Not So Snow White Read online

  "You're crazy if you think you can keep this quiet. And from the international press, of all things."

  She crossed the room until she stood right in front of him. "All I know is that I think I could get further these next two weeks with her than without her. And if I don't do well, she'll explain to me why I didn't and help me figure out what I have to do next time." Gaby took hold of his arms and squeezed tightly. "I want that opportunity, Max, It's the chance of a lifetime." Her expression was both beseeching and intensely focused. "Please don't ruin this for me. Please."

  These were the moments he hated the most. The moments where all he wanted to do was make her happy and give her whatever her heart desired. She was a good kid who worked way too damn hard and earned the right to ask for a few things now and then. And yet it was the same moment where he had to decide if what she wanted and what she most needed were the same thing. "I—I don't know, Gabs," he said, tugging her close for a quick hug. "Let me think about it, okay?" He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, careful not to muss hair or makeup.

  She sighed as he let her go and he could see she was gearing up for round two, but before she could continue to plead her case, a knock came at the door. "Mr. Fontaine?" a voice called from the hallway. "They're ready for you both. Room three-eleven."

  Gaby sailed past him and opened the door before he could stop her. "Thank you. We're on our way." She walked out without waiting for Max.

  Swearing under his breath, he scooted out of the room behind her and closed the door. They waited with the journalist's assistant for the elevator. As was often the case in London, the lift was darkly paneled and small bordering on minuscule. The three of them squeezed in and the assistant pushed the button for them. "Enjoying your stay?" he asked brightly, apparently clueless to the tension simmering between his two liftmates.

  "We always do," Max said politely, managing a tight smile.

  The buzzer went off and the door slid open. Max and Gaby exited quickly, with Gaby carefully lifting her hair off her neck for a moment, before letting it fall back along her collar. Air-conditioning was not a popular commodity in the U.K. and the air in the lift was stifling even after such a short ride.

  "This way," the assistant said, directing them down a narrow, pale-carpeted hallway. "Last one on the left."

  "Thank you." Max put his hand on Gaby's arm before she could stride off ahead of him. "You want a quick run through the talking points? We could ask for a few moments in the hall." He knew she didn't need a review, she'd done this kind of thing often enough. But she was also tense and unhappy with him at the moment and he mostly wanted to give her a chance to smooth out a bit before sitting down with the journalist.

  "I'm fine. I could do this in my sleep."

  "I know, just—" But she was already tapping on the door and opening it without waiting.

  "Hello!" came a jovial female voice. "You must be Miss Fontaine."

  "Hi," Gaby said, extending her hand as Max and the assistant came in behind her. "A pleasure to meet you."

  She was all smiles and youthful exuberance now. Max just shook his head a little. A pro at sixteen in more ways than one. He had to admit that she did handle herself well in these kinds of situations. Her meltdowns on court had thus far never translated to off-court behavior, which was largely what saved her. Most interviews were upbeat and positive in intent. She was inevitably asked about her occasional on-court histrionics— much like Monica Seles had always been asked about the loud grunting noise she made whenever she hit the ball—but they had long since developed a disarming response to that, which, delivered so genuinely from such a polite young lady, never failed to diffuse whatever negative angle the interviewer might have been gunning for.

  "This must be your brother, Max." The journalist was British, probably mid-fifties, somewhat attractive, and all smiles as she extended her hand to him. "Hello, I'm Fionula Hust. Excited for your sister?"

  The interview hadn't technically begun yet, but Max and Gaby had both realized long ago that the interview started the moment you walked into the room. And in keeping with that, he smiled broadly. "A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for asking for the interview." He could have gone into politics, he sounded so sincere, when in fact, if they never did another one of these, he could die a happy man. "And yes, of course I'm excited. We're both happy to be here."

  "Well," she said, all smiles, "why don't we have a seat over here and we can begin. Can I get you anything?" Before either of them could answer, she looked past Max to her assistant and said, "Simon, did you order tea? Has it arrived?"

  Max and Gaby exchanged looks, both knowing it would be rude to turn it down, but also knowing the token gesture was expected. "That's not necessary," Max began.

  "Please," Fionula admonished, "it's the least I can do as I know I'm taking up time in your busy schedule. Simon?"

  "Right away." Simon disappeared back into the hallway as Fionula led Gaby to a pair of seats that had been arranged by the window. The view was better than their own, affording a look at the small park that ran parallel to the hotel across the street. "Shall we?"

  As Gaby and Fionula settled in, Max automatically took the observer's seat on the couch and made himself comfortable. Or as comfortable as one could on the rock-hard settee.

  Fionula set up her tape recorder and got her pad and pen ready. "The photographer should be here shortly. I was hoping we could get a few shots, something to run with the story?" She glanced at Max, who was prepared for this, too, and simply nodded. "Excellent." All smiles, she turned back to Gaby. "So, excited to be at your first Wimbledon as a professional player?"

  Gaby nodded, then said, "It feels like I've been waiting a long time for this chance."

  Fionula laughed. "Sixteen—"

  "Almost seventeen," Gaby corrected, then smiled.

