Книга - Match Pointe

Match Pointe
Indigo Bloome


The elite worlds of ballet and tennis collide in this scintillating exploration of the relationship between a dancer and her no.1 tennis player 'master'.Eloise has only ever had one passion - the ballet. But all of that is about to change . . .When injury ends Eloise’s glittering career as a prima ballerina, she is devastated. Lost and alone, and in exile from the only world she has ever known, Eloise can feel her reason for living slipping away.Then she meets an enigmatic billionaire, ‘Caesar’ King, who offers her the chance to dance again. His proposal seems to offer all she has ever dreamed of - a captivated audience and an outlet for her passion. But when she becomes embroiled in a darkly intoxicating relationship with the charismatic and commanding tennis champion, Stephen Nordstorm, all of her boundaries come crashing down.Eloise is plunged into a world that is both strange and familiar; one of elite competition, where power and winning mean everything. But the price she must pay is a high one. In this glamorous world of top athletes and extreme competition, Eloise is about to become the ultimate prize . . .























Copyright (#ulink_215ae0af-c19c-5f51-bbd1-a80b822069a1)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Indigo Bloome 2015

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Indigo Bloome asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007597574

Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780007597581

Version: 2014-12-06




Dedication (#ulink_b0eb34d3-ca4d-5aa2-a67a-c5edb6cb3bcf)


For all those who read the Avalon Trilogy,my most sincere thanks.This one’s for you!xo


Contents

Cover (#u22be42aa-0834-5dec-9a93-0b6993afb0d1)

Title Page (#u3a69c1a4-a147-5692-af2a-8c4edd1103be)

Copyright (#u20151e97-039d-53c5-8f0f-0e63ab60dde1)

Dedication (#u9ad29620-8c45-5502-8c41-42b4e7d8ae16)

Prologue (#u612a8a42-dafe-52e8-94e6-9325b072aa1c)

The Offer (#ud1f045eb-0166-5f6d-aec8-a6c9201a4526)

The Grand Slams: Round One (#u5db2e69e-ad81-5b98-a073-da9b2bef161b)

French Open I: May-June (#u6759f471-9f00-55cc-a60e-605bcf005312)

Wimbledon I: June-July (#uce4b531a-98bb-53de-95cf-5569989d7048)

US Open I: August-September (#u744ebd5f-550c-59c2-91ae-12df636240e8)

Australian Open I: January (#litres_trial_promo)

The Grand Slams: Round Two (#litres_trial_promo)

French Open II: May-June (#litres_trial_promo)

Wimbledon II: June-July (#litres_trial_promo)

US Open II: August-September (#litres_trial_promo)

Australian Open II: January (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Indigo Bloome (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)








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Prologue (#ulink_0d439bf6-d06a-5b96-8037-0dd29c17f330)

Caesar


Antony ‘Caesar’ King was one of the wealthiest men in the United Kingdom. Casino and hotel management were his business staples, but he was equally notorious for his ruthless dealings in property investments and high-end gambling. The crowning glory of his business empire – on which he spent a disproportionate amount of his limited time – was the firm he had built from scratch: The Edge. It was the world’s leading sports agency, responsible for managing the global careers of the most influential and brand-conscious athletes. Caesar had a natural instinct for identifying emerging talent, and the financial resources to back those he happened to tap on the shoulder.

Athletes knew that if The Edge represented them, they were on the path to greatness. To say ‘No’ to Caesar was akin to kissing your sports career goodbye and fading into oblivion. Not only was the business highly lucrative, but it also ensured Caesar was the pre-eminent ‘mover and shaker’ in the industry. At elite sports venues the world over he was immediately recognisable for his flamboyant dress sense, and he had the personality to match. Whether people loved him or hated him, such was his magnetism that they were drawn to him like moths to a flame. Power and superiority emanated from every gesture he made and the tone of every word he spoke. And rest assured that he relished the authority he wielded and the attention he attracted. Indeed, he depended on it for his continued success.

* * *

His father, Antonio ‘Tony’ King, was a self-made man. From humble beginnings in Italy, Tony had emigrated to America after the war. He had hocked his few valuables for several hands of blackjack, and won enough to kick-start his life in the new world. He was a conscientious gambler, willing to bet on high-risk ventures. And against all odds, he won significantly more than he ever lost.

Antony junior’s middle name was a direct tribute to an exceptionally lucky night at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. During a few raucous rounds of poker, Tony was challenged to risk all of his winnings on the roulette table.

With all the careless arrogance of a man who had nothing to lose, he barely glanced at the spinning wheel, where the numbers and colours swirled towards the potential gain or loss of such a huge sum. Instead, the beauty of a tall young blonde a few feet away captured his eye. With a sly wink he beckoned her close, whispering in her ear that she was his good luck charm. It was only when she returned his smile that he let his eyes focus on the tiny silver ball slowing towards black thirteen as if it were magnetically attracted to the number.

The ball fell into place, and the crowd who had gathered around the table erupted into applause as Tony walked away $1 million richer. He graciously accepted the envious congratulations of those around him, and the gratis upgrade to the Emperor’s Suite proffered by hotel management. Needless to say, he wasted no time in bedding the stunning babe, who had more than happily accompanied him and his newly acquired funds to the suite.

At first Tony was shocked by the news of her pregnancy, but given that the conception had occurred on the luckiest night of his life, it seemed fate was sending him a definite sign. The woman had no interest in becoming a mother at the peak of her youth and beauty, so he made her an offer any young student with a substantial college debt would find difficult to refuse. A healthy, strong baby boy was delivered into the world, and once the obligatory paternity tests were completed, the biological mother willingly accepted the bonus money they had agreed on, granting Tony full custody of his only son and disappearing from their lives forever.

Caesar had wanted for nothing during his youth as he was groomed to be the heir of his father’s financial throne. He became the only true love of his father’s life. Tony was determined that Caesar would have all the refinements he’d lacked in his humble upbringing in Italy. So it was inevitable that Tony would choose the prestigious six-centuries-old Eton College to educate his only son. Fortunately the college had no problem accepting Tony’s ostentatious new money.

Caesar excelled academically, more so in mathematics than in any other subject. Although he won several mathematics awards across Europe and was the youngest player ever to represent Britain in bridge, Caesar didn’t necessarily understand what all the fuss was about. It all came so easily to him that it was as natural as breathing.

It was only after he discovered the game of tennis in his first year of secondary school that his true passion was ignited. In his mind, tennis was the ultimate sport, dwarfing all others. The idea that a grand slam was all down to two players after a fortnight of competition intrigued him. Only one player could outplay, outsmart, outwit and out-hit the other. There were no teammates to confer with, rely on or blame; two solo players were left to fight it out on court, bound only by the rules of the game.

To win you had to have everything – the physical and mental stamina, skill, consistency, tenacity and most importantly the absolute belief in yourself, that you deserved to win and had the capacity to do so. At the end of the day only one person would take all the glory.

Tennis appealed to Caesar in a way that other sports didn’t. It got under his skin. He felt more alive watching Wimbledon than at any other time during his schooling. It was as though he belonged there in some way.

From that point on Caesar channelled much of his energy into the game of tennis, and even managed to crack into the top one hundred on the junior tennis circuit when he was fifteen years old – albeit briefly. Unfortunately, a bad skiing accident left his knee structurally damaged and unable to live up to the relentless demands of the game. Though he was bitterly disappointed, the accident neither deterred nor diluted his interest in the game. He hadn’t missed a tournament at Wimbledon since his first year at Eton, and he didn’t plan on missing any in the future.

In fact, the accident spurred him on to become involved in the sport in other ways, and sparked his interest in the players moving up through the rank and file. He knew many of the players personally, and he began to learn what motivated them, when they had their off days and on days, and where they derived their desire to win.

Suddenly he was intrigued by the game for completely different reasons, as his mathematical brain took over and he developed a program called ‘Junior Jousts’ for betting on each of the players. His father fully supported and funded his first foray into sports gambling. It was so successful his father applied a similar mathematical model to identify arbitrage opportunities for professional sports and the money came rolling in. Why? some asked. His father responded simply. ‘Because it is Caesar’s destiny. He was born under a star where winning is the only way.’ Caesar revered Tony, and the most important thing in his life was to continue to make his father proud.

* * *

Caesar was now in his forties, and still attended every grand slam, never short of a jaunty handkerchief and cravat to complement his impeccable hand-tailored suits and glistening polished shoes. He made a point of establishing a connection with each of the top ten players in the world at any given time, engineering reasons to meet up with them more regularly. That way he came to know them very personally – just as some horse-racing punters build steam rooms in their homes to become better acquainted with jockeys. This close association was the reason why he was able to sign most of the top players up with his elite agency.

Even though The Edge employed dedicated staff to look after his clients’ every whim and sponsorship deals, Caesar liked to provide a more personalised service. It was important to him that the players had direct access to him – not a relationship per se but certainly an identifiable association. So he offered them excellent rates to stay in his luxurious hotels and to be seen in his glamorous entertainment and gambling establishments, usually in his company.

His motive was undeniably twofold. Not only did he derive great personal pleasure from being directly connected with the greats of tennis stardom, but at the end of the day, it also made good business sense and gave him ultimate control over the players he endorsed.

Yet most of all, he was passionate about testing his automated betting models against his personal insights into each player’s capabilities and state of mind. And that was why he so enjoyed the obscenely sized individual bets he made with his billionaire friends in their secretive ‘Club Zero’ aptly named for the number of zeroes that accompanied each transaction – often on par with the size of the egos placing them! Caesar’s gambling was as highly informed as it could be, since on some occasions the bets placed entire companies at stake. Companies Caesar strategically pursued for his ever-expanding empire.

The only other part of his life that kept him engaged – in a non-business sense – was his philanthropic interest in the Royal Ballet. Some called it his hobby. The beauty and graceful movement of the dancers provided him with a sense of serenity he didn’t experience elsewhere. Perhaps it was a way to make up for the lack of feminine energy in his father’s male-dominated world? No one was sure … nevertheless, his substantial contributions to the Ballet’s Benevolent Fund had secured his prestigious invitation to become a member of the Board of Trustees. Accepting this role meant he had access to the ears of London’s high society, not to mention association with the aristocracy – lords, baronesses and even HRH the Prince of Wales and Her Majesty the Queen (who disappointingly had no interest in tennis whatsoever, but fortunately was an avid patron of the arts).

To know Caesar, you had to know three things. First, his father was the ultimate role model in his life. Second, tennis was his absolute passion. And third, his love of ballet was his greatest pastime. Other than the finer things in life his bank balance could afford, he treated everything else with absolute disdain.




Eloise


To those in the know, Eloise Lawrance was the latest up-and-coming star on Britain’s ballet scene, and had just been chosen to dance the lead in Swan Lake. Her movements were technically perfect, her timing precise, and due to her young age perhaps she could be forgiven for lacking a little passion or soul in her otherwise flawless performances.

Eloise was uniquely beautiful, though she only ever saw the imperfections in herself. Men and women alike were attracted to her fragile radiance, but she never noticed their attentions. She wished her fingers were a little longer and her feet were more delicate, but most of all she longed for her hair to be manageable and straight – which was why she seldom wore it out. Her soft translucent skin only caused her frustration, as she could never go out in the sun without it freckling, and she believed her aquamarine eyes were too big for her heart-shaped face, instead of seeing them as her most distinctive feature. At least her body proved to have excellent proportions for a ballerina, though she would have preferred a tad more height.

Yet Eloise had long ago relinquished all rights to her own body. Her diet was strictly controlled so she maintained the delicate balance between her fear of putting on even one additional pound of weight, and ensuring she had the stamina to endure the demanding twelve-hour days. Adept at being weighed, pinched, probed and analysed on a regular basis, she was more than skilled at detaching herself from her physical form. Every measurement had to be recorded in detail; even ‘point to point’ (the distance between her nipples) was noted for each new ballet performance. She liked the way others took control so she could focus solely on her craft, her one creative outlet. In her mind, her body was only a means to an end; merely an instrument to enable her to dance.

She was a quiet, reserved person, not exactly shy but certainly not outgoing. Although she was friendly enough when spoken to, she preferred to keep to herself and didn’t have many friends. Being in the ballet meant that her opportunity to form any real friendships was limited, for in her mind the other ballerinas were all potential threats who could unravel her dream – something she was fiercely determined to protect. She had been ensconced within the realm of ballet for more than a decade and it had protected her from the harsh realities of the outside world. She had experienced this world in her youth, and had no desire to revisit such a heartless place again.

So she never raised her voice or caused any trouble, instead choosing to focus on listening intently to what was required of her. She appreciated the calm passivity of conforming with her ballet masters’ strict requirements – with the aim of always exceeding their demanding standards. And from her perspective, this compliance had finally paid off.

Earlier this year, Eloise had been proudly announced as Principal of the Royal Ballet. Everything she had worked for with utmost focus and physical dedication had finally been acclaimed by her esteemed ballet mistresses and masters, and endorsed by the Board. Striving for such recognition had given her the drive to ensure she was as close to perfect as she could be since arriving as a student at the Royal Ballet School aged twelve. Throughout her teenage years, she had never socialised if it interfered with her studies, rarely succumbing to potential suitors, who would no doubt distract her from achieving her dream.

Now she – and everyone else – knew that her dedication to the art of ballet had been worth it. For she was the best; she was Number One. All of the other girls would aspire to be like her, to act like her, dance like her, be her. It provided her with an identity she had never had before. And she loved it!

But even though she had reached the pinnacle of all she’d ever wanted to achieve, before each performance, the fear of losing everything crept insidiously into her thoughts. Fortunately, she had become adept at forcing her mind outwards – to focus on the rapt applause she would hear from all over the darkened theatre at the end of each act, and the beautiful flowers she would receive at the end of the performance, rather than on the lonely holes in her emotional life. After all, to show fear was to admit weakness, which she saw as a dreadful imperfection. Imperfect was something a prima ballerina would never be.

