Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Wimbledon's champion—Mr. Lucas Dominique Lamaire,' says the presenter.

After a long wait for the beginning of the trophy ceremony—due to the heavy rain, the roof needed to be closed—Moretti received his trophy first, now it's Luc's turn. No one less than the Duchess of Cambridge herself hands him the golden trophy. He looks so emotional his eyes might be a bit teary. I like the emotional version of Luc. He raises the trophy in the air, then plants a long kiss on it. The cheer of the crowd gives me goosebumps.

‘Lucas. Wow. What a comeback, what a match,' says the presenter. Luc's smile is wide, I'd say his mouth's trembling.

‘How does it feel to win Wimbledon for the first time?'

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, to breathe and find his voice.

‘Surreal,' he manages, smiling and sounding a bit breathless.

The crowd cheers with his answer. When there's silence again, the presenter resumes the interview.

‘What went through your mind when you lost the second set?'

‘Puh. I reminded myself of something my father always tells me, "Giving up is not an option, there's always a chance to turn things around." Merci, papa.' There is so much applause I feel the floor shaking under my feet. I look at Dom's reaction and he has tears in his eyes.

‘Are you aware that tomorrow it's going to be official that you're now number one in the world?' The crowd doesn't just applaud, they shout. Luc's laughing, readjusting his cap with one hand and holding the trophy with another.

‘Today's win still hasn't sunk in, let alone that I've moved up to number one in the ranking,' says Luc. The crowd laughs.

After saying kind words to his best friend, he thanks his team and family, the event's organiser and the public.

‘I could never be where I am without you,' he says, eyes filled with tears.

‘Now, the question of the week, of the hour if you might,' says the presenter. ‘Lucas, everyone wants to know …'

I know what's coming, so I feel my heart climbing its way up my throat. He knows what's coming too, because he's flushing in anticipation.

‘Can we say the reason for you almost missing your serve today is your girlfriend?'

Laughter takes over the court. Luc's shyly smiling at the presenter, as if he were a little boy asked about his first kiss in front of his parents.

Everyone's now impatiently waiting for a reply, even Moretti seems excited, smiling again after his loss. This past week, Luc and I were on the news spotlight. It's all people could talk about. The fact that he always declined to answer questions regarding our relationship made people speculate even more. Did I mention we even became memes?

‘She's a very private person. I don't want to answer for her, so you might want to ask her yourself.'

I can't believe he said that. I immediately find shelter for my face in my hands. Of course, my face is now on the screen, probably on TV too for the entire world to see.

‘Miss Charlton. The world wants to know, even the royal family's curious.' A little pause for more laughter. ‘Is this man standing right here next to me, holding this humble golden trophy, your boyfriend?'

More laughter, then complete silence as everyone waits for my reaction.

Of all the ways I could have told him I wanted to give him a chance, I definitely hadn't considered this one. Not in a million lifetimes.

I don't say a yes, or at least I don't speak, because first, I don't think I can find my voice right now. Second, I don't think people will be able to listen. So I nod. My face is completely flushed and hot. I firmly nod multiple times, to make sure Luc got it. He did, because as the crowd applauds and shouts, he's as flushed as I am, clearly using the trophy as shield. Seeing him this shy in public makes up for one of our favourite moments so far. I can't wait to hang myself around that neck and make love to him until it's morning. That is, if he's fit enough for such a wild night after playing tennis for five hours.

After the trophy presentation and interview, Luc and Moretti take official photographs side by side, each with their respective trophy. Then they go for a round around the court, showing their trophies, only to finally make their way inside the building. By the door, Luc stops to autograph papers, caps, T-shirts and tennis balls of every size. Then he's gone.

The crowd begins to leave and so do we. Luc's family already knows their way in the building, so I just follow them through doors and corridors and way too many people. I'm still numb from all the past hours, but the only thing I can think about now is finding him.

My eyes keep searching for him, each turn we take inside the busy building I feel a pang of anticipation.

Then I see him, he's talking to some people when he sees me. He excuses himself and begins walking towards me, cameras following him. We meet halfway. He pulls me into his arms. The hug is needy and almost desperate.

‘Did you mean it?' he asks into my neck.

‘Considering what you got to learn about me in the past days, do you think I'd joke about something like this?'

He looks at me, holds my gaze and takes my face in his hands, and says, ‘Hi, girlfriend.'

I blush all over again.

‘Hi, boyfriend.'

Then he kisses me, hard. I hear the camera flashes going off, but most importantly, I feel him. I feel all the intensity of this moment, a combination of the roller coaster thrill of the past weeks. Above all, the realisation that sometimes, losing control means you gain something else.