  "Almost seventeen, and so impatient. Intimidated at all? Your run through the juniors these past two years was quite impressive."

  "Thank you. I was really fortunate to do so well back then. It gave me a lot of confidence in making the decision to join the WTA tour. But of course, now I'm facing players with far more experience and I know it's not going to be easy out there. I'm just hoping to play my best tennis and see what happens from there."

  Max settled into his seat as Gaby recited her standard responses. Fortunately, she had the warm smile and comfortable posture to make it seem as sincere as the first time she'd said them.

  "You've drawn a tough first-round opponent. Davina Slutskaya. Have you or your brother done any research on her?"

  "A little. I think this Wimbledon will be a big opportunity for me, mostly as a chance to see the players in action, learn more about everyone's game, and prepare myself better."

  "A big learning curve, certainly."

  Gaby nodded, friendly, open smile in place. "Don't get me wrong, though"—she laughed lightly—"I want to win. I'm going out there with the idea that I'm going to do everything I can to beat my opponent. I don't know how well I'll do, but they'll have to play me to beat me."

  Fionula's smile grew, her first sound bite now firmly in hand. "So, I know your first slam was the French last month. How do you feel about your result there?"

  "A little frustrated. I thought I could have done better, but the draw sort of went against me."

  "You took Serena to a third set. Pretty impressive."

  Gaby smiled. "It would have been more impressive if I'd beaten her. She came back strong in the third and, well, it was almost embarrassing."

  "How did it feel to play on the showcase court there?"

  "Oh, that part was fantastic. I love the crowds, the energy." Her grin grew a shade cocky. "I'm looking forward to a lot more of that."

  Fionula laughed again. "Well, we all know how determined you are, and how focused you've been on winning. There's been a lot of talk about you, in the press and on the tour among your peers. Looks like America has their hopes set on you to be the next big thing. Does that add unwarranted p
ressure to you to produce big results right away?"

  Gaby shook her head. "I suppose it could if I let it, but I don't really think about it that way. There has been a lot of attention since I started winning a string of major tournaments in the juniors, so I'm kinda used to it. Mostly I just use it as motivation to play better. I do want to be one of the best." She grinned. "And not just from America."

  "Well, that kind of moxie will probably be a help to you as you move further into the field. What are your hopes for Wimbledon? You were quoted after Birmingham as being upset with how you performed there. You've stayed on here in London to prepare for the slam?"

  "Yes, I have. It's been good for me. We're trying to pace my first year on tour so it's not too overwhelming. I've had a little rest and a lot of time to focus on my game."

  As the conversation continued on, Max relaxed even more. The interview appeared to be pretty routine. Thank God. He had enough to deal with at the moment. Which was where he'd let his thoughts drift, thinking what would be the best way to let Gaby down about this whole Tess thing. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it was the right thing to do. This kind of media attention—nonthreatening and benign, with a positive spin—was perfect for Gaby. She'd earned the spotlight, so there was no avoiding it completely, but this was the best compromise. If by chance she won a round or two, the attention would intensify, but again, in a pedestal-building kind of way. Young phenom-does-good was the kind of press she'd get, as they tried to turn her into something the fans would rally behind, a new face in tennis.

  Of course, he'd been around enough to know that if Gaby grew into the kind of pro player that was as dominant as she had been as an amateur, then the claws would come out. They loved nothing more than to knock someone down after building them up. But he'd deal with that later. Much later. Another reason to keep Tess far far away from Gaby at this stage of her career. Let her have her time to shine early.

  "Are you doing anything special or different to your game as you get ready for your second slam?"

  "Well…"

  Max's thoughts were drifting at that point and he wasn't really paying much attention to the interview. If he had been, he'd have heard the small pause from Gaby before she answered. Then he might have been able to stop her in time. But he hadn't. So he couldn't.

  And that's when everything went south.

  "As a matter of fact, I do have a secret weapon of sorts."

  Fionula sat forward right about the same time Max processed the phrase "secret weapon" and turned to look at them both. But before he could open his mouth, Gaby had already opened hers.

  "Tess Hamilton has been giving me a few pointers."

  "Really?" Fionula's carefully styled blonde hair all but popped out of its bobby pins. Fen poised, smile sharp, her direct gaze even sharper, she asked, "How did this turn of events come about?"

  Max's mouth did open then, but nothing came out. Gaby wisely didn't so much as look at him. Even smarter, neither did Fionula.

  A dozen wild thoughts careened through his head. He should stop the interview right now. Dammit, Gaby. Beg Fionula not to run the information. Pay her off, if necessary. Do something. Anything.

  "My wonderful brother Max set me up at the Glass Slipper spa for a little break after my early loss in Birmingham. And a mutual friend of Tess's works there and sort of hooked us up. It kind of blossomed from there."

  There was a rap on the door, then the photographer ducked in, "Sorry I'm late. Are we ready?"