Staring into the mirror on the opening night of Swan Lake, she saw a vision of what she was about to become onstage. She had discarded the loose grey sweats that usually covered every inch of her feminine body, and her wild auburn mane was now tightly restrained and unrecognisable beneath an elaborate headpiece. She liked the fact that her pert lips were artificially red and her aquamarine eyes were buried beneath a swathe of dramatic black make-up. The headpiece accentuated her neck – long and supple, as a swan’s should be – and her striking costume and feathers miraculously gave her the birdlike qualities that would see her fly onstage. And though she was petite, at five foot four, she knew she would become larger than life in order to do whatever the ballet required of her.

She had come from nothing to being the most revered person in every performance. She lived for this feeling and for this feeling alone. When she danced beneath the heady lights, she was as close to home as she had ever been. It was the only sense of belonging she had ever experienced, and she would cling to it for dear life. For to fail now, when she had reached the peak of her career at twenty-two, would destroy her. To fail was intolerable. She had dedicated her life to perfection and there would be no turning back.

So, drawing her dramatic eyes away from the vision in the mirror as the announcement was made for her to make her way to the stage, she completed the ritual she performed before every performance. She sat down, placed both her hands on top of a small, worn music box and closed her eyes. After a moment of quiet meditation, she opened the box and watched as the tiny ballerina swirled around and around, to the tune of ‘Music Box Dancer’.

Eloise imagined herself as the ballerina, who only ever truly came to life when the box was open and provided her with an opportunity to dance. Absorbed by the music and the tiny dancer’s pirouettes, Eloise transformed into the tragic heroine Odette, losing all sense of self in the process.

She turned and made her way to the stage, to give the performance of a lifetime to her many admirers – knowing the music box would only be closed after the final curtain was drawn, and be safely packed away until next time.




Ballet


Caesar’s relationship with Ivan Borisov dated back to the days when Ivan was a junior tennis champion. Now Ivan was Number One in the rankings of the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP), and had been for the past two and a half years. Ivan was a client of The Edge, but his passion for ballet – as insatiable as Caesar’s own – ensured their friendship went much deeper than the connection Caesar shared with the other top players.

Ballet was in Ivan’s blood, which was why Caesar found their discussions on the topic so engaging. Ivan’s mother had been a prima ballerina in her youth, and still taught ballet in St Petersburg. Ivan had grown up around dance and could easily have made it his career, had his tennis not been identified as such a strength; comparatively, ballet was a new discovery for Caesar.

The two men met up at performances of the Royal Ballet as often as their schedules allowed. It was on one such evening, after the final curtain call of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, that Ivan turned to Caesar and commented: ‘I’ve seen this ballet on many occasions around the world, and never have I been so captivated by the ballerina dancing the lead roles of Odette and Odile. Yet she seems so young.’

Caesar nodded. ‘Indeed. Swan Lake is her first performance as Principal of the Royal Ballet. Her name is Eloise Lawrance. She’s one of our own, actually; studied at the Royal Ballet School.’

Ivan’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘She is just beautiful; she illuminates the entire stage. The precision of her movements is a joy to watch, simply bewitching.’

‘It appears you are attracted in ballet to what you illustrate on the court, Ivan.’ Caesar’s features creased into a smile, which Ivan returned.

‘You’re being way too kind, Caesar. My mother, perhaps, but I’m afraid I have no such elegance.’

‘Until recently, no one could even get close to winning against you,’ Caesar observed, moving the conversation on to his other favourite subject.

‘I know, Caesar, you’re right.’ Ivan sighed. ‘It all depends on motivation, and I seem to have lost mine recently – which is why I didn’t compete in the Australian Open this year.’

‘You know better than I that it was a huge risk to take with your ranking; luckily your sponsors didn’t ask too many questions. The other top seeded players are all hungry to close in on you like a pack of wolves. Any thoughts on what you’re going to do to stay on top?’

‘In all honesty I’m not sure. All I know is these days, if I have to choose between training and ballet … well, as you can see, I’m here, aren’t I? Which is not such a good thing for the world Number One, is it?’

He shook his head as if to answer his own words.

‘Please understand,’ he went on, ‘I still enjoy it, but the monotony of training is getting to me. I go through the motions but my mind is in another world – like a swimmer focusing on the relentless black line at the bottom of the pool, no longer able to see the big picture. And all my commitments off the court … You know I dislike having to appear smiling in front of cameras for sponsors – making sure my watch is positioned just so – I’m just bored with all of it. I feel like I’ve already achieved what I set out to do.’

‘If you like, I can organise to reduce your commitments and free up more of your time – if that’s what it’ll take to get you back on form. Just a couple of calls, no problem.’

‘Believe me, I know if anyone can, you can, Caesar. But it’s not just that …’ Ivan reflected a moment longer then gestured towards the stage. ‘My heart is in this world, in dance and music and beauty, just what I have witnessed tonight. Now that I have seen Eloise – that was her name, yes?’

Caesar nodded.

‘Well, now that I’ve seen her onstage, it makes me want to attend every one of her performances. I know I shouldn’t feel this way – I should be focusing on my training – but there’s something about that exactness, that discipline she has over her mind and body …’ His thoughts meandered before he added, ‘If I could only capture a performance like that before I play – you know, bottle it up somehow – I have no doubt that my motivation would be sky-high.’ He sighed again, suddenly disheartened by the absurdity of his own suggestion. ‘But instead I must wait until her next performance like everyone else.’

Caesar looked thoughtful. ‘Are you saying you believe watching her dance before you play would improve your motivation?’

‘How could it not? Look at her! I’m sure I’m not the only one who would feel this way. There’s something captivating about the way she moves, like she brings the essence of the music to life … Well, if I could just bottle up a bit of ballet for my own personal use, that would be perfect.’ Ivan laughed, then added with a wink, ‘I know you are a resourceful man who is capable of many things, Mr King, but I doubt this is a problem you can solve. If you do come up with the answer, let me know; I’d love to hear about it.’ He chuckled at the path their conversation had taken, amiably patting Caesar on the back.

‘A fascinating challenge, just fascinating. In the meantime, my friend, come backstage with me, and I’ll see if I can introduce you to Eloise and the rest of the corps de ballet.’

‘Thank you but unfortunately I must be on my way, yet another plane to catch. Thanks for the chat. I shall look forward to seeing you again at another one of her performances.’

As the two men bid each other farewell, Caesar’s intrigued mind was clicking into gear, working on a variety of scenarios based on Ivan’s sketchy idea.

If Ivan could not manage to consolidate his position as the world’s Number One, men’s tennis would enter one of its most unpredictable eras. The Edge currently managed the top six male players in the world, which provided Caesar with tremendous insights into what was happening on the circuit – leading to substantial business opportunities.

The more inside information Caesar had, the more money he stood to make. And once an idea had seeded in his mind, it was rarely dislodged – particularly if it was coupled with a fire in his belly. There was no doubt this conversation had ignited the flame of an idea for Caesar and it was usually only ever a matter of time before it came to full fruition.








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The Offer (#ulink_6b4f37de-9535-536b-a366-3cc17d8270b1)

Manon


All the dancers of the Royal Ballet had eagerly gathered in the narrow corridor, anxiously awaiting the announcement of their roles in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon, widely acclaimed as one of the company’s signature ballets. For most ballerinas, dancing the coveted role of Manon was deemed to be one of the highlights of their career. The ballet told the story of a young woman torn between the man she loves and a wealthy older suitor who promises her the luxury she craves. The character must exhibit various states of emotion – ranging from shy to flirtatious, from desperate love to the agonies of an eventual wretched death – all captured within the realms of dance. The demands on the ballet dancer were extreme, requiring almost exhaustive physical and emotional stamina.

Eloise was returning from the ballet’s physiotherapist, having been dismissed by Madame Alana from the morning class when she landed badly on her ankle during her sissonne jumps, and was immediately drawn to the buzz of activity surrounding the notice board. When she approached the other dancers, the bustle around her immediately faded to silence as the weight of her reaction hung heavily in the air.

As she registered the black names listed on the white paper, she stared uncomprehendingly at the notice board, her eyes anchored to it as though she were paralysed in the worst nightmare of her life.

Not a sound could be heard other than Eloise’s breath slowly inhaling and exhaling through her nostrils … until a muffled, strangled scream passed through her pursed lips.

The dancers scattered in panic as though a large stone had been thrown amidst a flock of flamingos, their scarves and tutus fluttering and floating to the floor like feathers post-flight. They dispersed as quickly as they had assembled in an attempt to avoid what they all knew would be the eye of the foreboding storm.

In what should have been the triumph of her career, Eloise had been usurped by a Russian impostor.

Principal: Natalia Karsavina

Soloist: Eloise Lawrance

Eloise noticed her hands trembling, before she actually felt them lightly touch the bold print where she had expected to see her name. Her entire body went numb, not allowing her to feel the emotion she knew was brewing beneath her skin. Life swirled on around her, but it didn’t seem to touch her. She was present, but in her mind she was not really there. This had to be false – a prank perhaps? But no one could be that cruel; ballet dancers were finely honed creatures, physically strong yet their self-esteem so very fragile.

How could it be? Her life’s work – had it honestly come to this? How could she face her peers in light of this demotion? How could she face the world? She was the Principal of the Royal Ballet, not Natalia! They might as well have broken her legs, such was the pain in her heart.

The force that had driven her for years to study, to practise, to hone her skills hour after hour, day after day, all ultimately heading to the role of top ballerina at one of the greatest ballet companies the world had known, all had come to nothing, because the role she had aspired to had been cruelly snatched from beneath her wings. Although she had always loved Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker, she had done them all to death, the movements so deeply entrenched in her muscles that she barely needed to engage her brain as they toured around the world doing one performance after another. Manon had been her opportunity to challenge, interpret and ultimately shine – to firmly establish herself in the history of the Royal Ballet as Number One for this day and age.

Eloise fell in a crumpled heap onto the cold concrete floor, as the pain of disappointment crashed over her limbs. They had finally broken her spirit, snapped it in half.

Though she was so often complimented on her demure presence, controlled emotions and grace, both on and offstage, suddenly uncontainable anger ripped through her veins and she got up and tore the menacing announcement from the notice board then charged along the corridor and up the stairs.

The futility of her years of silence, acquiescence and unswerving commitment suddenly seemed to burst the synapses of her brain. How dare some young Russian upstart from the Bolshoi Ballet replace her! Just because the company had recently appointed a new renegade choreographer, Xavier, who preferred the Russian dancer’s style and chutzpah! It was she who was the lead ballerina of this company, she who had been classically trained at this very school for more than a decade, she who had only just been promoted to the iconic position of Principal. Unfortunately, it was also she who had nothing else to live for now the role of her career had been snatched away …

Unaccustomed to not being in control of her emotions, Eloise was seething as she threw open the door of the company director’s office unannounced. Her slight frame trembled as she stared daggers at Sir Lloyd Barclay.

He could barely make eye contact as he shifted hastily from behind his desk to close the door discreetly behind her.

‘Ah, Eloise, I’m assuming you have seen the cast sheet.’

As he uttered the words she saw her life shatter into tiny pieces before her eyes.

‘That was my role, Lloyd! It was promised to me!’

With uncharacteristic vengefulness she pinned the piece of paper to his chest with her finger, though it merely floated to the floor as he stepped back behind his desk, which provided him with a physical barrier of authority and immediately diluted the emotive force between them.

Lloyd still avoided looking at her. ‘That’s nonsense, my dear. You know as well as I that nothing is guaranteed in this business, and that disappointment is part and parcel of being a dancer. Someone with your experience knows that anything can change at a moment’s notice. Naturally, this is hard news for you to take in, but you will still be Natalia’s understudy, of course, and –’

His words permeated her thoughts. But the Royal Ballet isn’t business; it is art, culture and beauty. It’s my entire life!

For the first time ever, she wasted not a moment in interrupting him.

‘I will not tolerate being the understudy or a soloist. You know I don’t deserve such a demotion. The role of Manon was mine, anything less is insulting!’

She furiously spat the words towards him, astounding herself with her aggressive behaviour. She had never spoken an angry word to anyone in her life, having always kept a tight lid on her emotions until they could be expressed onstage via another character.

Lloyd seemed to change tack. ‘Under normal circumstances I would agree with you, Eloise. But you know as well as I that this role is demanding – both emotionally and physically. It will put your ankle under too much strain. We can’t take the risk, and, well, decisions have to be made and, ah, well, have been, I’m afraid – as you have seen.’ His facial expression tensed then softened in an attempt to placate her fury.

‘My ankle has nothing to do with this!’

‘You need to be patient, my dear – give Xavier some time to understand your true talent and your body time to heal.’

‘Then why isn’t he giving me the chance to prove that the role should be mine? You know I can dance through pain. It has never affected my performance.’

Even though they weren’t particularly close, Eloise had always considered Sir Lloyd her ally, her dancing guardian, almost like the grandfather she had never known. Now the person before her seemed nothing more than a condescending old man determined to destroy her career.

Eloise took a deep breath to ensure her voice was measured. She could barely whisper her next words, her anger – or was it fear? – barely contained beneath the surface of her skin.

‘I know my ankle isn’t the real reason, Lloyd. You owe me the truth.’

‘Well … you have to understand that this is Xavier’s first ballet with us. He is looking for more depth and emotion, I suppose, for a role like this. He believes Natalia has your technical ability … but also dances with more passion and verve. It’s in her genes. She has more life experience to draw upon for the complex role of Manon.’

He rose from behind his desk and placed his hand on her shoulder, which she deftly shrugged off. He shook his head, not sure what to do next. He, like everyone else, had never encountered this side of Eloise. Up until now she had always addressed him with deference.

The more Lloyd tried to convince her of the wisdom of Xavier’s decision, the more blurred his words became to Eloise as his voice faded into the background of her mind.

‘Natalia has more grit … edge … emotional depth …

‘We know you are technically brilliant but your desire for perfection and control is inhibiting your performance …

‘Ballet has been your entire life for more than a decade … Perhaps you should take a break if you’re not content with being a soloist … explore something new for a while … get some perspective … At twenty-two there’s still time to find yourself, discover who you really are, what you truly want in life … I’d be more than happy to approve a leave of absence given how upset you are …’

I am a ballerina.

It’s who I am.

It’s all I ever want to be.

I am a ballerina.

