I raised a brow. “Hilarious. Really.”
Maggie smacked his arm. “Don’t listen to him. You look amazing. Honestly nauseatingly so.”
I laughed, letting her hug me carefully. Chris was already glancing at his watch.
“Right, I’d better head down. Jordan’s waiting down at the training court. Try not to let Maggie spoil you too much while I’m gone.” He winked before striding off, leaving us in his dust.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Like he’s the one playing the final.”
We were staying at the same hotel as Chris and Maggie. She’d flown in last night to join him for the last stretch of the tournament, and had insisted on taking me out for lunch to catch up. I wasn’t about to say no to pasta and shade.
“So,” she said as we settled into our seats at a little tucked-away trattoria, “how’s the new house? I can’t wait to visit in July.”
“Oh, it’s perfect. Quiet, more space. Close to Gwen, which was half the point. You’ll have to bring Archie over to meet the baby.”
“I can’t believe he’s almost here.” She smiled, eyes softening. “Next time I’m in London, I’ll actually be holding him.”
“I know.”
I exhaled, shifting in my seat. It was a warm afternoon, and even in the shade with an iced tea in hand, my body felt heavy. Slower.
Maggie clocked it immediately.
“You okay? You look…uncomfortable.”
“Oh, I am,” I said, brushing a hand across the top of my bump. “He’s huge. I’m small. This is what I get for letting a six-foot-two Aussie tennis player knock me up.”
We both laughed.
The place was quiet, tucked off a cobbled side street, full of soft light, chatter, and the faint clink of glasses. It was the kind of lazy Roman afternoon you didn’t want to end. Full of life, yet somehow completely still. The sort of moment that begged for an Aperol spritz but pregnancy meant that I was the designated dreamer for now.
“He’s doing amazing,” Maggie said, leaning in. “They’re tipping him for a stormer of a season.”
“He’s on fire,” I agreed. “I don’t know what’s changed, but since Melbourne, he’s unbeaten.”
Maggie tilted her head.
“Maybe give yourself a little credit?” she said. “He’s got fire in him again. Two reasons to prove himself now.”
That got me. My eyes prickled, just a little. I gave her a grateful smile.
I’d never been prouder of him. Not just because he was winning, but because he was playing like he believed he could. That belief had been missing for a while, and the last few of months had knocked the wind out of him.
Just then, I felt a presence behind me. Maggie’s gaze flicked up, and I turned to see a young girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty, long dark hair, hovering awkwardly a few feet away.
“I’m really sorry to bother you,” she said, her voice nervous, “but…are you Jordan Taylor’s fiancée?”
Oh God.
I gave her a sheepish smile. “Um…yeah. That’s me.”
Maggie’s grin widened across the table.
“Oh my God.” The girl beamed. “My mum and I love you. We always look out for what you’re wearing during his matches. You looked stunning at the Aussie Open. Could I grab a photo? My mum will absolutely lose her mind.”
My cheeks flushed. I tucked my hair behind my ear and nodded. “Of course.”
Maggie stood up and offered to take it. The girl crouched beside me, careful not to bump the bump, and I smiled for the photo, doing my best not to look like I wanted to melt into the pavement.
