Page 16 of Rivals and Liars

"Do you think Brogan can make the final after what happened at Roland Garros?" Candela asks, bringing Kate up as a reminder that everyone is watching their rivalry.

Leire feels her pulse beating hard in her throat and runs her hand along her neck as if she's afraid everyone can see what that name does to her.

"That was a one-off. I've seen her looking sharp here, and I'm hoping to face her in the final."

Murmurs ripple through the room and she realizes she's fed that ridiculous rivalry narrative once again.

"Thank you, Leire. Best of luck in the tournament," Candela says, and the player finally stands and can leave the room.

She walks out into the hallway and finds her father waiting for her at the entrance. She decides the rest can wait, that she'll have lunch with him before the interview—she doesn't like the idea of him being here for her and spending the day on his own, even though she also knows how well he gets along with Isaac, and that while she's resting, the two of them are probably at some bar somewhere drinking beer and making decisions on her behalf.

"Hi, Dad," she says, and he places a hand on her back, protective.

It's another one of his ways of telling her he's proud without having to use the words she wishes he would. She walks with him toward the car that will take them to whatever upscale restaurant Isaac is reserving right now, and on the way she gets a message from her friend Marta.

My favorite player wins again

Leire smiles reading it and her father glances at her sideways, wondering if she's smiling like that because of the Australian tennis player.

Congratulations, from here to the final is a done deal

She smiles again, but the last message wipes it away.

How are things going with Brogan?

She answers the first two messages easily. On the last one she hesitates, not sure what to write, until she finally types what she feels.

"I don't know."

Chapter 9

There are journalists who, when they have a good story, simply publish it because that's the job, and there are others who know they have one and still choose not to.

Candela Valle has been in the second group for a couple of years now and still can't figure out whether that makes her better or worse at what she does. What she does know is that today it's unusually warm for London, and that on court number three a match just ended that she couldn't care less about, even though she took notes with the same professional interest she brings to any other.

In any sport or profession, you cover the event itself because that's what most spectators want, but you also cover everything that has nothing to do with the tournament and focuses more on the players, because everyone knows that sooner or later someone lets their guard down and you end up with material far more interesting than the fact that they won.

It's a fact. Every professional athlete slips up at some point—a tantrum, a gesture that doesn't belong and ends up on every front page, a poorly chosen word that turns into ammunition. They all do it; that's what comes with a sport that produces so much pressure. All of them except Leire Cobos. That woman has spent years being the exception: always attentive, courteous, warm, friendly, and careful with her words when she answers.

She's nothing like Kate Brogan—more impulsive, fun, and a little loose-lipped, which everyone forgives her for because the girl is effortlessly likable. Kate used to be that way, until she started to dim, until the restraint and the fear of saying or doing something she shouldn't made her more guarded and less accessible to journalists. Candela thinks she knows why.

She found out more than two years ago, when coincidence had her spending the night in the same hotel—and on the same floor—as both tennis players. She'd arrived with an executive who had nothing to do with tennis, a man in the city for a conference whom she'd met at the hotel bar that night. She went up to his room with him—one of the most interesting and satisfying nights of casual sex Candela can remember—but the jackpot came when she slipped out around five in the morning because she didn't want to deal with the awkward next-morning conversation.

She stopped in the carpeted hallway, heels in one hand and phone in the other. She stood still for several seconds beside a large potted plant, one of the many decorating the hotel, while reading a text from her sister. Then she heard a door open on the other side of the hall. At first she didn't pay attention, but a quiet laugh and the soft sound of kissing caught her ear. The light at that hour was very dim—warm-toned bulbs, low wattage, spaced far apart—which left the area with just enough illumination to make it to the elevator landing without tripping, but not so low that, when she focused, she couldn't make out Kate Brogan, and a second later Leire Cobos, who caught her in the doorway and devoured her mouth before letting her go.

Candela, already holding her phone and perfectly hidden behind the large plant, opened the camera and took several photos while her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

She knew the photos would be terrible quality, if any of them were even salvageable, but she had visual confirmation that Leire Cobos and Kate Brogan were hooking up. What she had no way of knowing was that this was one of the first times the two players had been together—that they were in that giddy, carefree phase where they only saw each other to fuck like mad. There were no feelings involved, no emotional bond between them, and they were enjoying those encounters so much that Leire dared to kiss her after a quick glance down the hall that, with her pupils blown wide with desire, wasn't exactly reliable.

She waited for Kate to go back to her room after saying goodbye to Leire, then ran to the elevator and rode down to the lobby, where she dropped into one of the leather armchairs near the entrance to go through the images. As she'd suspected, they were useless; there was only one where the two women were visible with any clarity, but the only person identifiable in it was Leire. Brogan had her back to the camera and came out so dark it was impossible to make out the reddish tone of her hair—but what was undeniable, what left absolutely no room for doubt, was that Leire Cobos was kissing a woman.

Thrilled by what she'd discovered and at the same time too relaxed from the good sex she'd just had, Candela gave in to a rush of immediacy and texted her editor to say she'd caught the two players in an intimate moment, but that all she had was a blurry image in which only Leire Cobos was identifiable. It was too early to expect a reply, so she went back to her hotel, took a shower, and fell asleep. When she woke up, she had three missed calls from her boss and a message saying to write the article and run the story.

"It doesn't matter that you can't make out Brogan. The news will be that Cobos is a lesbian."

Candela sat still on her bed, brow furrowed, an uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach that brought back a day she'd filed away as one of the bitterest of her life.

It was the day her sister Inés, during a family lunch, came out as a lesbian. It wasn't learning about her sexuality that pierced Candela's heart and split it in two—it was discovering, while her sister spoke with a lump of grief in her throat, that Inés had known for eleven years, and that it wasn't until now, at thirty-three, that she'd finally found the courage to say it out loud. Eleven years of Christmases spent making excuses for girlfriends she never brought home, and increasingly elaborate stories whenever anyone asked if there was someone special.