“Unless you actually want me to jump off the balcony and get help. Because I will, purely for thematic accuracy.”
Her eyes widened. “Please don’t. I’m not dealing with headlines like:Alexandra Cadiz Jumps Off Balcony at Champions Dinner After Door Gets Stuck.” She shook her head. “That’s a scandal I’m not getting dragged into.”
I snorted. “Yeah, you’re probably right. And my mom would absolutely kill me.”
I scanned the balcony again, trying to focus on something practical and anything that might get us out of here. My brain was doing somersaults (partly from panic, mostly from the fact that Olivia was right here). And honestly, for my own sanity, I needed a plan, fast.
I saw a black parasol with a gold tip leaning against the plant, more decorative than useful. An idea sparked. I straightened and walked over to it.
Olivia eyed me suspiciously. “You’re looking at that umbrella as if it owes you money.”
“I have a plan.” I grabbed the parasol, testing its weight. “If the metal on this thing’s sturdy enough,” I continued, “I might be able to use it as a crowbar, pry the latch up.”
“You want to break open a door with a parasol?” She sounded scandalized and amused in the same breath.
I held it up like a makeshift sword. “I want to liberate us with resourcefulness and mild property damage.”
She stared as if I’d announced plans to leap off the balcony. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” The parasol felt absurdly weighty in my hands. I could see her watching every tiny movement, the way her pupils dilated when she leaned forward.
“We are not using a decorative parasol as a weapon.”
“Why not? It’s Wimbledon tradition to do something dramatic in formalwear, right?”
“That’s not a tradition. That’s just you.”
“I’ve decided it’s a tradition now,” I said, hands already on the parasol, getting ready.
She sighed, “If it breaks, I’m telling everyone this was your idea.”
“Good. Then maybe someone will actually come open the door.”
She winced. “Okay, okay, let me help before you destroy everything, and we both end up on a banned list. And please don’t impale yourself,” she said, only half joking.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my chest was hammering. Olivia’s hands on the frame grounded me, and I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her, wondering if she noticed how ridiculous I probably looked, leaning over a decorative umbrella like a secret agent who’d forgotten her lines.
A tense moment of silence stretched between us, long enough for me to mentally rehearse every possible disaster scenario, from collapsing onto the balcony floor to accidentally poking Olivia. Then, with a loud pop and a satisfying click, the latch gave way.
Olivia let out a mock dramatic sigh. “I was starting to think someone would have to send a search party with a stretcher.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, though it sounded strangled and nervous. “Yeah, we’re lucky it didn’t happen yet.”
She gave me a sideways grin. “You know, Cadiz, you might actually survive a rom-com… if your supporting lead was competent enough to pry you off the scenery first.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but all I could think was:I’m standing right here with Olivia Smythe, and she’s making a joke at me. At me. How is this my life?
Instead, I settled for a dry shrug. “I’ll add that to my résumé: Professional Balcony Survivor. Not to be confused with actual tennis skills.”
She laughed again, soft and teasing, and I swear my chest could barely handle it.
We stepped back inside like nothing had happened, calm, composed, definitely not two people who had just crowbarred their way out of a locked balcony with a decorative umbrella.
The music had picked up again, glasses clinked across the ballroom, and the moment we’d just had already felt like a strange, private pocket of time. No one seemed to have noticed our disappearance, or our grand escape.
I hadn’t realized how much I’denjoyedbeing trapped with her. It had been stupidly reckless and a little bit thrilling, but I’d feltalivein a way I hadn’t in weeks.
I forced a breath and turned the other way, letting the crowd swallow me whole.
