“Ten…nine…eight…”
A countdown from the back garden. I caught sight of her weaving through the crowd of my family, smile so bright it felt like it was only for me.
“Seven…six…five…”
I was already moving, down the steps, across the grass.
“Four…three…”
She spotted me, and her smile softened into something slower, sweeter, because she’d been heading for me, too.
“Two…one…”
I kissed her.
Right there, in the middle of fireworks, music, and laughter, none of it loud enough to touch us. All I needed was her and that feeling of her hand curling into the back of my shirt like she never wanted to let go.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered against my lips.
I kissed her again. “Best one of my life.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Kate
Australian Open: Melbourne—January
?After spendinga few days with Jordan’s parents, the house had tipped into full-blown festive chaos. Don’t get me wrong, I lapped it up. The attention, his mum fussing over me, the warmth, the noise. I loved it. But when it came time to leave for the rental villa we’d booked for the rest of our stay before heading to the Open, I think we both exhaled in relief.
The December downtime had done him the world of good, but now he was locked and loaded for the Australian Open. His big comeback.
During training, Jordan was a blur of motion in the centre, shirt plastered to his back, muscles taut and gleaming with sweat. Every serve, every sprint, every drill Chris barked at him looked brutal, but he didn’t slow.
I could see it in him. That razor-edge focus. The hunger. This wasn’t just the usual match prep. It was something more personal now. Like he needed to prove something no one else could see.
I knew better. I knew who it was really for.
Every time he met Chris’s volley with that sharp, determined snap of his wrist, I felt it—that quiet, stubborn promise he’d made withoutsaying a word. This time he was out there not only as a competitor but as a father, a fiancé. All of it, here on his home turf.
I could feel eyes on me the moment I stepped through the gates. Some glances were subtle, quick flickers I might have imagined. Others lingered just long enough to make my skin prickle. A few belonged to people pretending not to stare while very obviously leaning toward the person next to them to whisper.
It was still such a strange feeling, being recognised, being noticed. Like stepping into a role I hadn’t auditioned for.
I wasn’t just a “girlfriend” now. I was here as his soon-to-be wife, the woman carrying his baby. And the whole world knew about it.
In preparation for his comeback, I’d actually paid to have a blow-dry that morning. Not something I ever did, but I started to feel like I couldn’t get away with winging it anymore. I wasn’t here to impress anybody, but if I could make myself look a little moreshiny, they might just leave me alone. I had on a powder blue dress that was sleeveless fitted to just under my bump where it had a more flowing skirt to the floor. My hair loose around my shoulders and big sunglasses on my head. More for their ability to hide behind than fashion. I was five months along by now, bump big enough for people to notice it before me when I walked into a room.
Ihatedbeing called a WAG. I was so much more than that. But I was his, and I wasn’t hiding it anymore.
It wasn’t long before a few cameras found me, lenses turning, subtle nods, that faint murmur of recognition rippling through the crowd. I kept my chin up, my steps steady, and did what I always did—pretended not to notice.
A steward led me down the narrow aisle, clipboard in hand, and I focused on the familiar instead. The crowd hummed around us, programs fluttering like wings, and somewhere in the distance, a ball struck clean and sharp.
Relief flooded through me the second I reached the players’ box.
Chris and Maggie turned as I approached. Maggie was already reaching for my hand with that warm, comforting smile of hers. His mum and dad were just behind them, beaming with the kind of quiet pride that pressed behind my ribs.
Roger leaned forward as I eased into the row, his hand briefly brushing my arm like he couldn’t help checking in.
