Page 75 of A Summer of Stars

“No, Deidra. I need a minute to not be in front of a camera.”

Her lips puckered, and she replied, “Okay.” The door clicked shut.

Frustration building under my skin, I forced myself up with my bothered leg, only to knock my unzipped tennis bag over.

A smallclinkbounced off the floor. I sat back down on the bench before lowering myself down to the ground. Keeping my right leg straight, I searched for what fell. I picked up one of my small towels and found my mother’s charm bracelet hiding underneath. The tennis racket charm had broken off.

I let the bracelet sag in my palm and held the small racket up. It was gold with a small link attached to the end of the handle. Now, it was broken open, unable to hold on to anything.

I squeezed the pieces in my palms and screamed with sorrow, letting it burn my throat until I couldn’t hear my own voice anymore.

The next night, I sat on my hotel suite balcony, watching as the sun dove behind the Eiffel Tower. Every year before France’s Roland-Garros, one of the four major Grand Slams, I’d arrive in Paris early, flying in straight from London after Wimbledon. It gave me a few days to drink the city in without interfering with practice. Paris was the most beautiful in the summer.

In the summer, the chocolate in the croissants stayed warmerlonger. The vines bordering the corner cafés were greener. It was acceptable to eat sorbet at any time of the day because they were serving it on every block.

The Seine had this magical shimmer under the sizzling sun as it swam under the bridges. I never failed to visit the river first. I’d usually drop my things at the hotel and find the nearest bridge to admire it.

I always wanted to jump in and let it wrap its sparkle around my skin. Whoever else came with me to Paris (often everyone) would meet me there. We’d pick a ripple in the water and watch it travel, our elbows digging into the stone bridge.

Almost everyone from PR would be here tomorrow for the weeks leading up to the French Open and Cannes Film Festival—minus Serena, who was home with her two sets of twins, handling scheduling and event preparations from New York.

I’d usually drag Cecilia and Deidra out to the bridge tonight, but Deidra probably hated me after yesterday. Not that I cared. I needed space. Hence why I didn’t wake Cecilia from her nap either. I couldn’t locate enough energy to reach forward and grab my water on the balcony table, let alone stand up and get dressed like a semi-respectable human.

I allowed my shoulders to slump into the cushions coating the balcony chair and shut my eyes. It was difficult to find peace behind my eyelids. There were so many voices and opinions and headlines that were becoming fragments of themselves, overlapping to form a patchwork of statements. I didn’t know what was real anymore.

I pressed my fingers into the corners of my eyes.Stop, stop, stop.

“We’re in Paris, Luna. We’re in Paris,” I reminded myself. “You’re sitting in front of the Eiffel Tower!” I shouted to the night sky. A few Parisians walking far below raised their drinks and hollered.

If only I wasn’t in Paris suffering from a tweaked knee and heat exhaustion. The night air wasn’t cool enough. The Eiffel Tower must be horrified by how I looked compared to previous years. My neck was sweaty. My tank top was twisted around my chest. My hairline probably smelled like the cigarette smoke coming from the balcony below me.

Bang, bang, bang.

I jumped, hitting my bad knee against the wrought iron table, and knocking the water off.Shit, that hurt. I latched onto the rattling table with frustration to stop it from shaking. I froze, waiting.

Am I being robbed?

There was no way it was housekeeping. Honestly, even if it was someone trying to rob me, I couldn’t care less. They could have their pick of my rackets, earrings, and protein bars. Because there was no amount of energy that could force me out of this chair—

“Aldridge, open this door now!”

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Maybe if I just sat here quietly, he’d go away.

“I know you’re in there! The woman at the desk downstairs said you haven’t been down all day!” he shouted.

Well, there goes that. I peeled myself off the cushion and walked into the living room, searching for my bathrobe to cover my ridiculous pajama shorts.

“You’re a real stick in my ass, you know that?” he complained through the door. “You make me go to a ridiculous croquet game, which was basically the equivalent of upside-down tennis by the way—don’t think I didn’t notice that—in the middle of nowhere. And nowIhave something important going on and you don’t feel like going—oh.” Kieran stopped short with wide eyes as I swung the door open.

I didn’t even bother looking at his face. “Yes, I look horrible, ha ha ha.”

I spun around and let the door—almost—hit him. He caught it as I walked back into the suite’s living room, planting myself in the corner of the couch.

The door clicked behind him, and his tall frame filled the view in front of me. A dark navy suit made itself at home around his muscles and long legs. I pinched the skin on my arm.

“I didn’t realize… and your knee.” He hesitated.