This mantra was on replay in her head like an old-fashioned broken record as his monologue continued chipping away at her depleted ego.

‘There are so many bright, talented dancers currently rising through the ranks, and oh, the Russians, their skill, their grace, their exquisite beauty …’

Eloise imploded emotionally. Her deeply rooted feelings of never having truly belonged were allowed free rein to retranslate his words in her brain.

I am ugly!

I am imperfect!

I lack grace!

Ballet was all Eloise knew. Since before she could remember she had devoted every waking moment to becoming the perfect ballerina. Prima Ballerina! she screamed in her mind. Not Number Two, not Number Three. Number One! The Principal Ballerina of the Royal Ballet and she made it, only to have it abruptly snatched away because one man – Xavier Gemmel – preferred Russian dancers over her.

Her peers sometimes thought her myopic mindset was a little naive and unrealistic and they encouraged her to socialise more with them, live a little. She became determined to prove to them that dedication such as hers was what enabled success, and anything less would result in failure – and she had proved exactly that. Until now!

How could she face them now? What would they think? Would they agree with Sir Lloyd’s and Xavier’s decision to demote her, sniggering behind her back, thankful that they hadn’t been as invested as she? Of course they would! Long ago she had removed herself from the pettiness of their discussions to focus on perfecting her craft so she could turn it into majestic art. She was a child when she arrived and now it was as though the only family she had ever known were rejecting her – spitting her out of the only place she had ever belonged.

Her mind closed down, blocking out the last of Sir Lloyd’s words, and her body took over.

She was unaware of her own movements as she held her head high, refusing to cast her eyes back on the life she was heartbreakingly leaving behind. She gathered her few belongings as if on autopilot, not noticing any of the commotion around her as she reached the corridor. The voices pleading with her to stay, to calm down and talk to them might as well have been thousands of miles away, they were so muffled in her mind.

She gingerly placed her beloved music box in her bag, not daring to capture a glimpse of herself in the mirror, lest she embed the image of the broken failure she had become.

The doors slammed behind her as the London chill slapped her face, colouring her cheeks. It was cold enough for the tears her heart had been trying to keep at bay to freeze like crystals on her face.

Even as she maintained her outward composure, she could feel herself shattering further on the inside as each moment passed. She defensively wrapped her faux fur jacket around her body and hailed the first cab she saw, directing the driver to Russell Square to her empty, lonely apartment – desperate to distance herself as quickly as possible from the complete betrayal by those she had once trusted so completely.

The steaming hot shower did nothing to diminish the chill in her bones. What was she to do now? She was used to a life of travel, going to the most beautiful cities the world had to offer, dancing in theatres steeped in history. Admittedly, the busy, nomadic lifestyle sounded more luxurious than it was in reality, but it suited her perfectly. It provided her with her only opportunity to feel truly alive – when she was dancing centre stage.

Her life as a ballet dancer had given her a reason to wake up each morning and ensured she went to bed exhausted each night. It had protected, cherished and disciplined her. Now, she felt the enormity of how alone she truly was in the world. She had no one and belonged nowhere. She was left with nothing but a crushed heart and the vast nothingness of the wasted dreams of her youth.

In the depths of despair, she felt herself slip away from the world in the days that followed. Time was of no consequence, as she lay bereft in her minuscule apartment. There was no food in her fridge, nothing of substance in her barely used kitchen cupboard – not that she cared to eat anything. She could starve to death and not a single person in the world would be any the wiser about her now insignificant existence. She felt more alone than she had in her entire life.

The only thing that eventually managed to distract her from her desolation was the incessant ringing of the phone somewhere in the background of her clouded mind. When she finally went to answer it, she noticed a shiny pale gold envelope almost lost amidst the pile of scattered mail near the front door.

Both the envelope and the phone call had the potential to signify the end of her old life, and catapult her into an entirely unfathomable new world.




Tate


‘Caesar King requests the pleasure of your company for lunch at the Tate Modern,’ his personal assistant explained rather pompously to Eloise over the phone. When she opened the gold envelope, it contained a formal invitation along with the personal flurry of his distinctive signature.

Eloise had no idea what to expect when she dressed that morning. Her entire wardrobe consisted of the baggy trousers and sweat shirts she wore over her ballet clothes, some jeans and T-shirts for Sundays – her only day off each week – a denim jacket, her faux fur coat and a few evening dresses for when she changed after performances to meet visiting dignitaries.

Given she had no idea what the dress code would be, she was forced out of the house to quickly purchase a formal knee-length skirt and neat floral blouse from Zara, as well as a small attaché case. She loosely pulled her unruly hair into a braid, grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door, then set out for her mysterious meeting with the renowned billionaire.

After a short Tube ride Eloise arrived at the Tate Modern more than an hour before her scheduled meeting, hoping that wandering around the magnificent works of art would provide the necessary distraction to calm her rising apprehension. She would have given anything to have had something else on today, anything rather than meeting Caesar King at this famous art gallery on the Thames … But she didn’t have an excuse not to go, and what was worse was that he knew she didn’t.

Even beyond his connection with the Royal Ballet, she knew of the illustrious Caesar King. And everyone knew that when Caesar called, you answered. The only problem was that neither the phone call nor the gold-embossed invitation she had received had provided any clue as to why he would want to meet with her. Although it did manage to pique her interest enough to temporarily suspend her state of misery.

Deep down she secretly hoped Sir Lloyd had asked him to check up on her, maybe even offer her her position back, but she knew she was hoping against hope and that Natalia would be Principal for the foreseeable future. Unless she was prepared to play second fiddle – which she most certainly was not – her future with the Royal Ballet seemed doomed.

As the time of the meeting approached she was sorely tempted to run in the opposite direction. She hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone since her demise and was still in a precarious emotional state. But just as she was considering retreating back home, the great man himself appeared, saying farewell to his guests from his previous meeting. He cheerfully greeted a nervous Eloise, whose palms had suddenly broken into a warm sweat.

As far as she could remember, she had only briefly made Caesar’s acquaintance at one of the Royal Ballet’s gala performances where the senior dancers were required to socialise with benefactors and the Board of Trustees. His well-known Italian–American heritage contrasted with his upper-crust English accent, and he was better looking, fitter and more polished in real life than the way he was portrayed in the tabloids (which was usually with a drink in his hand). But more than anything it was his charisma that was evident from the moment he walked into the entrance hall. It took her by storm.

‘Thank you so much for meeting me, Eloise. After you.’ He gestured for her to precede him into the lift. ‘We’ll go up to the restaurant on the seventh floor.’

Although she had visited the gallery, Eloise had never dined on the seventh floor. The views of London over the Millennium Bridge were breathtaking as she settled into her plush seat in the private room. She was pleased she had worn a formal skirt and blouse rather than more casual attire, given that Caesar was dressed in a navy suit with his trademark cravat and handkerchief; today’s colour was cerise.

‘I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered lunch for us. Would you like a cocktail to start, or perhaps some champagne?’ He raised his eyebrows, awaiting her answer.

If Eloise had been nervous before, she was practically speechless now. Apparently a cup of tea wasn’t on the agenda, she thought anxiously, still unable to believe she was meeting with Caesar alone and still hadn’t so much as uttered a word.

‘I, ah, I’m not sure …’

‘We’ll start with two bellinis, I think, Max, and take it from there.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The waiter silently disappeared, closing the door behind him.

‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here,’ he began, his smile broadening.

‘The thought has crossed my mind, Mr King.’ Eloise was relieved when her first words came out more smoothly in reality than she’d imagined them in her mind.

‘Please, call me Caesar. I’ve no doubt it has. But before I get to that matter, let me just say how sorry I am that you’re not currently dancing with the Royal Ballet. You are such an extraordinary ballerina; it is definitely our loss.’

Eloise had been dreading discussing this, but had known it would be unavoidable given Caesar’s active involvement in the company.

‘Thank you,’ was all she said in reply.

‘So tell me, do you have any plans for your immediate future?’

It took Eloise a moment or two to answer. ‘To be honest, I haven’t given anything much thought since walking out. I realise I’ll need to soon …’

‘I know this is out of left field, but your future is the very subject I’d like to discuss over the course of this lunch. I have a proposal I want you to consider. But let’s get to know each other a little better first, shall we?’

Eloise agreed, still unsure where any of this was headed.

‘How about I start with a little bit about me?’

‘Sure, sounds good.’ Eloise was grateful he was taking charge, given her level of discomfort with the whole setting.

If there was one thing Caesar was great at – and loved – it was talking about himself until other people relaxed around him, and he didn’t mind how long it took. He was a patient man when it served him to be.

Eloise listened attentively, politely at first and then with fascination at the twists and turns his life had taken. Caesar’s passion for tennis and ballet was obvious, as his eyes lit up and his gestures became more animated whenever he mentioned these topics. Before long, Eloise was completely engaged, laughing at his stories and hanging on his every word. Looking down at her plate, she was surprised to see that she had already finished her lunch. Caesar filled up her glass for the second time with a crisp Pouilly-Fuissé, which she found delicious even though she rarely drank. It didn’t take her long to realise that it was far simpler to go with the flow of all things Caesar, and he was never slow in taking the lead in the conversation – which suited her no end.

‘So, tell me about yourself now that I’ve disclosed most of my life to you.’

‘Mine isn’t nearly as interesting. Up until recently it was pretty much ballet, ballet, ballet … Now I don’t know what it is.’ She forced herself to swallow the tears these words evoked.

‘Tell me more, I’m all ears.’

As stoically as she could, Eloise described her childhood of foster care and her thrill of being accepted at age twelve to study ballet at White Lodge, home of the Royal Ballet School: something that had changed her life. It was the first time she had verbalised her bitter disappointment about Manon, and once she’d started she couldn’t stop.

Caesar observed her as she disclosed the bare bones of her life story, knowing they were nothing more than scraps. He already had a file compiled on her life, so didn’t press for the details she avoided, and which he already knew. He merely took notice of what she left out and her mannerisms as she spoke, which fascinated him.

The poor child had nothing in her life other than ballet. There were times when she was fighting back her tears and he felt like holding her hand to help her through the pain, but he quickly checked himself. He was depending on her feeling completely abandoned and the plan he had developed hinged entirely on that premise.

‘Do you plan to return to the Royal Ballet, Eloise?

She shook her head solemnly, knowing that words might break her.

‘But you said yourself, you were given the role of Soloist. It’s not as if you were sacked.’

‘I will not return as Soloist.’ Eloise spoke quietly but firmly, and felt anger and disappointment cascading over her crushed heart all over again. She made an effort to rein in her tumultuous emotions; the last thing she wanted was for Caesar to see her like this, though she feared it was already too late.

‘So what are you going to do? You must have some idea. You’re too gifted to simply walk away. Perhaps you just need some more time to think things through.’

‘Dancing is all I have, Caesar. My pride won’t let me go back – not after the argument I had with Sir Lloyd. It was made very clear to me that the Russians are the next big thing to hit the ballet world and that being “home grown” is now seen as second-rate.’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, but I understand what you’re saying. As you know, our new choreographer, the world-renowned Xavier Gemmel, is on a two-year contract and has the full support of the Board. I’m afraid he has scope to bring in more dancers from Russia, which doesn’t help your situation either.’

Caesar watched as Eloise shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, confirming the truth of his words. He often found that succinctly stating the reality of a situation, although difficult for people to hear at the time, had a profound impact on their decisions. It was a strategy he often used to his advantage.

‘Maybe I should apply to another company overseas … I’m not sure. I’m not skilled in anything else. And I can’t imagine a day without dance in my life.’

‘You could apply overseas, but you would need the Board’s approval to do so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m assuming you’ve read your contract, Eloise …’

‘My contract with the Royal Ballet?’

‘It states clearly that you do not have the right to accept a position at another ballet company without the Board’s approval. From what I can ascertain from the other trustees, they’re looking forward to having you back – albeit as Soloist. In the meantime, I believe Lloyd has approved an extended leave of absence, and you should receive a letter shortly.’

‘If Xavier doesn’t believe I am good enough to be Principal, I can’t return under his leadership. I worked hard to be in that position, but to pretend I can return when Natalia has been promoted to my role is impossible. Xavier is well known in the industry for his nepotism and I’m sure it will only get worse during his tenure.’

‘Unfortunately I can’t disagree with you there. This issue was discussed at length before he was appointed. We all knew what we were getting into. So let me ask you this: if you aren’t returning to the Royal Ballet under the current conditions and you are unable to dance elsewhere, what exactly are you going to do, pray tell?’

Caesar couldn’t deny that right now he felt like the cat circling the canary whose cage door was open – she was such a delicate little bird – but he’d learnt from experience that it was far more effective to let people work through their feelings. At least then they believed they were making their own decision rather than being masterfully manipulated towards his end game, as was usually the case.

Eloise felt as desolate as she had the day she walked out of the ballet on hearing Caesar’s words. Her current situation was almost too much for her to bear.

‘I just want to dance,’ she replied at last. ‘I do think I need some distance from the Royal Ballet, but I have no idea how to go about it.’

That was the cue Caesar had been waiting for, and if truth be told, he’d had enough theatrics for one day. So he wasted no time in cutting to the chase.

‘Then I’m hoping that’s where I may be able to help. I would like to make you an offer and I’m hoping you’ll consider it very seriously. It is something I have put much thought into and I hope it is of equal advantage to both of us. It will guarantee your financial independence – but I won’t lie to you: nothing in this life comes without a price.’

He took a moment to open his Italian leather briefcase, removed a manila envelope with her name on it and slid it across the table towards her.

‘Essentially it means that you would contract yourself to me for the next two years.’

If Eloise had been desolate a moment ago, she was in shock now.

‘What?’ She stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you are financially vulnerable, and you are a magnificent dancer whose skills should be allowed to develop – even if away from structured ballet. You are a beautiful young woman whose life has barely begun – even though you think it is over. I am in a position to provide you with a lifestyle that surpasses what you had with the ballet and surrounds you with athletes who are the top of their field. But I need your personal commitment for two years. After that, Xavier’s term with the Royal Ballet will be complete, you will have just turned twenty-four, with more life experience than you’ve ever imagined and, well, let’s just say who knows what your future may hold?’

