Page 94 of Heart Match

‘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.

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