#

I can't believe I was just introduced to Kate and William. How insane is that? Even though he was clearly exhausted, Luc still had to mingle for photos, hand shakings, and an awfully long press interview, before we finally managed to leave Wimbledon.

We drove home alone in the black BMW, the same one that took us to our private dinner at Sketch, the same driver too. His family and the others left first, in another car.

Luc is tired, he lays on my lap as the car drives us from Wimbledon to my building. As I play with his hair, my fingers entangled in its wavy strands, he asks, ‘Do you happen to have a gala dress?'

‘Why?'

‘You're going to need it for tonight.'

Oh God.

I text the girls and say we need an emergency meeting, they don't even discuss or ask why.

#

When Naomi and Lexi arrive, they're both carrying dresses and carry-ons.

‘Oh my God, you do realise I have clothes and makeup, right?' I say, but they both ignore me and storm into my flat with a mission.

In between deciding on the lingerie, dress, shoes and accessories and getting my hair and makeup done, I tell them about how I made it to Wimbledon today. And how I became Lucas Lamaire's girlfriend in front of everyone.

‘I never thought you were one for grand gestures, honey,' says Naomi.

‘Huh, that makes two of us,' I say.

‘I knew you were a romantic, you just had to find the right person to be romantic with,' says Lexi.

‘Tequila shots?' says Naomi.

‘Are you kidding?' I ask.

‘You need to relax, Lucas Lamaire's your boyfriend,' says Naomi.

I don't know if I laugh or curse first.

‘That's exactly the reason why I'm not relaxed. You do realise the media will be all over us tonight, right?'

‘So what? He's gonna be there to hold your hand,' says Naomi.

‘Let's do it. Tequila shots I mean,' says Lexi.

They manage to rescue me by helping me picking an outfit, doing my hair and makeup in a matter of two hours. Luc went back to his place to get some rest while my adrenaline kept running high, my stomach deciding whether to focus on the butterflies or the stirs caused by my anxiety.

We clink our tiny glasses filled with tequila and slam it down. It burns everything on the way, but it's doing wonders for my nerves.

‘You know, I was thinking. If you decide to open your own Instagram account I can be your social media manager,' says Naomi as she sprays hair spray over my braid.

‘I wouldn't want it any other way,' I say, smiling.

‘We're so proud of you, Livvy,' says Lexi.

There's so much behind this sentence I cannot even begin to tackle.

‘You have a fucking boyfriend,' shouts Naomi.

I have Lucas Lamaire as my fucking boyfriend.

#

We arrive at the famous Champions' Dinner—an event which athletes, their families and the media gather to celebrate one more Wimbledon tournament together—holding hands. Photographers and reporters stop us along the way for photos and questions. Luc confirmed we're in a relationship, but hasn't provided any details, which I'm glad for. I guess we'll need to sit down and have a conversation with Margot about how to deal with the media.

On the way to our table, I just smile and nod at people. Being in the spotlight like this is simply surreal. I feel numb until I finally find my place at our table and have the first sip of champagne.

Right now Luc is giving a speech and I'm at the table with his family, Maurice and Daniel. Jules is making sure I know who is who. He keeps pointing at people and basically giving me their complete profile. Tennis players, their wives and husbands, coaches, and so on.

‘That one's Malia,' he says.

I know who she is.

‘Luc's ex,' he says it as if it weren't a big deal.

She's staring at Luc, paying attention to what he's saying. She's so beautiful it hurts. Her shiny dark hair, her tanned skin, her perfect profile, her wide smile with big white teeth, and her eyes, which are now brightly staring right into mine.

Shit.

I look away discreetly, hopefully discreetly enough for her not to notice it.

‘Should I be worried about her?' I ask Jules. Somehow, I feel like he's the kind of guy who girls like to confide in, like his brother.

He looks at me immediately, eyes wide, worry all over his innocent face, and says, ‘Definitely not.'

He sounds so sure, my heart calms down a bit.

I turn to watch Luc at the stage, where he's being interviewed. He looks incredibly fuckable in that black tuxedo, his shiny hair combed back and his perfectly trimmed stubble on that jaw I want to scrape with my teeth so bad. All I can think about is the moment we'll be alone again. Apart from the moment we had in the car on the way home from Wimbledon, we hadn't had a chance to be alone yet.

‘I'm glad you're here, darling,' says Annette, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

‘Me too.'

She looks so proud of her son.

We hear laughter across the room, and I focus on my boy again—as Dad would say—and my stomach flips and turns and reminds me I now am officially his girlfriend, and he's going home with me tonight.

When he comes back to the table, he whispers in my ear, ‘You have that look on your face again.' He sits by my side, and we have one more drink. It's the longest drink ever. He tortures me, sliding his hand between my thighs, over the light fabric of my black dress.