He looked directly into her enormous, dewy eyes, giving her time for his words to sink in.

‘I don’t know what to say …’ Eloise wondered whether she was trapped in a warped dream or perhaps it was a nightmare; she couldn’t decide which.

‘I completely understand this may come as a surprise, so let me explain my proposal, the specific details of which are inside that envelope.’

Eloise’s dessert – once again, pre-ordered by Caesar – arrived just as he was relating his discussion with Ivan Borisov. Eloise had vaguely heard of Ivan on the sports news, but was far more impressed that his mother was the famous ballerina Anna Alexandrava.

‘Ivan is Number One in the tennis world, and for the moment, it’s not in my interests to see him lose that coveted position. He believes that having you dance for him before every match would bring back his motivation and passion for the game. It may or it may not; only time will tell. I know that you are feeling dejected about losing your own role as Principal, but I’m hoping I can make you an offer too good to refuse. I’m calling it my “Number One Strategy”. Although I’d oversee the arrangement, to cover all expenses and ensure that the conditions of the contract were being met, you would become accountable to the top-ranked male tennis player. You would travel with him around the world and essentially he would become your new “Master” – to use a term familiar to you. It would be up to both of you to agree on the terms of your relationship.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any questions so far?’

‘My new Master?’ She couldn’t remotely fathom why this piqued her interest.

‘In my opinion, the most successful tennis players tend to be dominant and controlling – the game demands these characteristics of its champions. Just as you, to the best of my knowledge, are submissive by nature, which drives your perfection in ballet. Professional ballet dancers must adhere to the rules of the dance and depend on certain boundaries. By all reports, you perform at your best under the strict demands of your masters and mistresses.’

There was no doubting Caesar had certainly done his research thoroughly as he paused to watch all the colour drain from Eloise’s face, when just moments ago it had been flushed. He smiled as he continued, congratulating himself again on his choice. She was even more perfect for the role than she had appeared on paper, and so very easy to read – an open book in every sense.

‘It will be up to both of you to negotiate the parameters of your relationship. This will be an important discussion, as your respective lawyers would then draw up the terms of your agreement, which of course I would require you to uphold.’

‘And by parameters you mean what exactly?’

‘The rules that define and determine your relationship.’

‘So I would negotiate this with Ivan?’

‘You would negotiate this with whoever was Number One, as per the ATP’s – the Association of Tennis Professionals – rankings. Currently this is Ivan, and he is very keen for you to be his private ballerina.’

‘Oh, I see. So the contract would be with you for two years but my agreement would be negotiated separately with each Number One during that timeframe?’

‘Exactly.’ Caesar was pleased she seemed to be catching on.

‘And would my relationship with the Number One ever be more than dancing?’

She had to ask; it needed to be clarified.

‘That would be entirely up to you, but you should be prepared for the possibility. It is certainly not my aim to place you in a situation that isn’t consensual. That is why the agreement between you is such an important step in the process. Of course I can’t speak for each Number One; it would be for them to negotiate the boundaries with you. Only then would the specifics form part of the contract.’

‘And how do you know they would even agree to such a proposal?’

‘I manage the top six male players in the world. I know their lives inside out, more than their nearest and dearest ever will. If Ivan doesn’t maintain that position, one of the other five will be Number One. I have included a brief dossier on each of them for you to review before making your decision. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.’

He smiled, almost like the cat that had already swallowed the canary.

‘But how do you know that they would even want me in their lives?’

‘Believe me, Eloise, I know every one of these men would welcome you into their life in whatever shape the relationship takes. As you know better than anyone, being at the top is lonely and isolating. To have someone who doesn’t judge them and understands the pressure of their lives, the need to perform on cue over and over, would be invaluable. It became abundantly obvious to me after my discussion with Ivan. If these elite athletes don’t have a partner one hundred per cent dedicated to their career, it’s only a matter of time before the stress cracks show and their relationship fails, often affecting every part of their life. I see it time and again. Should you come into their lives, understanding what drives them to be Number One, as you know first-hand, supporting them to achieve, with no strings attached … do you think they’ll knock all that back? You’d be a dream come true!’

The entire situation was too much for Eloise to take in.

‘I know it’s a lot to absorb, and probably the last thing you were expecting from our meeting today. So I’d really appreciate it if you could read through the information when you go home, consider what I’ve offered and let me know within the next two days if you are remotely interested. I’d be more than comfortable if you feel you need to experience the lifestyle I’m proposing before committing to anything. If you decide to proceed, the contract between us will be legally binding for the next eight grand slams; there are four a year. You’d start with the French Open in May, then Wimbledon, followed by the US Open, and finally the Australian in January.

‘It’s a big decision, which I encourage you to consider seriously. And I need to be clear: should you proceed, your life for the next two years will not be your own.’ His eyes became lethal for a flicker of a second, right before his tone lightened. ‘If you have any more questions whatsoever, just call my direct line.’ He handed her his business card.

‘Unfortunately, my next meeting is across town and I need to get going. As I said earlier, Eloise, I hope you will consider my offer seriously over the next day or two. I’ve really enjoyed our time together today and hope we can continue getting to know each other in the near future.’

He stood up, so Eloise followed his lead, and he shook her hand again. Instead of having warm, sweaty palms, now all blood had drained from her fingers, leaving them stone-cold.

‘Please feel free to stay here longer if you wish to.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’

As he reached the door, he stopped and turned back to face her. ‘Don’t look so scared, Eloise; life is meant to be an adventure. I hope I’ve just added to yours.’

‘Thank you, Caesar. For lunch, for the chat, for everything.’ As she said the words she realised her life now had options she hadn’t even imagined a few hours ago. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘Good. I’m counting on it!’

On that note, Caesar exited the room, leaving a befuddled Eloise standing in his wake.




Pub


Eloise found a pub just around the corner from the Tate Modern and made the spontaneous decision to pop in: something entirely out of character for her. She needed to calm her nerves and reflect on the puzzling meeting she had just left, and she wasn’t ready to go back and sit in her tiny apartment by herself just yet. Though she tried to seem like she belonged in this environment, she looked quite out of place sitting at the bar, and the pint she was hiding behind could not conceal her incongruous elegance and grace.

She told herself that everything in her life was still as miserable as it had been an hour ago, but knew deep down this just wasn’t the case. In fact, her life had just become far more intriguing than it had ever been – not that she would openly admit that to herself.

She sat in a daze a million miles away, not quite believing what had just happened to her. She was trying to assimilate the bizarre proposition sitting inside the manila envelope he had given her, when her reverie was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice next to her.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

She looked up into the eyes of a young guy with a mass of brown, shoulder-length, curly hair, a caramel tan and an adorable smile that exposed perfect white teeth and a dimple on each cheek.

‘I’m sure you’d rather not know,’ Eloise responded flatly, unaccustomed to being spoken to by strange men in public, and preferring not to be disturbed.

‘Try me, I’m a good listener. May I?’

Eloise couldn’t disguise her shock as he slid his seat closer to hers and ordered a pint from the bar.

‘What …? Well … I suppose … why not?’

‘Thanks! I’m Liam by the way.’

He extended his hand, and rather than averting her eyes and not responding as would be her usual practice, she couldn’t help but smile. His casual friendliness was somewhat contagious. She looked into his honey-coloured eyes and was surprised to see nothing but kindness.

‘I’m Eloise. Are you usually like this?’

‘I suppose it depends on what you think I’m usually like.’

‘I suppose it does!’ She laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard escape from her mouth for quite some time. It was an unusual sensation. ‘I mean, do you usually just sidle up to people you don’t know and sit down for a chat?’ Eloise knew she had never acquired the social confidence for such outgoing behaviour.

‘Why not? Life’s short,’ he answered simply, before looking at her a little more thoughtfully, noticing her bright aquamarine eyes and long auburn locks, pulled neatly away from her face and secured in a long plait that rested on her shoulder.

‘I was just about to leave when you caught my eye. You look a little lost and very alone – and stunning!’ She immediately blushed at his directness. ‘If we can’t reach out to each other as human beings, then what’s the point in being alive?’

She was taken aback, both by his outspoken words and by the kind-heartedness they portrayed.

‘How do I know you’re not Jack the Ripper?’

‘To the best of my knowledge Jack the Ripper lived about a hundred years ago, although …’ He paused, pretending to consider … ‘I suppose I could be a distant relative.’ He took a sip of his beer, taking time to lick the foam from his upper lip. ‘But I don’t think I have his genes, because I’m one hundred per cent against violence – it goes against my Zen nature – and besides, there are many other things I would prefer to do with a woman, I can assure you, particularly one as beautiful as you.’ His cheeky, light-hearted grin returned, along with his dimples.

Eloise caught herself returning the smile. Something about him drew her in, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin, and she shifted in her seat to deflect his searching gaze. In the past, it had only ever been dance that had stirred such arousal in her, but her immediate attraction to him was undeniable. He was gorgeous!

Even though his intentions could be taken as sexual, she felt surprisingly comfortable in his presence and found herself easing into conversation with this flirtatious stranger. The freedom of anonymity was taking her mind off the massive decision she had to make within the next two days.

‘So, as I said before: penny for your thoughts?’

‘Oh, it’s just too complicated and surreal for me to even begin to explain – and anyway, I should really get going. I have a lot I need to work out.’

She stood up from the bar, not really wanting to leave but feeling like she could now face going home to start thinking through Caesar’s offer. She could hardly have explained the details of his proposal to a complete stranger, nor even to someone she knew well. So she carefully placed the envelope back in her attaché case.

‘You’re not finishing your beer?’

‘I don’t really drink beer – and I don’t usually go to pubs either. I just ordered it to fit in.’ She smiled sheepishly.

‘Right.’ He placed some money on the bar and stood up with her. ‘Are you walking across the Millennium Bridge?’

She nodded.

‘Mind if I join you?’

‘You’re persistent, aren’t you?’

‘When I like something I see, absolutely.’

The more Eloise looked at Liam, the cuter he became – like a delicious milky chocolate bar, without the fat content. She gathered up her jacket and attaché case and pondered: What harm could it do? She hadn’t felt anything like this for a long time, if ever.

‘All right, then, why not?’

They both reached for the door handle at the same time, their fingers colliding. He stood firm, holding the door until she’d gone out before him. She noticed he was over six feet tall, and more athletic and muscled than she’d realised when they’d been seated.

‘You look like you’re dressed for a job interview.’ He slipped into an easy stride next to her, even though she was much smaller and wearing heals that slowed her pace.

‘I suppose, in hindsight, I could say yes to that.’ She shook her head at the thought, wondering if she should consider Caesar’s offer that way. She had never had a real job before.

‘But you’re having trouble deciding what to do? Can’t be that hard, can it? All of life is an opportunity. Have you talked it over with friends, family?’

‘No, not really …’

She reflected on this. Outside the ballet, she didn’t have anyone to confide in or to ask for advice, nor had she ever needed to – her only goal had been to become Principal Ballerina of the Royal Ballet, and everything she’d required to achieve that goal had fallen into place. All she’d ever needed was discipline, dedication, physical and mental stamina and to follow the instructions she was given. That was her entire world: to lose her mind to her body in dance. Her acknowledgment of this reality was disturbing, and suddenly she felt like a very young, inexperienced twenty-two year old who had been thrust into the harsh reality of an unknown world, in which dance played no part.

‘It’s just that I’m not sure if this is a risk I’m willing to take.’

‘Ah, I see. But does the job involve doing something you enjoy?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose it does. Just in a different way from what I’m used to.’

‘Then how much of a risk can it be? Everything in life is a risk waiting to be turned into an opportunity. Change can be great for us, it can challenge us in unexpected ways. Tell me, what are the upsides of this new role?’

They walked across the steel footbridge and over the Thames as they continued their conversation.

‘Dance, travel, lifestyle, security, diversity …’

‘Does it pay well?’

‘It would probably set me up for life.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘That’s the problem: I think it’s almost too much, that maybe I’m missing something … and it would mean giving up my ultimate dream of performing on stage for a while.’

‘There are many roads to achieving your dreams; I reckon the key is to choose the path that is flowing freely right now and be open to adapting as needed. All you can commit to is to be the best you can be, right now.’

‘Are you always so positive?’ His sunny attitude was infectious and she couldn’t help but let some of it rub off on her.

‘Trust me, it’s the easiest way to live life. It helps smooth out all the bumps so you can sit back and enjoy the ride.’

‘Sounds like you’ve had some experience at this.’

He nodded, still smiling at her.

‘And if it doesn’t smooth out the bumps?’ she asked, suddenly tentative.

He stopped as they came to a crossroads and turned to look into her eyes. ‘Then let me know. I’ll come and save you.’

His thumb gently caressed her chin, causing her lips to part ever so slightly. The intimacy of his touch astounded her, caught her breath. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it – his gorgeous face staring down at her momentarily clouding her mind.

‘I don’t even know you; all we’ve done is talk about me.’

‘And I’ve enjoyed that very much … but unfortunately I’m going to have to dash. I fly to the US tonight.’

‘Oh! OK, well have a safe flight.’ Disappointment washed over her as the special moment they’d shared evaporated. ‘Liam?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thanks for the chat to a confused stranger.’ As she smiled her face lit up, before the concern crept in once again.

‘The pleasure has been all mine.’ He smiled back. ‘Best of luck with your decision.’

‘Well, thanks.’ She was flummoxed by him. ‘And best of luck with the rest of your life.’

‘That’s the attitude, Elle!’ he said with a wink and a smile. No one had ever called her that before. ‘Until we meet again …’

He said it as if he were certain they would, deftly placing a European-style kiss on each of her flushed cheeks.

Their eyes met briefly before he winked, turned away and jogged off into the swell of London’s human tide, promptly disappearing from her life.




Decision


That night, Eloise couldn’t shift the unusual events of the day from her mind. Meeting with Caesar and his bizarre proposal. Her fortuitous albeit brief encounter with Liam. It was as though she had been cast out into the real world for the first time. Her tiny apartment didn’t feel quite so lonely and she was surprised that her appetite was back; even after the lunch at the Tate Modern, she was ravenous.

