Page 91 of Heart Match

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.

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