Page 34 of Match Point

“Shh,” the other man hissed.

That’s when I began to realize we were in a wing of the Louvre itself. I gawked as we passed oil paintings locked in glass cases, protected from the elements. I knew next to nothing about art, but many of them looked familiar. At the very least, they weregood.

The museum employee—who I now recognized as a night guard—opened another door and gestured for us to go inside. That doorway led into the museum itself, with its high ceilings, broad walkways, and paintings sparsely spaced on the walls next to placards that described them. It was completely deserted; the museum had been closed for hours. Gabriel held up a finger to his lips and led me deeper into the museum, twisting and turning through hallways and rooms as if he knew the route.

The paintings ended, and we passed through a wing of the museum featuring medieval artifacts. Glass cases full of swords and daggers, and displays of elaborate suits of armor. Gabriel had moved briskly up to this point, but he slowed down when passing one such suit of armor, polished so finely it shone like a mirror. He lingered there, eyes unreadable in the darkness, before moving on.

At last we came to a room like any other, except that there was a false wall positioned in the very center, with a rope queue leading to the front. That’s when I saw it. My breath caught in my throat, and my feet carried me toward it as if pulled by some unseen gravity. The frame was gold colored with some intricate carvings, and the painting itself wasn’t as large as I expected; it was less than two feet wide, and not even three feet tall. I ducked under the rope queue, my eyes never leaving the painting as I drew closer.

“Do not step past the last rope,” Gabriel called. “It will trigger the alarms, and then we will have a very bad time.”

“The Mona Lisa,” I breathed.

18

Miranda

I was ten feet away from the Mona Lisa now, close enough to stare into her ageless eyes. Close enough to see the brush strokes. “How did you get us in here?”

“You may not wish to take advantage of your fame,” Gabriel replied, “but I have no such qualms. Come, sit. We have a feast.”

He sat on the floor in front of the Mona Lisa and began unpacking the food. Still mesmerized by the painting, I joined him, although it was difficult to sit on the floor in this dress.

“It feels like we are doing something very illegal.”

“The law is for normal people. As you Americans say: I know a guy. He will ensure we are not disturbed during our meal. Wine?” He uncorked the bottle and filled two paper cups that I had not seen.

It was a surreal experience as we ate our little picnic on the floor of the Louvre, under the watchful eyes of the most famous painting in the world. But the chicken was moist, the pasta and bread were fresh, and the company was better than I had expected.

“Have you enjoyed your retirement?” he asked me.

“I really, really have. I was worried that I would get the itch to play, but it’s been so nice not having to constantly think about the next tournament. Maybe I’ll change my mind in a month or two, but for now I am happy.”

“I can see that,” he said, smiling behind his cup of wine.

“What about you? How long do you see yourself playing?” Gabriel was thirty years old, which was typically when male tennis players started declining. His career, however, was just taking off.

“I do not intend to think about retirement for a very long time,” he replied, lounging on his side with a head propped up by a hand. “I will play until I can no longer win. It took me quite a long time to reach this point, winning my first major tournament and being ranked number two in the world. I intend to stay here as long as possible.”

“I can see that.” I chewed and swallowed a fork of pasta. “You still seem hungry.”

“I am hungry for wins,” he agreed. “There are many more items on my to-do list. Winning Roland Garros. Winning a career grand slam. Even when those goals are completed, I will keep playing until I am fifty, if I can.” He frowned in thought. “Without tennis, I do not know who I am. Do you find yourself worrying about such things, Miranda?”

“I used to, before retiring,” I replied. “But I’m happy. I’m loving the slower pace of life that comes with retirement. I’m sure I’ll get bored of it, and will need to find other hobbies. And when that time comes, I can’t wait to see where my life will take me.”

Gabriel smiled. “You are an intelligent woman. You could do anything you desire.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but I don’t think you really know me.”

“I have followed your career since we were teenagers,” he said softly. “I feel like I know you quite well, Miranda. And if I am mistaken, I am hoping perhaps we could be friends again.”

He gazed deeply into my eyes, and I found myself pulled toward him, much in the way the Mona Lisa had pulled me earlier. Gabriel had a soft charisma about him that was totally unlike his public persona. This wasn’t the same man who boasted and bragged in front of the cameras. This felt like therealGabriel. The one I had kissed all those years ago.

“Do you remember that night at the party?” I asked.

He furrowed his brow. “What party?”

“Come on. I know you remember.”

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