he’d be there too. It’d been one day since he’d banged on my door, trying hard to get me to listen to him. I’d gone through two PT sessions, glancing up every time an athlete walked through the doors, only to bury the disappointment when it wasn’t him. I desperately wanted to reach out, but it wasn’t right. As long as he was with Caroline, I needed to keep my distance. Georgie insisted Freddie was trying to make it right and his text had said as much. I had to wait. He needed to come to me when he’d sorted everything out.
So, I deleted an unsent text message and shoved my phone back into my clutch. Kinsley was across the room, applying makeup. She’d asked me a few days ago if I’d be willing to go to the media dinner. We’d all been invited, but Becca had zero interest in putting on a cocktail dress and Liam said he’d had enough of reporters to last him a lifetime.
“Tell me again why we have to go to this thing?” I asked.
“Because while reporters aren’t allowed in the village, they still need something to write about. The committee thought this would make everyone happy. We get good food and they get interviews.”
I smiled. “You already know what they’re going to ask you.”
She offered up her best broken record impression. “When are you and Liam going to start a family? When will you get pregnant? Are you pregnant NOW?”
I laughed. “It’s all anyone cares about.”
“Including Liam,” she added, turning back to the mirror so she could finish her makeup.
“What? Really?”
She nodded. “He’s turning thirty soon and he thinks after the Olympics we should start trying. You know, uh, take away the goalie.”
“Oh my god. I’m going to be an aunt.”
She laughed. “Hold your horses, I’m not pregnant yet.” I guessed she could see that my face fell because she continued, “but I promise you’ll be an aunt when the time comes. Becca already claimed both godmother and fairy godmother privileges, but we might have an opening for you in the diaper changing department.”
I laughed. “Well at least I won’t have to worry about anyone focusing on me during this stupid dinner tonight.”
“Don’t be so sure, Andie. The Olympic season is the only time the whole of America really falls in love with soccer, and you’re the fresh face of the brand. You have millions of little girls looking up to you now, and even though you’re injured, the media will want to tell your story of perseverance.” She paused, applying her makeup. “Plus, you forgot one other person who will be focusing on you tonight—Freddie.”
“Oh, he’s going?” I asked while I rifled through my makeup bag. I thought I was doing a good job of looking like I hardly cared. Freddie Schmeddie, right?
“Mhmm,” she said, passing her blush off to me when it was clear I couldn’t find mine. “And I’m almost tempted to disinvite you because of it.”
“What? I’ve spent the last hour getting ready with you. I DID MY HAIR.”
Well, truthfully, I hadn’t done my hair. Becca and I had gone to the salon in the village after practice so a stylist could fix my hack job. In the end, I liked it. It was short, just at my shoulders, and it’d be much easier to style.
“Do you know how rare that is?”
“Andie—”
“And I’m wearing a stupid cocktail dress!” I stepped back from the mirror and took deep, dramatic inhales to show her how tight the bodice of the dress fit. Each inhale only filled my lungs to like 2%. I’d probably pass out from lack of oxygen by the end of the evening.
She laughed. “You look gorgeous and it’s too late to disinvite you, so just stick by me and ignore him. This isn’t the place you want to have a scene. There will be cameras and microphones everywhere.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You sound like you have no faith in me.”
“It’s not that, really.” She spun around and flashed me a small, sympathetic smile. “I’ve just seen Freddie Archibald up close and it’s clear that he has a way of separating a woman from her senses. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize a bomb looking for its fuse.”
“Well tonight, I’ll only have eyes for food.”
She eyed me skeptically, but I ignored her and turned to check my appearance in the mirror one last time. My blonde hair was short and sleek, like that of a secret agent. I’d