‘Should we have our first dance ever, tonight?' he whispers in my ear, making all my hair stand on end.

‘Now?'

‘Yes.' Another whisper, and I don't even give it a second thought.

When I look at him, his face is lit up with anticipation and excitement.

My boy. My boyfriend. My Luc.

I'm surprised by how well he can dance, and by how he makes me feel comfortable despite all the stares and cameras. A slow song is playing in the background, but all I hear is his heart beating against my ear. I'm so overwhelmed and inebriated by the moment, I close my eyes and try to relax and let go of what's around. It must be one of the scariest, yet most rewarding moments of my life.

Then he finally says, ‘Let's get out of here.'

#

We're back in the place where we met, the lift, and finally alone again. Luc presses the button to my floor amidst demanding kisses. I'm between him, his erection and the lift's mirror. I have the feeling the mirror will need to be cleaned after our ride up. He moves his mouth down to my collarbone and begins to suck on my skin. The contact of his warm tongue to my sensitive skin is so arousing I bite my lower lip to avoid letting out a moan.

‘Are you giving me a hickey?' I ask, smiling.

‘Yes,' he whispers against my skin, then resumes his work.

‘It's my first,' I say.

He looks up under heated eyes.

‘Good,' he rasps, then continues.

When the lift doors open he picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms tight around his neck. In front of my door, we fumble for my keys in my tiny clutch when we hear, ‘Who's there?'

We can't help but laugh.

‘Just me again, Mrs. Thompson,' I say as Luc manages to fish my keys out of my clutch. I'm still straddling him, but now pressed against my flat's door.

‘Easier than the first time,' he says, grinning, taking me briefly down memory lane to the night we met.

‘The bag's smaller too,' I smirk.

I drop my pink heels on the way to the bedroom. He places me sitting on the bed and makes me watch him slowly strip off his black tux, then bow tie. Then, with one hand, his skilled fingers open his white shirt button after button. Taking his time. When he's done, he leaves it on, but now I can follow his happy trail down to the Calvin Klein's I've grown so familiar with.

He steps closer to stand between my legs. I already made a mess of his hair in the lift, the combination of it and his hard chest with his open shirt does things to my body I can't even explain.

He slowly begins to move my dress up my thighs. The anticipation of what's about to come makes me hold my breath.

‘All this time, you weren't wearing anything underneath this dress?' he grins wickedly and shakes his head in disbelief.

‘I thought you needed some help after such a long and hard day,' I say, mostly teasing.

He pulls the dress up and over my head then watches me as he unzips his pants. My nipples harden and everything within me contracts and flutters with need for him. I hadn't realised how badly I missed him—as if he was part of me.

Once he steps out of his clothes, he watches me for a second and reaches for my face, our eyes connected with no intention of parting ways whatsoever.

I give him my I-want-to-fuck-you stare as he rasps, ‘Make love to me, Olivia.'

‘Yes,' I whisper.

Underneath him I feel my body come alive. As he pushes into me, I catch my breath. When the softness of his tongue greets my skin, sounds I don't recognise escape me. The warmth he radiates tells me I'm safe, safe to be myself, with him. When my body reaches its extreme, my heart knows, it simply knows, that he would never have been a one-night stand.

#

‘I guess Margot will have a lot of work to do tomorrow,' I say.

I'm sitting with my back against the headboard and Luc's between my legs. I'm rubbing his sore shoulders and occasionally planting kisses on his neck and treating myself with the smell of his hair.

He smirks and says, ‘She will.'

He tips his head back onto my chest and turns to face me, his eyes staring hard at my mouth. I kiss him.

‘So, I've heard you've become friends with Mrs. Thompson,' I say.

He laughs.

‘She's quite a remarkable lady. You should hear her advice, it tends to work,' he says with a smirk.

‘Oh really? And what kind of advice did she give you?' I ask, curious.

‘When a man fucks up, he needs to give his lady space. But not enough that she forgets about him. Of course, don't forget to apologise, and always, always tell her the reason why you're apologising,' he says, imitating Mrs. Thompson's hoarse and tired old lady voice.

My belly hurts from the laughter coming out of me.

‘She told me early today I shouldn't let "complicated turn into regret",' I say, and tell him about our encounter in the lift.

‘And?'

‘I guess we're still complicated, but at least now I don't feel regret,' I say.

‘Is that so?' he asks, his voice raspy.

‘Yeah,' I say and kiss the top of his head.

He falls asleep first. Understandably. I still linger and think and wonder and worry, staring at the ceiling, hearing him breathing peacefully next to me. My mind tries to assimilate and absorb all that happened today, hell, in the past few weeks. Eventually I give in and decide I can worry later and at least for today embrace the happiness that has taken over me and that's much deserved.