With that thought, she ordered some home delivery of tom yum soup and honey-steamed fish with Asian greens and completely tidied her messy apartment while awaiting the food’s arrival, something she hadn’t done for weeks while she’d been wallowing in misery.

With food in her stomach, and feeling more emotionally stable than she had for some time, she settled herself onto her bed to read the contents of the offer in detail.

Eight grand slams.

Two years. She could do that. If she was lucky the Russian dominance of ballet would have dissipated by then …

All accommodation and expenses included.

No problems with that, and she could save on London rent.

A three-bedroom apartment in Belgravia, fully transferred into your name at the completion of the contract.

That was really quite unbelievable. After her childhood in foster care, she had never imagined such luxury could be hers without the safety net of ballet. Actually, she hadn’t believed she would ever own her own place in London, so this was simply incredible. But as she’d said to Liam, what was the catch? She wondered …

An annual payment of £100,000, indexed to inflation for twenty years.

This sounded obscene! Only the best of the best dancers in the world could ever hope to aspire to such a salary, and that would be with endorsements. She wondered whether Caesar had more money than sense.

These two years would give her complete independence.

To realise her dream.

To follow her passion.

To dance!

On her terms …

For the rest of her life!

This was the reason she must seriously consider this outrageous offer – even if it was risky …

She suspected that Caesar had more information than he acknowledged about her career and life, and that she had played nicely into his hands. He seemed authentic enough on the surface, but she also sensed – as, she suspected, did many others – an underlying danger that meant the idea of signing a contract with Caesar should never be taken lightly. His influence in Great Britain, at least, was a sticky web entrenched both wide and deep in the business community and beyond. She had no doubt that he was adept at perfecting any number of masks during negotiations, to gain the outcome he desired.

But what did it matter when his offer was so generous? It would more than provide her with a cushioned transition from the secluded world of ballet into the upper echelons of society’s elite – so long as she remained locked in his genie bottle for two complete years, to be set free just after her twenty-fourth birthday.

She couldn’t deny the feeling that there was also something about his proposal that made her feel special, essentially ‘chosen’ above all others. Although she didn’t understand why Caesar wanted her and only her, there was something about being specifically sought after and needed that soothed her dented soul. More significantly, she would belong somewhere – however temporarily – and she needed that more than anything right now, while she felt like she was in freefall.

Eloise had a restless night tossing and turning, imagining the direction her life might take should she accept Caesar’s offer. Liam’s words continued to penetrate her dreams, intertwined with Caesar’s convincing monologue.

The most crystallising of these dreams occurred just before dawn.

The Répétiteur was casting his eagle eyes onstage as Eloise performed her first solo during the final dress rehearsal of Swan Lake. As she commenced her pirouettes, she felt like she could fly; the flow of the music had taken over her body and she was free from all anxiety as she continued en pointe. Around and around her body swirled, her eyes fixated on the small light she used to anchor her spins. Her execution was flawless.

This was why she danced; when she became the dance she was free from the world. Free from pain and hurt and abandonment, intrinsically connected to the music. Knowing that at last she belonged. Her body was awash with acceptance and love. She was, at long last, at peace with herself.

So absorbed was she in these feelings, feelings she had been searching for her entire life, that she hadn’t noticed that the ballet had spontaneously changed from Swan Lake to Manon and she was suddenly being torn between the wealthy Monsieur G.M. and her lover Des Grieux. She had forgotten the moves as her body was pulled and pushed by the two men fighting over her. She didn’t understand the dance, because this wasn’t the ballet she had rehearsed over and over for so many years. This dance was different and she had no way of predicting what would come next. She felt as if she were being torn in half by these characters, a pawn in their play. Her arms were stretched painfully in opposite directions as she oscillated between both men, the suddenly violent music tensing her movements as she was thrust into the air by the four strong hands controlling her body.

Time was momentarily frozen, allowing her to perfect her position mid-flight – her legs stretched into a grand jeté with her arms held beautifully in fifth position. Her training kept her mouth closed, as though no physical exertion were required to perform this move. Suddenly the music became ominous as she began her descent. Floating downwards in slow motion, which gave her time to glance towards the floor, she discovered to her horror that no one was there to catch her fall; she was once again alone onstage. She desperately flapped her swan-like wings, before crashing violently onto the floor, her body shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

The Répétiteur’s voice bellowed from the back of the auditorium. ‘Get someone from maintenance to clean up this mess and find me the understudy, now! Everyone prepare for the next act.’ And clapped his hands loudly.

Eloise watched from afar as the pieces of her broken body were efficiently swept up and discarded in the commercial waste bin in the back alley.

She woke in a panic, her sheets soaked in perspiration. The dream had been as foreboding as it had been nightmarish – and it had rocked her to the core.

She instantly knew she needed to distance herself from the ballet. Taking time for her decision to settle in her bones, she went for a brisk early morning walk before having a shower and eating a light breakfast. Content that her mind was made up, she collected herself and made two phone calls. One was to set up a meeting with a lawyer – Caesar had provided a comprehensive list – and the other was to Caesar himself. It went straight through to voicemail, so she left a message, verbally accepting his offer prior to written consent.

Her life would not be her own for the next two years – but she was forced to acknowledge that it never really had been.




Memories


With a week to prepare for her new life, Eloise gave notice on her studio apartment, accepted the unconditional leave of absence offered to her by the Royal Ballet by post – as she still couldn’t bring herself to walk through the doors – and packed up her entire life into a suitcase and two storage boxes. It was a weird sensation seeing all of her belongings crammed into such a small, neat space.

It was almost ten years to the day since Eloise had packed up her life as a child in Australia and moved to London. She’d been both nervous and excited back then, and now she was doing the same thing, but on Caesar’s terms. Other than becoming a ballerina, nothing much had changed; she still felt alone, and detached from the world.

As she had many times during her young life, she desperately wished she had someone close to confide in, to share the decision she was making, which would no doubt have a momentous impact on the course of her life. For a brief moment, she allowed her heart to yearn for the mother and father she never had, for the sense of belonging they might have provided, and which she’d never experienced. She opened the lid of her music box, and listened to the familiar melody as the memories of her past played in her mind …

There had barely been a night when the box hadn’t been by her bedside, inspiring her to continued greatness as a dancer, and reminding her of the only times when she felt free from the heaviness of her narrow life. Her music box was the only possession that had been with her since she was a baby, and it anchored her to the world. She had treasured it as she went from one foster home to another – until the day she discovered ballet.

From that point on, Eloise had focused on dancing above all else in her life; it was the only love she knew. Her dedication had finally been repaid when she was offered a place at the prestigious White Lodge, on the outskirts of London. The scholarship she was awarded gave her a real chance to pursue her dream of becoming a principal ballerina. She remembered walking up the grandiose stairs of the beautiful Georgian house in Richmond Park, at the tender age of twelve, and determinedly heading through the large glass doors, leaving her loveless childhood behind her and throwing herself into dance and academic training as a full-time boarder.

Since then, up until a few weeks ago, her life as a ballerina had followed a perfect trajectory. But now everything had changed. She knew she had to be strong; it was time to grow up and face the real world. It was the only way, for there was no one else to cushion her fall.

She remembered all the times she had gone to sleep listening to her music box as she watched the tiny, spinning ballerina with tears in her eyes. Reluctantly, she closed the lid, trapping the tiny dancer in darkness for the foreseeable future. For the first time ever, she was leaving the box behind, breaking the bonds of her past and starting life anew. As she packaged it up carefully, she couldn’t bring herself to place it in storage, so she decided to send it to Caesar with a brief note asking him to look after her most precious possession, hoping it might help make their connection to each other a little more personal than a business deal.

She reflected that she herself was just like the tiny ballerina, giving Caesar custody of her life for the next two years. She would reopen the box at the end of those two years, as her life began a new chapter – whatever that might be. The symbol of her past would be the bridge to her future.

Discipline had ensured that she overcame the feelings of grief that had threatened her over the years, and it would do the same today. She took three deep breaths, and forced herself to control her emotions. Finally she was brave enough to close the book on her childhood and embark on her journey into adulthood – or at least, the journey she had allowed Caesar to map out for her.

The black Mercedes was waiting for her on the kerb as she left her apartment for the last time. Without looking back, she politely acknowledged the chauffeur and stepped into the car that would transport her to Heathrow and thrust her into her new world. The practice run in her contract became effective from the moment the car door slammed shut.




Cognac


The past few months had provided Caesar with the perfect opportunity to implement his Number One Strategy. Sir Lloyd’s idea of appointing Xavier Gemmel, the exciting new choreographer, and allowing him to bring three ballet dancers with him – one of them being the widely acclaimed Russian Natalia Karsavina – was a random stroke of luck that played right into Caesar’s hands. Caesar had used his considerable powers to persuade the other Board members to endorse the proposal, then it had only taken a few phone calls to indirectly threaten the withdrawal of funding should Natalia not be offered the role of Principal in Manon. After all, it made sound artistic sense, given that Xavier and Natalia had worked together many times before. It would be far less risky for the Royal Ballet and provide for a smoother transition into the new season. Of course, Sir Lloyd and the Board concurred. The entire operation had been seamless and had taken very little effort to coordinate. Time well spent, from Caesar’s point of view.

The fact that Eloise had stormed out of the ballet, emotionally distraught after not having been given the role of Manon, had been no surprise to him whatsoever. After all, he had done his research on her life – or at least his people had – and it had become abundantly clear that she was an anchorless ship, cast into the vastness of the ocean with no land in sight. Presenting his offer had been like fishing with a scoop in a goldfish bowl. Some might have thought such a plan heartless and cruel, and perhaps it was, but after all, you don’t become rich in this world by caring about other people’s feelings.

As Caesar gazed at the music box that had just been delivered to his office, he wondered what the future might hold for Eloise – a young lady with such focus, yet so dependent on the approval of others. He did honestly hope she managed to find more meaning in her life over two years of being thrown into the volatile, competitive world of men’s tennis, where there was much to gain and everything to lose. But then again, he could almost say the same of himself, which was why he had the tiniest soft spot for the loneliness that pervaded her life. If he hadn’t had his father as such a strong presence, he could see his life might have turned out exactly like that of Eloise Lawrance.

Suddenly he hoped that she might find an anchor, a partner to love – something that he had never managed to secure. He had tried once, failed and been left heartbroken, and he never wanted to experience such pain again.

But if her affections didn’t align with his overall strategy, well, naturally there would be consequences. Her life was now in his hands, and as long as she played by his rules all would be well. He hadn’t achieved such success by being weaker than his opponents, and anyone who was contracted to him was on a tight leash until they proved they were worthy of his trust, particularly when the stakes were so high. The amount of money he had riding on this strategy was obscene, but it needed to be to make him feel personally vested and inherently alive. For other than the thrill of winning, not too much did these days!

Power and information were the only vices he allowed himself. He’d seen too many men destroy their lives and their fortunes because of their lack of control over their weaknesses – sex, booze, gambling or drugs. He enjoyed all of these, but only on his terms and only ever in moderation.

Reflecting on this, Caesar poured a modest portion of cognac into a crystal balloon and took a rare quiet moment to reflect on how the seeds of an idea had blossomed into this reality. He had shuffled all the cards, dealt his best hand and would now wait patiently to reap the rewards.




THE GRAND SLAMS (#ulink_487c40a2-c914-5aae-a3be-2e0194d56253)

Round One (#ulink_487c40a2-c914-5aae-a3be-2e0194d56253)

A Peak Performance Creed


If you think you are beaten, you are;

If you think you dare not, you don’t;

If you like to win but think you can’t, it’s almost a cinch you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost;

For out in the world we find success begins with a person’s will;

It’s all in the mind.

Life’s battles don’t always go to the stronger or the faster hand;

But sooner or later the person who wins is the one who thinks, I can.








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FRENCH OPEN I (#ulink_c4b7b38d-948d-5366-bb96-9ffb95c0b499)

May–June (#ulink_c4b7b38d-948d-5366-bb96-9ffb95c0b499)

Change


Eloise was nonplussed to discover that one of Caesar’s staff would accompany her on her first-class flight to meet Ivan in St Petersburg. Her thoughts oscillated between wondering whether Caesar thought she might flee and not fulfil the legal requirements of the contract, and speculating that he now considered her such precious cargo she required one of his keepers to guard her.

It was only when the plane arrived on schedule at Pulkovo Airport that she began to grow curious about what might happen next in her now unpredictable life. She was both excited and nervous about what the future might hold. Other than being aware of Ivan’s passion for ballet, she really had no idea what he was like as a person. She couldn’t help but ponder whether he was experiencing the same apprehension about her arrival. The only certainty she had was to expect the unexpected as her life unfolded over the coming days, weeks and months.

She watched her suitcase, containing everything she needed for the foreseeable future, being loaded into the car. When the boot slammed shut with a loud thud, she couldn’t help but think her fate was being sealed in with it. She was pleased Caesar’s people had organised a luxury limousine to collect her rather than the coach that had last taken her through the streets of this majestic city. She had loved performing here, and hoped this time she might have more opportunity to explore its rich history than the ballet tour had allowed.

Caesar had assured Eloise it wasn’t important for her to know much about tennis, which was a relief, because she didn’t. She had only ever been vaguely aware of the players in the finals of Wimbledon, mainly because she lived in London. What she did know was that from today she would be Ivan’s private ballerina. In return, he would be her new Master, for want of a better word, and most importantly, her first Number One.

Any confidence she had had leaving London suddenly evaporated when she alighted from the limousine. She composed herself as best she could before stepping through the doors of Ivan’s vast apartment, overlooking the River Neva.

Ivan’s maid showed her to her room and she settled in quietly, awaiting further instructions. Eventually she was called to join him for some tea in the lounge room.

Ivan was dressed entirely in black and seemed polished and urbane as he greeted Eloise with a respectful nod, barely brushing her hand with his lips. He was not an ugly man, though his nose was a little too big for his face and his eyes a little too close together. At just under five foot eleven, he was by no means the tallest player on the circuit but he was as lean and athletic as any top sportsman. Eloise wondered where he hid the killer instinct required to win match after match, when there was no such aggression to be found in his personality off court. He appeared to be rather shy by nature, and the perfect gentleman.