  Max used that as his cue. He knew better than to try and squash the interview. It would just make Fionula all the more determined to run it. But he didn't have to let Gaby keep talking, either. He came off the couch in one fluid move. "Yes, we are." He made a show of looking at his watch. "I'm sorry, Fionula. We have another interview scheduled shortly. I hope you don't mind if we wrap this up."

  "No, no, not at all." Fionula stood and smoothed her jacket. "I appreciate you giving me your time."

  He could tell she was nervous now. His mention of another interview probably had her twitching to file her story and beat everyone else to the punch. Good, that would get them out of there that much sooner. Before his idiot sister could do anything else to sabotage herself.

  Photos were taken on the balcony with a backdrop of a rare blue London sky. And mercifully over quickly. They said their good-byes to the photographer and a cheery Simon escorted them back to the lift, waving to them as the doors closed between them.

  Max had spent the entire photo shoot schooling himself to be calm and collected when he finally got Gaby alone. He'd also tried to figure out a way to abort the glaring attention that was about to avalanche down upon them. He wasn't too successful at the latter. And as it turned out, the former was too much to ask, as well. "What the hell were you thinking?'' he exploded the instant the lift began its ascent. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

  Gaby appeared to be every bit the calm, collected customer he'd wanted to be. But the mirrored side panel afforded him a view of the way she was twisting her hands together behind her back. "Yes. I made sure I got my coach for the next two weeks."

  "I told you I'd think about it; you didn't need to go to that extreme."

  "Please," she said. "You were sitting over there figuring out the best way to tell me it wasn't happening."

  "You have no idea what I was thinking."

  She folded her arms. "So you were going to let me keep her on, then?"

  Max had seen that trap coming. "That's not the point. The point is that there were ways to handle this and ways not to. You couldn't have chosen a worse way. Which, by the way, is exactly why I didn't want you two working together. I know we've talked a lot lately about how you've seen and done more than most girls your age, but that right there showed your immaturity. You acted without thinking about the consequences, which won't be minimal, I can guarantee you that."

  "I can handle the media. I had Fionula eating out of the palm of my hand."

  The lift doors opened and they both stalked out and headed toward their rooms.

  "Only because that's the kind of story she wanted from you. Fresh face, up-and-comer on the tour. She was building you, that was her angle. But you and I both know why they spend so much time on fresh meat like you early on. So they can tear you down later." Max used his card key and flung their door open, gesturing her inside first. "Well, guess what, you've moved past go and gone directly to the meat-eating portion of your media campaign. Congratulations."

  If he thought his lecture would have a sobering effect on her, he was quickly disabused of that notion.

  "Oh, don't be such a drama king. I doubt anyone is going to care all that much that she's helping me out. I didn't say she was my coach specifically, just that she was giving me some pointers. We can blow this off."

  "Maybe you can. But did you stop to think what this might do to Tess?"

  She looked at him blankly.

  "This will bring attention to her, as well. Maybe she doesn't want the world to know she's helping you out. Maybe she doesn't want every young player on the tour hitting her up for practice tips."

  Clearly Gaby hadn't thought about that particular angle and her expression grew troubled. "She handles media attention all the time," she said, but not with much conviction. "I'm sure this will barely register with her."

  "That's not the point and you know it. The point is, you didn't give her the option of inviting this kind of attention into her life. She might not be too happy with you, either, when she finds out."

  Gaby's jaw took on a stubborn tilt, but uncertainty was clear in her eyes. "I'll explain it to her. She'll understand. Sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands."

  "Something you've learned from Tess?"

  "No," she shot back, hurt and anger now blazing from her dark eyes. "I managed to figure that out all by myself." And with that, she stalked into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

  He heard the lock click a
moment later. Which they both knew was merely symbolic since he had the key to her room in his pocket. But he honored the silent request. For now.

  There were other things he needed to tend to at the moment. And quickly. It was a toss-up whom he wanted to see first. Aurora or Tess. A quick phone call later, he was smiling, if a bit grimly. Apparently his luck was turning. They were both presently at Wexley House.

  He rapped on Gaby's door. "I'm heading out to start damage control. I'll be gone a couple hours. Stay in here until I get back. Don't answer the phone and don't answer the door. And don't even think about messing with me on this. Understood?"

  Gaby might be headstrong and rebellious, but even she knew where to draw the line when they were at loggerheads. "Understood," came her muffled, if petulant, reply.

  Max sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. Why did it always have to be so damn hard? "I'll call you when I'm on my way back. I'll pick us up something for dinner."

  There was no reply.

  With another sigh, he grabbed his key and shoved it in his pocket along with Gaby's before heading out. If Tess was so damn fond of media attention, then she was about to become a very happy woman. And since it was easier for him to let this be somehow all her fault, he felt it was only fair that she help him figure out how to keep Gaby out of the white-hot glare as best as possible. Maybe Aurora could pull another fairy godmother trick from up her sleeve, wave the proverbial magic wand, and make this all disappear.

  There were several other players staying at their hotel and a small gaggle of photographers mingled out front by the shrubbery that flanked the front drive. Max pulled his baseball cap down and hunched his shoulders as he passed them by. "A magic wand would come in real handy right about now."