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Papa’s mouth tightens into a thin line. ‘I regret what I said to him today. I should apologise.’
‘And I want to train tomorrow afternoon instead of the morning because I’m going to the beach with Noah.’
Papa nods. ‘It’s a night match in two days; you can afford some time to relax.’
I wonder if now’s the time to bring up the wholebeing gaything, but I’m already tired of talking, and not keen to add any weight to our recently repaired bridge.
‘Are you coming out soon?’ I ask, cringing at my choice of words.
‘Soon,’ Papa confirms.
‘Good, because Victor’s stressed out that we’re fighting—he’s chain-smoking.’
That makes him laugh, like he’s remembering a warm memory. It’s nice that they have such a long history, and I’m glad I got some insight into who my dad was before me. Before all of this.
Victor’s scrolling through his phone when I get back. It’s late. A police procedural plays on the TV, but it’s clear he’s not paying attention.
‘Gabi!’ He jumps, clearly rattled as the door closes behind me. ‘How’s Bernard?’
‘We patched things up,’ I say. ‘He’ll be up in a bit.’
Victor doesn’t look relieved at the news.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. Dread settles in my stomach. What if someone recorded our conversation earlier—what if it’s making waves on socials right now?Shocking recording from Gabriel Madani’s hotel balcony!‘What’s happened?’
Victor hands me his phone. My heart sinks. ‘I got a media alert. It’s about Noah.’
16
Noah
Iwake up in bed, sweating my arse off, when I see the text Gabriel sent me overnight. These Victorian houses are beautiful, but they were never made for the heat.
Or the cold.
Or Australia, really.
Hungrygabriel73:Hey, Ijust saw the article. I’m sorry. Sometimes the press are like this. They find someone and they just latch on.
Latch on? I frown as I text Gabriel back.
NoAgenda:What article?
NoAgenda:Did someone mention me in an article?
Gabriel doesn’t reply. Maybe he’s asleep; it’s still early but I’m anxious. Impatient. Paranoid. Before I know it, I’m pulling up Google and inputting Gabriel’s name. I swore I’d never do it, but I’m so nervous my fingers shake as I type.
Gabriel Madani dazzles during a sweltering second-round match, says one headline.
Gabriel Madani: what you need to know about tennis’s hottest bachelor, says another.
Gabriel Madani’s mystery guy: how to get the fit that sent the tennis world wild.
I click on the ‘mystery guy’ article just as Gabriel sends me a link to another on a different site. There’s a photo of me watching Gabriel, sunglasses on my face—to be perfectly honest, looking cool as fuck—and underneath, the author’s written:Was Ithe only one OBSESSED with Gabriel Madani’s friend’s fit at the tennis today? Vintage 80s vibes, bitchy little sunglasses. Shop the fit here.
I scroll past links to shop retro-looking cotton shirts, designer white sneakers and what they calledbitchylittle sunglasses until I get to the end of the article.
While no one knows who this dreamy stranger is—Gabriel simply mentioned he was a ‘friend’—the Twitterverse is set on uncovering his identity.