Their discussion about her role in his life was simple and succinct. ‘Caesar has sent through your details, Eloise,’ he told her in his heavy Russian accent. ‘I’m so pleased you decided to accept his offer to dance for me.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She expected him to continue but he gazed idly out the window. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could outline your expectations of my role.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. It’s simple, really. You will dance for me before each match I play. I’m not sure how long each performance will last; it will depend on the day. I’ll be playing in quite a few tournaments leading up to the French Open and you will travel with my team. The schedule is on the table. Other than before my matches, your time is your own unless I let you know otherwise.’

‘Nothing else? Only dancing?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ He turned to look at her as if he were missing something. ‘I’m sure Caesar explained it to you. I’ve also informed my mother of your arrival and she is hoping you might dance some scenes from her favourite ballet, Cinderella. We’d both like to watch.’

‘Yes, of course, sir!’ she said with genuine excitement. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

‘Excellent. The maid has prepared lunch for you in the kitchen. I’ll see you at 4pm in the studio.’

He then promptly left the room to go about his own business.

Eloise had had no idea of what to expect on her arrival, but even so it all seemed rather formal and distant. She wondered whether she had managed to do something to upset Ivan – though she couldn’t imagine what in such a short space of time – or whether it was just his personality. Perhaps this would change as they got to know each other. She did her best to swallow her disappointment – if that was what it was – knowing that her job wasn’t to question, it was to adapt to his needs. If this was how he preferred it – minimal interaction at best – then she would fulfil his wishes graciously.

That afternoon was the first time she danced for Ivan and his mother, Anna. It would be the first of many times, and they whispered in Russian as they watched her perform with enthusiasm. Occasionally Ivan asked her to stop and repeat certain elements of her scene, after which his mother would applaud and blow kisses towards her in appreciation, saying ‘Beautiful’ or ‘Perfect’, which Ivan translated from Russian to English for her. At times Eloise and Anna danced together, and it was then that Eloise enjoyed seeing Ivan’s smile light up his face, making him look friendly and relaxed, in place of his usual austere disposition. It was obvious that he adored his mother and she appeared thrilled to have Eloise as an addition to their daily lives.

From the outset Ivan showed no real interest in Eloise other than her dancing. Eloise learnt that his preference was to keep communication between them to a bare minimum. His manager generally left notes informing her when and where she was needed to perform for him. The rest of the time, as he had said, she was free to do as she wished. So Eloise revelled in her lengthy explorations of the beautiful palaces, museums and cathedrals and majestic gardens of St Petersburg. There was no shortage of attractions in a city with such a rich heritage.

The only event Ivan and Eloise attended together publicly was a surprise trip to the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow to see Don Quixote. Eloise forced the memory of Natalia’s face from her mind, knowing this was where Natalia had trained, though she couldn’t deny that she was on high alert, critiquing the performances and keen to absorb improvements that could be made to her own repertoire.

It was the first evening that she and Ivan had spoken at length; Ivan was attentive to Eloise’s observations about how she felt as a member of the audience rather than as a dancer onstage. The next evening he had her perform for more than three hours in his studio as he wandered around the room, his eyes silently studying the intricacy of her movements at close range. At the end of her exhausting routine he smiled and clapped his hands, declaring, ‘Bravo! Simply exquisite!’

Then he promptly left the room. As was often the case.

Eloise often hoped her relationship with Ivan would become a tad more communicative than it was, but she adored the meticulous way he studied her body when she danced for him. Even though she was alone more often than not, as long as he needed her to dance for him, she was content to fulfil her role.

Eloise knew her contract ensured that she was Ivan’s responsibility, and this at least gave her comfort that she belonged somewhere. In many respects it was no different from her previous life – she was still paid to dance, she maintained her former nomadic lifestyle – but at the same time, she was no longer competing in the stressful world of ballet, the hotels were five star, her travel first class (if not private jet) and her expense account indulgent, even if she never took advantage of it and always asked for permission to spend regardless (for instance, to purchase clothes more suited to her new lifestyle). Having her needs completely catered for and her whole life organised on her behalf was more than satisfactory.

Yet what she hadn’t realised was how accustomed she had become to interacting with a bevy of virile male ballet dancers. She might not have had many sexual relationships, but she desperately missed the physicality of men and the feeling of their muscled limbs against her own, their hands sliding along her taut curves and over her legs, neck and face. Their sheer strength in lifting her petite form into the air as though she were a feather, and effortlessly catching her as she fell. The physicality of dance was the part that made her feel connected, like she belonged. Suddenly she’d been removed from this overtly sensate world and thrust into a life where no one touched her at all, and her longing for more had taken her completely by surprise.

Ivan appeared absorbed in her beauty and grace but never once approached her. Although their contract clearly facilitated, among other things, a sexual relationship should they be so inclined, she was comfortable with the fact that it was all about dancing, as she wasn’t exactly attracted to him. The contract also stipulated that she should not be sexually intimate with anyone else – not that she had the opportunity for that. So she accepted her enforced celibacy without complaint, knowing that going against Caesar’s rules was never an option she could consider.




Lifestyle


Ivan never asked Eloise to watch him play, but she did learn first-hand that tennis was one of the busiest sports in the world. Whereas soccer had one World Cup every four years, tennis had four grand slams every year. And the top players were also required to compete in mandatory ATP World Tour Masters 1000 series that added to their ATP rankings each year in Asia, America and Europe.

Eloise soon grew accustomed to the heavy demands of the tennis calendar as Ivan competed in Monte Carlo, Munich, Madrid, Rome … It was a never-ending whirlwind of airports, stadiums, crowds, cars and hotels and she danced for him before every match he played. He always chose the particular ballet and the precise scene he wished her to perform. Sometimes it was for as little as ten minutes, at other times it was for a couple of hours. During some tournaments he would have her perform the same scene before each match.

It allowed little time for her to reflect on what she might be missing back in London. If the truth were told, Eloise felt like her previous lifestyle was in ultra-slow motion compared with this – like comparing a snail with Usain Bolt. She had no concerns about keeping physically active when they were on tour, particularly as Ivan often asked her to dance again after he’d won a match to help him unwind, which she did willingly.

All of these tournaments led up to the French Open: the true beginning of her eight-grand-slam commitment to Caesar, and the end of her one and only escape clause. Everything up until this point had been preliminary, allowing her time to adjust to her new lifestyle. Once the grand slam commenced, there was no turning back. But although she appreciated the gesture of Caesar’s ‘trial run’, in her mind the clause was superfluous. Once she had committed to something, her disciplined self would always see it through.

Before the French Open, Ivan asked her to perform the final scene of Swan Lake. She wondered whether he envisaged his opponent as the dying white swan and himself as the victorious black swan. She had read that some athletes used the soundtrack of movies like Rocky to psych themselves up before a major match, and perhaps this was Ivan’s version of the same thing.

Being the perfectionist she was, she took her job seriously and aimed at improving her performance with each match Ivan played – just as he did. The philosophy seemed to be working, since the more she danced, the more he won, including the title of Number One for the third consecutive year. Ivan was in top form and Eloise was confident he would continue to win, ensuring her position as his private ballerina – she liked to think of herself as his lucky charm and felt she was contributing to his success.

After Ivan won the title in Paris, Caesar hosted an elaborate private dinner for Ivan, his coach, his manager, Anna and Eloise to celebrate. At the end of the evening he asked if he could have a private word with Eloise and agreed to escort her back to her hotel.

As they sat down at a table in the hotel bar, he began, ‘So, how is everything going, Eloise?’

‘Very well, Caesar. I’m really pleased for him.’

‘And how are you adjusting to your new life?’

‘Pretty well, actually. It’s certainly busy, but I do feel that Ivan appreciates my dancing for him.’

‘There’s no doubting that. He has told me himself on many occasions the motivating impact your dancing has on his game. I believe we both have you to thank for helping secure his Number One world ranking. From my perspective you are fulfilling your role perfectly, Eloise. I couldn’t hope for more.’

Eloise blushed at his words of praise. ‘Thank you, Caesar. I’ve certainly tried to do my best.’

‘So you will commit to the entire term of the contract?’

‘I always had every intention of doing so.’

He smiled at her conviction.

‘You do realise there is no guarantee that Ivan will remain Number One?’

She hadn’t given much thought to the other players on the circuit, other than briefly flicking through the profiles Caesar had provided her with after their initial meeting.

‘Are there ever any guarantees in life?’ She laughed. ‘It’s OK, I’ll take my chances.’

‘I like your style, Eloise.’ He noted that she seemed much more relaxed than when they had last met, not as emotionally distraught. It seemed this lifestyle was working for her.

‘And are you still comfortable with the contract as is?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then let’s get the formalities out of the way, shall we?’ He handed her a thick black pen, which she accepted, and she signed the document he placed in front of her.

‘Let me welcome you officially to my world, Eloise. I believe you’ve made an excellent choice.’ He signed his flamboyant signature below hers, sealing her fate, then immediately called the waiter over and ordered them both a celebratory glass of 1996 Dom Pérignon.

Two chilled flutes of champagne swiftly arrived at their table. ‘Cheers to the game!’ he toasted.

Caesar was thrilled that his combined love of ballet and tennis was proving to be a formidable formula, and one that had the potential of making him wealthier with each title. Ivan’s victory in the French Open was simply icing on the proverbial cake if his forecasts proved to be correct.








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WIMBLEDON I (#ulink_69c1b78b-b9b6-5b99-8542-b1fee9b8631c)

June–July (#ulink_69c1b78b-b9b6-5b99-8542-b1fee9b8631c)

Surprise


Given his recent form, it was only to be expected that Ivan should have a smooth run through to the semifinals of Wimbledon. But he met a glitch in his comfortable winning streak when playing against a young, up-and-coming Australian who took everyone by surprise. This opponent proved a worthy competitor, pushing Ivan into extensive rallies and forcing him to hit winners even he was a little shocked to have executed. The Australian’s tenacity and self-confidence certainly captured the eye of sports commentators, and there were lengthy discussions about whether he had the skill and drive to become the next big drawcard of the tennis world.

The crowd was thrilled with the five-set marathon, which, after many hours, saw the top seed proceed to the final – just as the bookmakers, including Caesar, had predicted he would. Although Ivan was pleased with his performance and eventual win, there was no doubting his thirty-one-year-old body felt the additional strain of such a challenging match. It ensured his personal physiotherapist was more than occupied for the next thirty-six hours leading up the final.

In keeping with the noble traditions of Wimbledon, the atmosphere at the gentlemen’s championship final was cordially electric. Ivan’s opponent was the twenty-six-year-old Swede Stephan Nordstrom.

Nordstrom had never been in a final at the All England Club, even though he had convincingly won the Australian Open earlier in the year, his first ever grand-slam victory. His form could be erratic and nobody was sure whether he was a one-slam wonder or set to settle in for the long haul, given that his win had occurred when the world’s Number One was absent from Melbourne Park. One thing was certain, however: the truth would be discovered by the end of the day.

There was not much time for Eloise to dance for Ivan before the final, as his coach took complete responsibility for orchestrating his every movement before he walked onto centre court. Eloise did her best in the twelve minutes she had been allocated, but she could tell he was distracted by nerves as he prepared to defend his Wimbledon title for the third time. His coach seemed as nervous as Ivan, so she assumed this tournament meant more to them than any of those he played leading up to it. After all, the Championships at Wimbledon were the most prestigious of all the grand slams – the slam all players dreamt of winning the moment the game of tennis took their lives hostage.

Right in the middle of Eloise’s performance, the coach opened the door, declaring that her time with Ivan was over.

Ivan looked a little flustered as he walked over to her. ‘Thank you, Eloise. Unfortunately my time is running out. I have a ticket for you, should you be interested in watching the final.’

It was unusual enough for him to speak to her after she danced for him, let alone offer her a ticket to one of his matches.

‘Thank you, Ivan, that is very thoughtful. Bonne chance.’

And with that she was immediately guided away so his coach could have final words with him before the match.

It was a warm, sunny day so Eloise wore a tailored emerald dress with mid-length sleeves that came to just above her knees, pairing it with court shoes and a matching handbag. She had changed her outfit when she found a guide to sartorial standards included with her ticket. It amounted to ‘No riffraff, please, we’re Wimbledon’. Apparently short skirts, bare midriffs, jeans, trainers, bomber jackets and sleeveless tops were all deemed inappropriate attire. She also opted to wear her hair in a sensible low braid, just in case her unruly flowing curls were deemed unacceptable and she was refused entry. She would hate to cause a scene and any embarrassment to Ivan.

Even after reading the sartorial guide, Eloise was surprised at the formal attire of some of the people bustling around the Wimbledon members’ enclosure. As she attempted to blend in, she felt like she was walking around inside a Burberry catalogue.

Staring at her ticket to ensure she was in the right place, she suddenly heard a vaguely familiar voice calling from behind her.

‘Elle, over here! Eloise?’

Elle? Only one person had ever called her that. She turned around and came face to face with Liam’s warm eyes and friendly smile.

‘My goodness, hi! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!’

‘The universe works in mysterious ways! How are you?’

‘I’m really well, thanks. How about you?’

‘Same, although I’d prefer to be playing in the final.’

‘You play?’

‘I do.’ He laughed.

‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’

‘No need for apologies, you didn’t ask and I didn’t say. Besides, most people hadn’t heard of me before yesterday. If Borisov hadn’t had the stamina and experience to last five sets in the semis, I’d be playing Nordstrom on centre court today. But that’s how the cookie crumbles.’

‘You played Ivan?’ She was astonished.

‘Yeah, you know, world Number One, presumably the person you are here to watch,’ he said with a cheeky grin.

She wasn’t sure how to answer, and thought it best to keep their conversation focused on him. ‘You certainly take losing well.’

‘I gave it my all on the day, that’s as much as I can expect from myself. It was a strong effort but he’s a great player – obviously. It’s just a game – admittedly a game I would have loved to win – but I had a good run, and made it much further than I’ve done here before, so I can’t complain.’

She remembered his positive attitude from when she met him in the pub, but still found herself shaking her head in surprise. ‘I wish I could be more like that.’

