Page 38 of A Summer of Stars

“Fine, pretend like you have no idea! But don’t walk away yet, I get at least three minutes during these breaks. Deidra sent me this to show you.” She walked over with her phone turned sideways, a clip fromHello London!loaded. She pressed play.

An English woman in a tweed jacket holding a coffee mug spoke with a woman on her right. “Now, this only feels right to talk about since Wimbledon is beginning in a few weeks. Do you know what I’m referring to?”

“No, I don’t think so,” the other woman responded, her brow wrinkled.

“Last night, Kieran Alexander and Luna Aldridge were seen together at the Luka Limited event.” A split photo of Kieran’s red carpet appearance, and then mine, materialized behind them.

“What do you mean by together?”

“Well, they were seen chatting inside, and then spotted leaving the venue together,” she gushed. A new photo appeared behind them, one from Kieran’s and my staged walkout.

“Lottie, that doesn’t mean anything! They’re holding hands, for God’s sake.”

“I completely disagree! Listen to this,” she began, briefly reading off a teleprompter, “Last weekend, actor Kieran Alexander attended the Charleston Open in South Carolina. This isn’t an event that many celebrities frequent, compared to the spectacle of Wimbledon. What makes this even more interesting is that he was only present for thelastmatch: Aldridge versus Tunisia. I’m not sure if you remember, but Alexander and Aldridge were also photographed playing tennis together on what seemed like a date. Ithought this was a new romance of sorts—just look at the way he’s watching her in those photos.” Said tennis photos from two weeks ago appeared.

She continued on. “But a reliable source tells us that Luna Aldridge and Kieran Alexander have been friends for many years. There’s even a photo of him picking up her purse at theRBYparty three years ago, which is the night they first met,” she squealed. Said photo appeared. “Their eyes are locked in this romantic gaze, and the rain is falling around them like they’re in a movie.”

The other TV host spoke up. “Didn’t she just get divorced from Jeremiah Evans? That’s quite soon.”

My heart spasmed. I gripped the racket at my side.

“It’s entirely possible that they were unhappy before that divorce. You saw Jeremiah Evans’s interview—headmittedto how unhappy they were,” Lottie argued

“He also admitted to her being a mental case!”

“I don’t know, Sydney. I’ve gone through a divorce, and when you’re in the weeds of that process, there are a lot of feelings and many moments where you blow things out of proportion.”

“Did you not hear the recordings of her screaming at him?” she asked in disbelief.

“I did, I did. I’m not accusing anyone of lying, but I’m also not going to act like I know anything about their marriage or divorce. What Idoknow is that things can be taken out of context. I’m just speaking from personal experience. And truthfully, if this girl was really so hateful, how come she is the first woman we’ve seen Kieran Alexander photographed with more than once since his last relationship five years ago? This means something.”

The clip ended, and Cecilia looked up at me with determination.

“Luna, the plan is working.”

“Lore Designer Gabriel Hader Reportedly Dressing Luna Aldridge… but for Which Event?”

—Trim

MY GAZE WASaimed straight ahead at the cranberries on my wall as Gabriel zipped up my dress.

The cranberry wallpaper looked identical to the one I had in my childhood bedroom. Small bunnies ran along the floorboard in a perfect line. Vines of bloodred cranberries crawled across the walls above. I had called a wallpaper specialist to source it for me earlier this year. (You’d be surprised how vast the wallpaper industry is.) It was the first sheet of wallpaper I put in this house. Gabriel, one of the designers at Lore, who’s been designing dresses for me since I won my first Wimbledon singles title five years ago, was the first to compliment it.

The Lore studio was located in the city, similar to most fashion houses. But he claimed the hour commute here gave him an excuse to clear the rest of his schedule for the day. Personally, I think he was looking for a reason to eat all the shortbread cookies I kept stocked in my pantry.

“No necklace,” Gabriel said to Kelsey. “It’ll take away from thedress.” He dusted cookie crumbs off his fingers above the small barrel in the corner of the room.

We were in my guest-bedroom-turned-dressing-room for these fittings. It had the largest mirror and the least number of objects on the floor, most likely because Walt cleaned the space whenever he slept here. Seamstresses were making last-minute adjustments and steaming clothes that I had tried on, zipping them up into garment bags.

Kelsey shook her head passionately. “No, no, it will add to it.”

Gabriel stared at my neck. He was the only designer who inserted himself into Kelsey’s styling process. (Most likely because he was responsible for the majority of my clothes.)

“Fine, something dainty then,” he hummed, sliding another cookie into his mouth. “Next,” he clapped.

Everyone—Gabriel’s assistants and team of seamstresses—turned their heads as Kelsey and I stepped behind the dressing screen to get me into the next dress.

I’d be lying if there wasn’t a new sense of relief relaxing my shoulders since watching that interview. Most of the conversations online were similar toHello London!: Many were horrified that I was in a relationship so soon after a divorce (eight months after a thirteen-month marriage seems allowed, in my opinion), while others were dying to know more about the budding romance. But even more had no idea I was divorced in the first place because they knew nothing about tennis—only Kieran’s movies. They recognized me but didn’t know I had been married to begin with.