart too at the thought of finally being face to face with him. He climbs all the way up to the box and I stand watching him as he gets engulfed by his family, coach and physiotherapist. His eyes don't leave mine.

He eventually finds his way out of the hugs and taps on the back and freezes for a brief moment as he stands in front of me, only a few inches away. His eyes are curiously searching for an explanation in mine and I hope my face is conveying the answer. I just smile, then I'm in his arms, and his mouth is on mine. Despite the rain, it feels like fire, it feels like home, and belonging, and my heart feels safe. In his embrace he feels whole and I complete.

His delicious warm lips are pressed hard against mine, and his tongue is finding its way into my mouth in a hurry, with need and longing. It's as though the world around us has stopped spinning and moving. For a second I can't even hear the crowd around us. It feels like it's only us, and that's enough. More than enough.

I need him more than I thought I did. I've been lying to myself, an actress around my real feelings. How couldn't I have seen it before as clearly as I see it now? How did I survive days without kissing these soft and wet lips? Away from this embrace and his warmth?

I don't want to ever stop kissing him. This is good, this is a kind of good I've never felt before. But then I hear the world screaming and cheering and clapping around us and we break our kiss, rain still falling.

‘What made you change your mind?' he asks, his eyes locked on mine.

‘Everything.'

He pulls me harder into him and his face finds its way around my neck. This makes me deeply inhale his smell—sweat and grass and sex lingering on him. I gasp for air, for words. I try to feel my legs but all I feel is the banging of my heart against him. He's soaking wet from the rain, and my dress now also wet from our embrace.

He looks at me, half-smiling, and says, ‘I feel like today I've won two titles.' He pulls my bangs to the side and plants a soft kiss on my nose.