‘I know my day will come; I didn’t reach the Wimbledon final this year, but maybe next year, who knows?’ His high-voltage smile was on full display. ‘Hey, are you going to be around later? I’d love to catch up with you, but right now my coach is waiting for me in the stands. We need to be able to analyse my opposition in detail.’

‘Oh, sure, of course, I’d love to catch up. Sounds great!’ Spending some time with someone other than herself sounded like too good an opportunity to miss – especially someone like Liam.

‘Excellent!’ He pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to her. ‘Call me after the match and I’ll see if we can find something more potent to drink than an untouched pint – I have the next week off so I can let loose.’ His grin exploded into a heartfelt smile.

‘Sure!’ Eloise looked down at the card. ‘Noah?’

‘Yeah, that’s me. Liam Noah Levique. Not using my real name makes it easier for me to stay incognito when I meet beautiful strangers, and my nan always called me Noah, so it sort of stuck as my tennis name.’

‘Well, that makes sense. I’m not great at the whole tennis thing but at least I’ve heard of Noah Levique. You really did give Ivan a hard time.’ She knew more than anyone how flustered and aching Ivan had been after such a brutal match. Noah had put up a mammoth fight.

‘And I hope to do it again, only next time I’ll win.’ He winked at her as a flustered man began approaching from the stands. ‘Gotta go – see ya, Elle! Call me. Tonight!’ He held his forefinger and thumb to the side of his face as once again he jogged away from her with the boundless energy of an excitable puppy.

Eloise held the card to her chest and couldn’t help but smile as she considered the amazing coincidence that Liam was actually Noah Levique, a professional tennis player – and obviously a good one at that. Never in a million years …

She heard the polite announcement asking everyone to find their seats as soon as possible and settled in to watch her first ever professional tennis match.

The young woman next to her was dressed in blue, with her face covered in blue and yellow zinc.

‘Who are you going for, Russia or Sweden?’ the woman asked, in an American accent.

‘Russia – how about you?’ Eloise asked with a smile, given the answer was so obvious.

‘Who do you think? Sweden – of course. With him in the game, tennis has just got a whole lot hotter. He could do me any time!’ With that she screamed and waved her arms in the air as Stephan Nordstrom was introduced and walked onto centre court for his first Wimbledon final.

There was something overwhelmingly charismatic about Stephan Nordstrom, everyone else in view almost diminished as he took centre stage. Eloise felt a strong attraction seed in her belly. And suddenly she had far greater interest in the match about to be played. Like the rest of the crowd, she watched in absolute awe as the two players shook hands and commenced their first game.

Today, on centre court at the All England Club, it was abundantly clear that each player wanted this title as desperately as the other. And by all accounts, they would fight to the death to have it.

Eloise could barely sit still in her seat. The pangs of guilt were like shards of glass penetrating her skin as she found herself continually drawn to Nordstrom more than Ivan; it was difficult not to be. Her remorse deepened when she caught herself spontaneously clapping as Nordstrom sent a backhand winner flying down the line after an epic rally, almost knocking out a linesperson as the ball continued its destructive path.

Nordstrom’s response was electrifying as he pumped his fists into the air and released what sounded like a lion’s roar. Ivan continued on smoothly, undeterred by the Swede’s momentum on the other side of the net, maintaining his trademark cool, calm and collected persona while the fifth set climbed into double digits. Both players remained supreme professionals in front of an utterly engrossed crowd. Decorum was apparently everything at Wimbledon, and the umpire’s reminders of ‘Quiet, please’ felt like a restraining order on a ball of energy. Not one person could tell which way the match would go and all were literally sitting on the edge of their seats, gasping at the force and stamina behind each point.

The battle of the titans was won in four hours and fifty-three minutes … by first-time Wimbledon champion Stephan Nordstrom. Both players collapsed in sheer exhaustion before hauling their tortured bodies to the net to shake hands with each other and the umpire.

Stephan stripped off his shirt, flaunting his bronzed and superbly defined chest and abdominals, pumping both clenched fists high in the air and unleashing another almighty roar to the global audience. The power of his voice reverberated around the arena, causing the crowd to roar in return as he flung his shirt and sweatbands into the stands.

Eloise was as engaged as anyone, her hands becoming numb from clapping so hard. Discovering Noah had made the semifinals only added to her now undeniable interest in the game, and more particularly in its ranking system. Ivan’s failure to win didn’t result in his losing his status as Number One, but it did mean it was definitely under threat.




Carefree


Ivan went into complete hibernation after losing the momentous match. His coach informed Eloise that she would not see him for at least two days. Therefore she eagerly called Noah, knowing she wouldn’t be letting anyone down and thrilled to have an opportunity to see him again.

She was staying at the Dorchester, and was delighted to see a very funky Noah arrive in the foyer wearing faded red jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt and a fitted navy blazer with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows. She found herself staring at him, more than a little mesmerised, drawn towards his confident, casual stride and muscled body. She was caught a little off guard when he rushed up and scooped her off the ground in a bear hug, swinging her around before kissing her on both cheeks.

‘You look hot!’ were his first words as he returned her feet to the ground.

Eloise hadn’t been sure what to wear and had changed outfits five times, before deciding at the last minute to be bold, choosing a deep burgundy lace bodycon mini-dress with a boat neckline, a gathered front and, most importantly, a plunging scooped back. She wasn’t big-breasted, but she felt good in the dress because it showed off her slender, toned legs and the muscular definition of her back.

Before she had the opportunity to respond to his compliment he took hold of her hand. ‘Let’s get you out of here to some place more in our age bracket.’

The uniformed doorman motioned for a black cab to approach and held the door open for Eloise while Noah bounded around to the cabbie, handing him a card.

‘Right you are, sir,’ came the confirmation from the driver’s seat as Noah settled in beside Eloise.

‘So, Liam – Noah – where are you from?’

‘Ah, the inquisition begins. You know I much prefer talking about you,’ he countered with a grin.

‘No way – it’s time for you to answer some questions! It’s only fair.’

‘OK, OK, I give in. My dad is French and my mum is Australian. They divorced when I was young and I lived with my mum in Townsville but spent my holidays with Dad in Europe which was handy for competing as a junior.’

‘Right – but you, well, I’m not sure how I should say this …’

‘You’re asking about my perpetual suntan? Are you sure that’s politically correct?’ His dimples showed that he didn’t mind talking about it and was just having some fun.

‘Let’s just say you are beautifully bronzed compared with me.’

‘No doubt about it. But that’s not to say there is anything wrong with your delicate alabaster skin. You just need to keep out of the sun more than me.’ As he held her hand in the back of the cab, his thumb caressed her palm and she could feel his warmth as tingles raced up her arm. ‘My nan is Aboriginal, and just in case you hadn’t worked it out, that’s where I get my exceptional sense of tribal rhythm.’

She couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Well, of course! I’d like to see some of that rhythm one day.’

She had never been so comfortable talking to a member of the opposite sex. He was so easygoing that she felt completely relaxed, laughing and chatting to him without any self-consciousness or pretence.

‘I’m hoping you’ll get that chance tonight when we hit the dance floor – unless you’re referring to my tennis?’

‘So cheeky! I’d love to see both.’

They looked at each other and smiled, both sensing their relationship was set to move way beyond their last fleeting yet fortuitous meeting.

The driver turned off Kensington High Street onto Derry Street and pulled over. Noah promptly paid and jumped out to open Eloise’s door, and they made their way up in the lift to The Roof Gardens, Virgin’s rooftop club.

She had heard about the club from some of the other dancers, but had never been there before. It was weird having lived in London for so long yet realising there was still so much to discover and experience.

‘Normally it wouldn’t be open tonight. One of the perks of being sponsored by Virgin, I guess,’ he said with a cheeky wink.

‘Ah, I see!’ She smiled back.

‘Come on.’ He grabbed hold of her hand and excitedly headed towards the bar. ‘Tommy makes awesome cocktails. I’ll introduce you.’

Eloise couldn’t believe the size and lushness of the rooftop garden. The flora looked almost technicoloured against the somewhat monochromatic landscape of London.

They found a table for two within the garden, and just as they had settled in, two French pear martinis arrived along with some canapés, compliments of the chef. Just as Noah had promised, they would be drinking something stronger than a pint. Eloise was not used to spirits, but the fresh-tasting vodka and champagne concoction slid down her throat all too easily, while their discussion flowed effortlessly amidst interruptions of congratulations from the staff, who obviously knew Noah well.

The grey clouds in the sky turned a vivid orange as the sun finally began to set on the mild evening. Eloise couldn’t remember a night out when she had felt so at ease; this was one of the rare occasions when she was able to have a few drinks without having to worry about a performance the next day. It was on this basis that she happily reached for her second martini when another round of drinks arrived at their table as if by magic.

‘So, what’s next for you in the tennis schedule?’

‘I’m hanging around London for a week to catch up with some friends, before heading to Hamburg for the German Championships. Then it’s off to America to prepare for the US Open.’

‘You don’t get too much downtime after something as major as Wimbledon.’

‘I suppose not, though it would be much the same for you, wouldn’t it? With your performances and travel.’

Eloise shifted slightly in her seat. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about having left the Royal Ballet and wasn’t sure exactly what to say.

‘I’m sorry, have I said something wrong? It’s just that when we met you mentioned dance, travel …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Are you no longer performing?’

‘Well, I’m no longer with the Royal Ballet, so I’m not performing quite like I used to …’

‘And are you going to elaborate on that, or will I have to ply you with straight martinis to get to the truth?’ he asked jokingly, just as she noticed the delicious impact of vodka filtering through her body.

She deliberately placed her glass back on the table and picked up a coconut crumbed prawn to dip into the tangy sauce alongside it. ‘You know how I mentioned a decision the afternoon we met?’

‘Sure, and talked about taking risks.’

‘Well, I ended up accepting the risks and everything else that came with them. And here I am, now indirectly part of the tennis world.’

‘Whoa, wait up! Really? You weren’t just there for the final like thousands of other fans?’

‘Not exactly …’ She wasn’t sure how much she should mention with her mind already feeling a little blurred. She had signed a confidentiality agreement as part of Caesar’s requirements and didn’t want to jeopardise anything by having loose lips.

‘At the moment, I only perform for Ivan,’ she said rather sheepishly as she glanced towards Noah, who had raised his eyebrows at this admission. ‘He loves ballet,’ she added, as if that disclosure should explain everything.

‘Wow. I’ve never heard of anything like that.’

‘Yeah, it was weird for me at first, but now I really enjoy it. Each time I’ve danced for him, he’s won. That is, up until today.’ She absently wondered how he was taking the loss.

‘So, if I become Number One in the world, will you dance for me too?’

So thrown was Eloise by the accuracy of his mischievous offhand query that she quickly reached for her martini and drank the remainder down in one gulp.

Noah could sense her unease. ‘Hey, it’s OK. As long as you’re happy, it’s none of my business. Honestly.’ He squeezed her hand as she tried to compose herself.

‘Nothing makes me happier than when I’m dancing. But tonight, I’m very happy that I’m out with you,’ she added sincerely.

Noah sensed she wanted to drop the subject, so he dabbed his mouth with a serviette and readily accepted her compliment. ‘Well, if dancing makes you happy and I do too, let’s go get some groove on to the music.’

If anyone else had said the words, she would have thought they were nerdy, but coming from Noah they felt exactly right. There was no denying he was gorgeous and lovable, and he made her feel as light and carefree as a feather. She knew she could never deny anything that kept him smiling. She accepted his hand graciously, and the next few hours slipped into a fun-loving blur.

* * *

The next morning she awoke in her suite at the Dorchester to find two envelopes under the door. She opened the top one first, recognising Ivan’s crisp white stationery. Fleetingly she wondered whether she might be in some trouble, then immediately pushed the thought from her mind.

I have returned to St Petersburg and will not be requiring any performances from you for the next ten days.

The impersonal nature of the note felt like a punch in the gut, though she shouldn’t have been surprised; he was never one for small talk, or much talk at all, for that matter.

It meant she had over a week to herself. She had no idea what she would do with the time, since an opportunity like this had never arisen before.

The second envelope was on Dorchester stationery.

Hey Elle,

I hated saying goodbye to you last night. So I was thinking you might want to spend a bit more time together in London – too much too soon, maybe? I’ll never know if I don’t ask! Either way, give me a call. I’d love to see you again, and sooner rather than later.

Noah xox

Eloise couldn’t contain her excitement as she called him to make arrangements. Problem solved. As he’d said, the universe worked in strange ways and right now it seemed to be doing exactly that – in their favour!




Friends?


Noah and Eloise spent the next week cruising around the canals of greater London. She met his friends, ‘the lads’ as he called them, in various pubs along the waterways, and found them just as easygoing and unpretentious as he was. No one would have guessed Noah was one of the top tennis players in the world, and rapidly rising further up the ranks thanks to his Wimbledon performance.

Eloise was privy to a world she’d never imagined could be possible for a professional athlete. Her life with the ballet had ensured she was strict and disciplined with herself around the clock – regardless of whether she had the day off or not – and her enforced breaks over summer had only meant an opportunity to train harder to ensure she was always better than her peers. Noah, on the other hand, happily drank with his friends as though tennis was the furthest thing from his mind. She had to wonder how someone so nonchalant had the stamina for the demands of the game.

On their first afternoon together, lazing in the sunshine, it was impossible for Eloise not to admire his loose locks tickling his shoulders and delectable shirtless body as his feet dangled over the side of the boat. She didn’t even bother to hide her sideways glances towards him.

When he casually lit a cigarette as though it weren’t an issue at all, the look on her face sent him into a fit of laughter. She watched, frankly aghast, as he deeply inhaled.

‘What? Don’t tell me you’ve never had a smoke before?’ He took another drag and began puffing smoke rings towards the water.

Eloise was speechless. Even more so when he offered it to her!

‘Well …?’ He paused to look at her more intently. ‘My God, you haven’t, have you? You’ve never had a single puff of a cigarette!’ He shook his head in disbelief, smiling nonetheless. ‘It’s not illegal, you know …’

She had no idea whether it was the look of horror he saw on her face that eventually made him reluctantly stub it out. Next, in one swift move, he grabbed her, dangling her upper body over the water while keeping a grip on her thighs and legs, a giant grin on his face all the while.

