“I’m still terrified.”
She pulled back and met my eyes. “Good. That means you’re pursuing something worth doing.”
By the time I pulled away from her, I knew. I was going. Not halfway, not hedging my bets. I was stepping into whatever this was with Jordan, heart-first, consequences later.
Minutes later, eyeliner sharp, dress zipped, I was out the door. The streets hummed with the electric thrum of Wimbledon Sunday, and for once, instead of feeling like an outsider walking into someone else’s world, I felt…ready.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kate
The taxi slowedas the grounds of Wimbledon came into view.
The unmistakable purple and white floral cascades spilled down trellises, like they’d been arranged meticulously by someone from the Chelsea Flower Show. Sunlight caught on glass and polished railings. People strolled past with picnic baskets, champagne flutes, blazers, and floaty dresses that whispered old money.
And I felt like I might throw up in my handbag.
I’d done my makeup in Gwen’s mirror, reapplied my lip gloss three times until my reflection looked back at me questioningreally? Again?The navy halterneck dress felt perfect and completely terrifying. I had Jordan’s spare pass hanging from my neck, the weight of it proof I belonged here, except my knees weren’t convinced.
His team knew I was coming. He knew I was coming. And still, as I stepped out into the sun, my legs went watery.
What was I doing? Showing up like I was his girlfriend? His good-luck charm? I felt like a fraud in heels. Like I’d stepped into someone else’s life, one where I’d stumbled into the Royal Box instead of the staffroom. The thought made my heart knock hard against my ribs.
I’d spent years building something steady. A life that waspredictable and safe. And here I was, lip-glossed and shaking, wearing a dress that screamedI’m shagging Jordan Taylor.
You’re not insane. You’re just scared.Gwen’s voice was there in my head, steady and sharp.
I looked up at the towering entrance, and breathed in deep enough that it hurt a little before walking forward.
Security waved me through with the kind of efficient politeness that suggested they knew exactly who I was, or at least who I was with. Unfamiliar faces smiled in passing. A few glanced twice at me in my dress, eyes narrowing. Not unkindly, just curious as if they were measuring me up.
Inside, the air had that Wimbledon smell: sun-warmed grass, expensive perfume, and something faintly metallic from the railings in the heat. I could see the Royal Box. Two rows away sat an actual duchess. A retired Wimbledon champion. An actor I’d had a crush on since sixth form. But somehow, the whispers weren’t for them.
They were for me. Or more specifically, for the blonde in the players’ box who’d appeared overnight next to the Aussie wildcard finalist.
I took the steps slowly, conscious of every pair of eyes that might be following me, the click of my heels too loud in my own ears.
My seat was right behind Chris and a tall brunette who had to be his wife, Maggie. Jordan had talked about her like she was family. Chris and Maggie seemed like the kind of people who’d seen every high and low of his career, and stayed anyway.
Maggie turned when I approached, her smile warm and delighted, like I’d already passed some unspoken test. “Kate, right? Finally,” she said, and I found myself smiling back, the tension in my shoulders loosening by a fraction. “Jordan hasn’t shut up about you.”
“Hopefully in a good way,” I murmured, sliding into my seat.
“Depends on the day,” she teased, then winked. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive us.”
The knot in my chest loosened further. I didn’t realise how badly I’d needed someone to make it feel normal, to make me feel like I wasn’t trespassing.
Jordan wasn’t out yet. But when he walked onto that court, I wanted to be the first thing he saw.
So I sat there, heart pounding, hands clasped in my lap, watching the tunnel like it might spit out my future. I wasn’t here as a fan or a tourist. I was his. And when he stepped into the light, I needed him to see that and to know I meant it after everything I’d said last night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jordan
The tunnel stretchedout in front of me like a damn mile. Every step felt heavier than the last because you knew exactly what was waiting at the end. Centre Court was out there, packed to the rafters, humming with that electric, once-in-a-career sort of noise, and my heart was already thudding hard enough against my ribs that it felt like it might try to break its way out. This was it. The biggest match of my life. The one I’d spent years clawing toward through injury, bad draws, and long seasons that nearly broke me.
All I could think about was whethershewas here yet.
