Page 36 of Risky Match
“I’m Samantha. You’re my hero.”
What a sweetheart. She must be eight to ten years old.
“Do you play tennis?”
“Yes. I practice almost every day. I want to be just like you and play here when I grow up.”
Her words hit me hard. I remember being her age—dreaming of meeting the players I idolized. Most were kind. One brushed me off ...until she learned I was a princess. I swore I’d never be that kind of person. Every child matters.
I hand back the ball with a smile. “I’m so proud of you for working so hard. Keep it up. You’re going to do great.”
Samantha’s smile grows wider as Erin gently nudges me down the stairs.
I’m blanketed by the warm and fuzzy feeling from my interactions with the fans as we swiftly jog down the stairs into the underground maze of tunnels. They allow the players and staff to move quickly between the various buildings and tennis courts without being stopped by well-wishers and autograph seekers.
Thanks, Erin. If you hadn’t pulled me away, I’d still be out there. I just love seeing the young fans, especially the girls.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
As we walk, I say, “I still can’t believe they upgraded me to the Women’s Members’ Area instead of the dungeon with the majority of the players.”
“You deserve it. And with fewer people, it makes my job much easier.”
“I didn’t earn it. It’s for the top sixteen players and prior winners. That’s not me.”
“If you played more tournaments, you’d be one of the top players. It’s not your fault you’re a princess with other responsibilities.”
“I just hope no one resents me receiving special treatment. Otherwise, it will be awkward.”
“Ignore the rude ones. Some people will always resent you—royal or not. You’re a good person and an outstanding player. Let your actions speak for you.”
“That’s not always easy, but it’s my mantra. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“What are best friends for? We’re here.” She opens the door leading from the tunnel to the locker room.
We climb the stairs. At the top, she motions toward the double doors to the Women’s Members’ Area. “I’ll wait outside.”
I nod, pausing to commit this moment to memory. I’ve dreamed of playing at Wimbledon but never expected this additional honor—an invitation to the legendary sanctuary for the Wimbledon elite.
I’m almost expecting angelic music to play. This is every female player’s dream. It’s the ultimate sign of havingmade it.
It’s palatial with perfectly polished, parquet floors, dark wood trim, plush sofas, elegant chairs, and fine rugs. It’s not a locker room—it’s a spa.
I recognize two players who are lounging with their eyes closed and headphones covering their ears. Others are watching matches and chatting. They don’t pay much attention to me, but their surprised looks and whispers don’t escape my notice. I nod and smile as if it’s nothing unusual for me to be here.
My princess training is useful in situations like this. I’ve been taught to have confidence, put others at ease, and ignore awkwardness. Only Erin would sense that I’m pretending to be comfortable here.
A table with silver trays holding exquisite biscuits and pastries draws my attention. Nearby, attendants busily arrange fine china for what looks like a formal tea rather than a tennis tournament.
I pass on the tea but can’t resist selecting a biscuit on my way toward the individual bathrooms.
As I’m finishing the slightly sweet, crisp treat, an attendant asks, “Welcome, Your Highness. Would you like me to draw you a bath?”
“No, thank you. I’d like to take a shower, though.”
“Of course. This way please. We have warm towels and other amenities for you. Do you prefer a specific scent of soap?”
I blink. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked that question before. Do you have anything citrusy?”
