Chapter 2: The Unwanted Spark
The clay court burned orange in the late afternoon sun, a perfect, dusty rectangle of wealth. Celeste adjusted the strap of her borrowed tennis dress, the crisp white fabric feeling like a costume. Everything here was a costume. Her mother, across the net in a matching outfit, beamed with a joy that felt somehow separate from her, tied to Arthur King’s approving nods from the shaded veranda.
“Ready, honey?” Maria called, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Don’t go easy on me!”
Celeste forced a smile. “Never.”
The rally started, the rhythmic thwock-thwock of the ball a mechanical distraction. She could feel the blisters forming on her palm from gripping the racket too tightly. Her eyes kept drifting to the next court over, where Xander moved with a lazy, predatory grace. He wasn’t even trying. He’d slice a return, watch Sophia scramble, and then put the ball exactly where she wasn’t.
Sophia’s laughter was a bright, practiced tinkle. Between points, she’d skip to the net, touching his arm, adjusting the collar of his polo. Each touch was a declaration.
Celeste double-faulted.
“Everything okay?” her mother asked, squinting against the sun.
“Fine. Sun’s in my eyes.”
She served again, but her focus was shattered. She watched as Sophia, after missing an easy volley, pouted and draped herself against Xander’s side, whispering into his ear. He smiled down at her, but his eyes—those piercing, perceptive eyes—drifted over her shoulder. They found Celeste.
He held her gaze across the twenty yards of perfectly manicured grass and money.
Sophia sank her manicured nails possessively into the tan muscle of his forearm, whispering something more. Xander threw his head back and laughed, a rich, easy sound that carried on the warm air. It was a sound of utter comfort, of a world that bent to his whims. It stung, a sharp pinch behind her ribs, worse than the glare of the midday sun.
Because she realized, with a jolt of clarity, that she was the only one who saw it. Her mother was blissfully unaware, chasing a ball. Arthur was checking his phone. Sophia was preening, believing she was the sole focus of that laugh.
But Xander’s lingering gaze kept tracking her, a blue laser cutting through the performative affection. It followed her as she walked to retrieve a ball, as she wiped sweat from her brow. It was the same look from the hallway: amused, challenging, seeing too much.
“Game!” Maria cheered, panting slightly. “You let me win that one.”
“You’re getting better,” Celeste mumbled, her mouth dry.
A burst of applause came from the next court. Xander had closed out his match. Before the echoes of the final point died, Sophia was on him. She looped her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against his, and kissed him. It wasn’t a peck. It was a full, deep, publicly claimed kiss, right there in the middle of the clay court. He let it happen, one hand resting lightly on her hip, his other still holding his racket.
Celeste turned away, the image searing itself alongside the others in her mind’s gallery of humiliation.
“Young love,” Arthur said, appearing suddenly at their court’s edge with a chuckle. He slipped an arm around Maria’s waist. “Shall we get some drinks? Xander! Join us.”
Xander gently, firmly, disentangled himself from Sophia. “Catch you later, Soph,” he said, his voice carrying. He didn’t look at her as he said it. He was already walking toward their group, swiping a towel from a bench and dragging it over his face.
Sophia stood alone on the court, her smile faltering for a split second before she recovered, flipping her hair and waving at someone else.
The clubhouse bar was all dark wood and green leather. Celeste sat as far from Xander as the circular booth allowed, nursing a bitter, overpriced lemonade.
“So, Celeste,” Arthur began, sipping a gin and tonic. “Your mother tells me you’re headed for law school. Top of your class. Impressive.”
“That’s the plan,” she said, meeting his kind, distant eyes.
“Xander here is always surprising his professors,” Arthur continued, clapping his son on the shoulder. “Never seems to study, but the marks keep coming.”
“Some of us have to study, Arthur,” Maria said fondly. “Not all of us are natural geniuses like your boy.”
Xander swirled the ice in his glass, a faint smile playing on his lips. His foot, stretched under the table, brushed against Celeste’s leg.
She jerked hers away.
“It’s just pattern recognition,” Xander said, his eyes on Celeste. “Anyone can memorize. Seeing how it all fits together… that’s the interesting part. Don’t you think, Celeste?”
“I think consistent effort beats lazy talent any day,” she said, her voice cool.
“Ouch,” he laughed, but the challenge in his eyes was bright. “Calling me lazy. And here I was, just admiring your backhand.”
“You weren’t watching my game.”
“Weren’t I?”
The silence at the table became palpable. Maria looked between them, a faint crease forming between her brows. Arthur just laughed again, missing the voltage in the air entirely. “Rivalry already! I love it. Maybe you two should partner up for the mixed doubles next weekend. Shake things up.”
“No,” Celeste said, at the same time Xander said, “Why not?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto hers. “Scared I’ll show you up, Vargas? Or scared you might actually have fun?”
“I’m not scared of anything you do on a tennis court, King.”
“Prove it.”
It was a direct hit. He knew she couldn’t back down from a direct challenge, not in front of their parents, not after her speech about effort. She saw the trap. She walked right into it.
“Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t blame me when we lose because you’re too busy waving at your fan club.”
His smile widened, a genuine flash of something that looked like triumph. “Deal.”
Later, as they walked back to the parking lot, the sunset painting the sky in lavish streaks of pink and gold, he fell into step beside her, letting their parents drift ahead.
“You watch me an awful lot for someone who finds me so repulsive,” he said quietly.
“I watch you the way someone watches a traffic accident. It’s horrifying, but you can’t look away.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He paused, stopping her with a light touch on her wrist. His fingers were warm. “The thing you saw… with Sophia. That’s nothing. You know that, right?”
She yanked her arm back. “I don’t know anything about you, and I don’t want to. Your ‘nothing’ is my disgusting Tuesday night.”
He studied her face, the smirk finally fading into something more serious, more searching. “You’re angry because you’re curious. You’re curious because, for all your plans and your rules, you’ve never met anyone who just… takes what they want. It frightens you. And it excites you.”
She had no answer. The words, so blunt and perceptive, stole the air from her lungs. He saw the confirmation in her eyes.
He nodded once, as if filing the information away. “Mixed doubles. Saturday. Don’t be late.”
He walked ahead, catching up to his father, leaving her standing alone in the gathering dusk. The scent of his cologne, faint and taunting, lingered on the warm air. She realized, with a sinking, thrilling certainty, that he was right. The carefully mapped future in her mind now had a massive, arrogant, blue-eyed obstruction planted right in the middle of it. And she had no idea how to go around it.