I scratch my forehead. ‘You don’t think people will link us?—?’
‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘I’m monitoring speculation daily, and it’s just her.’
‘Alright.’ I guess it’s good she’s so on top of it. ‘How are things going with?—’
‘I want to share something with you.’
‘Uh, ok.’ I reposition myself on the stool, stalling. ‘Go ahead.’
She bites her lip, and I swear to god if they’ve fucked, I will hate that Martinelli piece of shit forever. I won’t tell her, of course, I have some dignity. But inside? Just wait until I’m back at Volare and can battle him. He won’t know what’s hit him.
‘My mum died of cancer almost ten years ago,’ she says.
Oh shit, we’re goingthere.
‘She was my best friend,’ Jules goes on, eyes far away. ‘Her strength and fierceness were quiet. She loved fashion; she loathed tennis. She called it “Human Pong”, and said I’d have broad shoulders if I kept at it.’ She laughs weakly and it makes me laugh too. ‘My dad was completely besotted.
‘I named my fashion brand after her: Evie & Co. A percentage of the profits goes to a bowel cancer charity. I don’t shout about it, but she runs through the very fabric of my company.’
‘That’s really beautiful, Jules.’ I knew that brand way before I knew its founder. Isa wears Evie & Co’s sweatshirts in one-hundred-degree weather.
‘I just… wanted you to know,’ she says. ‘I don’t tell many people and I told someone by accident and I… wanted you to know first, if that makes sense.’
I don’t know what she’s talking about but it seems meaningful to her so I dip my head. ‘Sure.’
‘After my shoulder injury, my dream was to study marketing at uni, but she passed a week before my A-levels so of course I trashed them.’ Her voice is steelier, finger tracing the rim of her glass. ‘All I wanted then was safety; to be led and taken care of. I started following my boyfriend around and was immediately bored so I made silly little videos about my fashion hauls. It was never meant to be a career.’
Damian Reisner. Her tone changes when she talks about him. It’s sharper and layered, something like hatred simmering below the surface. It unnerves me.
‘Then, after four years,’ she goes on, not looking at me, ‘he said other tennis WAGs brought something to the table – a following, credibility, endorsements. I brought nothing.’
The cogs in my head are turning at lightning speed.
‘He said I leeched off him. I was cold and emotionless.’
‘NowthatI know to be false,’ I interject. ‘You’re hella emotional. You’re mad at me all the time!’
It stings when she doesn’t soften.
‘He said I couldn’t expect him to fancy someone with a chest like a teenage boy’s,’ she says.
I wince.What?‘So they’re revenge tits?’ What a way to taint something so perfect.
‘Pretty much. Oh,’ she adds mildly, ‘and he said I was unlovable.’
Hesaidthat to her?
I can totally imagine Reisner rattling that off. He doesn’t have a wild temper like some of the other players, but you can see it in the way his eyes narrow to mean little slits when the ref makes a call he doesn’t like. He might look like an insanely tall, lean, blond, quadrilingual (yes, I Googled him) Adonis, but the guy’s a conniving dick.
Violence rages in my veins. He shouldn’t be saying that to anyone, let alone Jules. Someone so wonderful, so beautiful, so smart, so loyal, so astute, so vulnerable afterher fucking mom died. What kind of creep preys on a woman like that?
I bet my bottom dollar he’s the reason she’s still hurting. Despite all the healing work she evasively talks about on her podcast, it’s still there, needling away at the corner of her mind.
‘Jules, you know that’s abuse, right? It’s not a bad mood, it’s not a temper, it’s not something you did – it’s fucking abuse.’ I want to reach out and touch her hand but I don’t want her to shrink away. The girl likes her space. ‘Those were the words ofan insecure, angry man, and they had absolutely nothing to do with?—’
‘Don’t worry about me.’ The amusement in her voice gives me whiplash, like how could I think measly little words got to her? I can literally see her shuttering behind her eyes. ‘I got my revenge.’
Guess her wall’s back up, then. It was nice while it lasted.
