I wake up hungover the next morning, my makeup smeared all over my face. I've slept in my dress, and my Wimbledon trophy was still sitting on the other side of the bed.
My flight is scheduled for midmorning, so I get up and pack my things. I take a shower. I inhale three ibuprofen. I check the time and try to convert it to Australian Time but give up nearly straight away.
And then, just as I am about to dry my hair, there's a knock on the door.
"One second!" I call out, putting my robe back on.
I open the door to find a bellman holding a bizarre-looking bouquet of flowers.
Most of them are bright pink and spiky, but between them all are tiny gold blooms that look like buttons.
It is an unusual and interesting bouquet. Every aspect of it unexpected.
I suspect they aren't from my uncle he would have sent roses.
And let myself imagine, briefly, that they are from Lewis, but then my eyes fall on the gigantic bouquet that still rests on my nightstand that arrived last night from him.
"Thank you" I say. After he leaves, I put the vase on the coffee table and search for the card. Maybe Tasha got up early and sent them.
Brava, Ricciardo! Take a breath and fill your lungs with your victory, friend. I promise there will not be another one. See you in New York. XO, Li
P.S. The pink flowers are amaranth, which represent immortality, what we're fighting for, after all. And the yellow are tansy. They are said to represent a declaration of war. Fun, right?
Ugh. I hate that I like Nicki Chan.
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She's back ~ L. Hamilton
FanfictionDelaney Ricciardo is fierce and her determined to win at any cost has not made her well liked. But by the time she retires from tennis she is a twenty four grand slam winner and regarded as the greatest tennis player the world has ever seen. But si...