‘No, Noah, don’t …!’ she shrieked, for the first time not thinking about who was around or what people might think.

‘Have you or not?’ he insisted, threatening to cleanse her of her prim and proper attitude, completely ignoring her shrieks as her mass of loose hair dangled precariously close to the murky water.

‘Noah, please – you could drop me!’ she panted as he gave in and hauled her back up.

‘I promise you, I would never, ever drop you, Elle.’

Instead of letting her be, he carried her into the cabin, tossing her easily onto the bed and pinning her arms by her sides as he straddled her body. He tickled her mercilessly until she couldn’t hold back any longer, her hysteria eventually replacing any trace of nervousness as she begged him to stop. She had never been treated that way, not having grown up with any siblings or cousins of her own.

They stared into each other’s eyes as they both took a moment to catch their breath.

‘I’d give anything to kiss you right now.’ He lowered his face towards her, and just as his soft lips touched hers she reluctantly turned away. He guided her face back to meet his questioning gaze.

‘I’m sorry, I just can’t … It might go too far …’

Their attraction to each other had been all too obvious since their first night out, but until this point had remained unspoken. Although Eloise’s desire had been supercharged since meeting up with Noah again, she had done her best to bury it. She had never made the first move in the few relationships she’d had – it just wasn’t her style and the potential for rejection caused her no end of fear – but this time she knew she couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to. Being well aware that nothing would ever happen with Ivan anyway, she would have given anything to say yes to Noah, right here, right now, and take their relationship to the next level. But heaven forbid the wrath of Caesar, not to mention the thought of kissing her future financial freedom goodbye. The clause in her contract about sexual relations with anyone other than her Number One was abundantly clear and always top of her mind; it just wasn’t worth the risk.

With a sigh, Noah collapsed beside her on the bed, placed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, suddenly deep in thought.

‘You’ve gone all quiet on me.’ Eloise didn’t know what to say, but wanted some kind of response from him at least.

He turned onto his side, facing her, and started playing with her hair, their bodies almost touching but not quite, though their feet comfortably rubbed against each other.

‘I’m not quite sure what to say. I thought …’

‘Noah, it’s not you. I’d love to – honestly. It’s just … so complicated.’ She couldn’t help but tense at the words.

‘Let me guess: complicated in a way you can’t explain.’ He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice, and it upset her deeply.

‘I’d give anything for my situation to be different, but it is what it is and I have to honour the agreement I’ve made.’

‘Are you with Ivan? Is it more than just ballet?’

‘No. I only dance for him, but …’ She was at a loss as to how to explain it to him without disclosing the details. Details she was not at liberty to discuss.

‘I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re so beautiful, vivacious, graceful, oh so incredibly hot, and – what’s the word I’m looking for? – oh yeah, pure at the same time. How could I forget that? It’s a lethal mix for any guy.’ His shook his head in dismay.

‘Noah, I think the same about you, but I just can’t do anything about it at the moment. I promise you, I would if I could.’

‘Honestly?’ His eyes were hopeful and his mischievous grin returned when he added, ‘You think I’m pure?’

She laughed, punching him lightly on the arm, and he pretended to roll over injured.

‘Very funny!’ she responded. ‘No, I’m not as pure as you think I am, just because I’ve never smoked – and by the way, as an athlete you should never smoke, ever! Particularly not if you want to be Number One.’

‘All I do know is that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, ever!’

He made sure he emphasised the word in the same way as she had. Neither of them could hide their smiles. ‘Anyway, what gives you the impression I want to be Number One?’

‘Why do you play if you don’t want to be the best?’

‘I’m young, I happen to be good at tennis – which is lucky because I love playing. I get to travel the world – which I also love. I have great friends on the circuit. So life’s good, much better than I ever expected. Until playing against Ivan I suppose I’ve never really believed I could make it into the top ten and now that might occur.’ He shook his head in disbelief and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Why, do you think I should take it more seriously?’

‘It sounds as if you haven’t really had to work too hard to get to this position.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love winning and I work hard when I need to but I suppose I haven’t had the desire to take it too seriously. There is a lot of losing involved in tennis you know!’

‘I just can’t imagine not wanting to be the top of your field.’

‘Well, maybe you are the motivation I’ve been lacking until now, Miss Lawrance.’

‘And maybe you are what I need to relax and enjoy life a little more, not take things so seriously …’ she reflected.

‘See, we could be a match made in heaven if only you would give us a chance.’ He laughed before he tenderly tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. ‘So are you going to tell me how you feel or are you avoiding the topic?’

‘Even if I did, what good would it do? It wouldn’t change anything …’ She sighed, disheartened by this turn of events. Her heart and body were yearning for his touch but her mind was resolute.

She tried to sit up but he held on tight to her hand, ensuring she stayed lying next to him on the bed.

‘Let me ask a different way, then. If you didn’t have this “complication”, would you want to be with me?’

Eloise looked away. She honestly didn’t know what to say. Of course she wanted to be with him, she was attracted to him in every way. It felt like forever since she’d been with a man. And now, before her very eyes, within her grasp but beyond her reach, was the unimaginable oasis of Noah. He was like milk chocolate and sunshine morphed into one delectable package – and the most fun-loving, easygoing, playful, warm-hearted guy she had ever met. His body was as sculpted and toned as that of any male ballet dancer, and she couldn’t deny that the thought of being intimate with him was exciting beyond her wildest dreams. He was everything she’d ever hoped for and more. She yearned to say yes, but Caesar’s rules were abundantly clear, and what if he found out? She’d be left with no contract and no ballet. She couldn’t decide whether to answer with her head or her heart, and was ultimately afraid of being betrayed by both. Telling him the truth just wasn’t an option and the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt Noah.

‘Elle?’

She stroked his cheek with her hand, letting her fingertips rest on his delectable lips, which proved frustrating for both of them that she couldn’t take things further. ‘Believe me, I would love to be with you, Noah, but only when the time was right.’ Heart then head felt like the right answer.

‘And that would be when?’ He pushed for an answer while holding her fingers and kissing them gently.

‘Just not now, Noah. I can’t … I’m so sorry I wish it could be different.’ Tears began to well in her eyes such was her disappointment in having to say no to this precious man.

‘OK, OK. You just don’t know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you since the moment we first met in the pub.’

‘So far you haven’t!’ She lifted her hand, still being squeezed by his, to prove her point and lighten the mood.

‘Well, other parts of you.’ He chuckled in an attempt to cover his own disappointment.

‘I would love for us to be more than friends, Noah, I’ve never felt like this before either. It’s just that for the next eighteen months … well, the commitment I’ve made needs to take precedence …’

‘But I shouldn’t give up, I should just wait a while?’

‘Quite a while, but yes, I’d be devastated if you gave up on me.’

‘Then I won’t – ever!’ He rolled her over and playfully slapped her butt. ‘Let’s go for a run.’

‘I hear you.’

With sexual tension still oozing but knowing the air was clear between them, Eloise was more than happy to join him for a jog and release some of the pent-up frustration between her legs.




Chaste


There was only one bed on the narrow boat, and each night they shared it, but only for sleeping. Most evenings they talked way into the night, eventually falling asleep holding hands, their bodies barely touching – thwarted but still preferring to be close. Eloise was continually torn between admiring Noah’s chivalry and heroic restraint at her insistence on not taking their relationship further, and desperately wishing he’d have his wild way with her – were it not for Caesar. Her feelings could fluctuate between the two in any given moment, but in the end she was grateful that he respected her wishes with fortitude, even though they were both denying themselves the sexual release they fervently desired.

Lying on the bed in her summer pyjamas – a singlet and boxer shorts – Eloise would enjoy watching Noah as he stripped off his shirt before settling in next to her. She still got a thrill from having him so near her each night, and took every opportunity to gaze at his sculpted torso, knowing anything more than that was strictly forbidden. Though she’d had sex a few times before, this small degree of intimacy she shared with Noah felt so much more meaningful – albeit physically infuriating.

‘Your eyes are glazing over, Elle, you look a million miles away,’ he said to her one night.

‘I was distracted by you,’ she replied as he jumped in beside her.

‘I’m more than happy to distract you a bit more; just say when.’ His hand slid over to her knee.

‘Noah, you know how hard this is for me already!’ She grudgingly removed his hand and instead gently touched the tattoo on his shoulder, a four-sided shape that looked a bit like a knot. ‘Have you had that for long?’ she asked.

‘About five years, I suppose. I got it when I was nineteen.’

‘I like its symmetry. Does it have any specific meaning?’

‘It’s called Mpatapo, a West African symbol of peacemaking and reconciliation.’ He grinned at her curious eyes as she lightly touched it once more. ‘I had it done after my parents got over themselves and became friends again. I’d always wanted a tattoo and it’s a useful reminder to them whenever they start squabbling like kids; all I do is flash my shoulder and they stop. Having them both on the same side has had a huge impact on my tennis, so now they behave – for the greater good.’

‘It’s weird, I’ve never had parents but I always imagined the fairytale kind. You know – a mother and father who will love each other until the day they die. Never ones who hate each other.’

‘Well, I’d rather have my mum and dad than not, that’s for sure. It must be so hard for you …’

‘It’s difficult to explain, but you don’t know what you’re missing if you’ve never experienced it. Sometimes I just feel really alone and empty; other times I don’t think about it until something triggers the feeling of never really belonging to anyone or anything. The ballet is the closest thing I’ve ever had to family, and I walked away from it. But then again, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you …’ She smiled, then yawned, resting her head near his chest so she could fall asleep to the beat of his heart.

He smiled a heartfelt smile, twisting her long, voluminous hair between his fingers, and marvelling at her beauty inside and out as she drifted off to sleep beside him. He wondered just how long they would have to wait before they could be together. But of one thing he was sure: it would be when, not if they were together. For he knew deep down that he had found his soulmate.

This thought provided him with great comfort, as the warmth of her body and the canal boat’s ever so gentle rhythm eventually lulled him into slumber.

On their last stop before returning to London they visited Oxford, and Noah surprised Eloise with the gift of a snow dome. Ensconced within the glass was a canal boat, featuring a boy and a girl and a dog sitting on the rooftop.

‘Just like us!’

‘I know, that’s why I couldn’t resist.’

‘Now all we need is a dog.’

‘One day … Who knows?’

‘Thank you, Noah. I’ll treasure it always.’

‘As I do you.’

Eloise was so touched by the unexpected gift from Noah that she couldn’t prevent a stray tear from escaping her eye. She flung her arms around his strong neck and buried her face in his chest, never wanting to let go. Gifts had been few and far between in Eloise’s life; each passing birthday had only reinforced how alone she was in the world.

Though slightly taken aback by the strength of her reaction, Noah held her tight against the warmth of his body. Their hug was long-lasting and meaningful, as their time together touring the canals came to an end.

Eloise had felt happier than she had ever been over this past week, and the vision in the snow dome gave her hope for the future – one they might share together. She knew that every time she looked at it, she would remember how precious her relationship with Noah was. He brought sunshine to her life. That night, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, grateful for the good fortune of having had this time with him.

She had always wondered what it might be like to feel cherished, and with Noah she felt more special and accepted than she ever had before. It was a feeling she hoped would live with her for a long time.

At the end of their chaste yet flirtatious time together, both of them knew that, had circumstances been different, they could have become so much more than friends. Having to be content with their shared camaraderie – for the time being at least – they said their goodbyes, knowing their paths would indeed cross again on the other side of the Atlantic, sooner rather than later.

During their long and meaningful conversations throughout the course of the week, Noah had detected a strange undercurrent in relation to Eloise’s arrangement with Ivan and her involvement in tennis, but he’d respected her need for privacy and hadn’t pressed her too hard for details. Instead, he’d encouraged her to be true to her passions and to pursue her dreams as soon as she was ready. Something he promised himself to help her achieve.

Even though she had never had a best friend before, Eloise knew that there were some secrets that shouldn’t be shared until the time was right, and sensed that giving away any more details about her relationship with Ivan fell into that category.

What she hadn’t sensed during her perfect week with Noah was the photographer who had been discreetly tracking and photographing their every move together.








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US OPEN I (#ulink_2c0ea04a-cff1-56a5-901e-4669c8265d0e)

August–September (#ulink_2c0ea04a-cff1-56a5-901e-4669c8265d0e)

Dichotomy


When Eloise met up with Ivan again in the US, it was clear that he had all but lost his spark for tennis and niggling strains in his hamstring and Achilles had become cause for concern. Although she still danced for him before each game, he watched her perform as a distant bystander rather than with his previous rapture at her skill and precision. She felt sorry for him, sensing that his loss at Wimbledon was still raw, which was confirmed by Caesar, who explained that this malaise caused him to miss the Australian Open earlier in the year. It seemed Ivan’s motivation was at rock bottom and everyone was questioning whether this tournament might indeed mark the end of his tennis career.

It was within this apathetic atmosphere that the US Open began with little gusto for either of them. Ivan didn’t ask her to attend any matches at Flushing Meadows, so she busied herself around New York City’s incredible museums. SoHo had always been a firm favourite and one of the few places she liked to do some boutique shopping. One afternoon she took a tour of the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts to go ‘behind the scenes’ of the New York City Ballet. Needless to say it felt very strange being on the other side of the fence as a tourist rather than as a dancer! However, more often than not – other than her early morning jog around Central Park before it became too busy and hot – she stayed within the confines of the iconic Caesar Towers Hotel, keeping her body toned with swimming and working out at the gym. The sporadic messages she shared with Noah were without doubt the highlight of her day.

Eloise didn’t pay much attention to Ivan’s matches, vaguely aware that he was struggling through the tournament on a wing and a prayer. She was concentrating on some intermittent sprint training on the running machine in the hotel’s gym when the sports news caught her eye – causing her to misjudge her steps, topple off the conveyer belt and land awkwardly on her weak left ankle. She sat on the carpet, momentarily befuddled, as she absorbed the reality that Noah had just been awarded the match over Ivan – who had forfeited the match in the fourth set, unable to continue due to a hamstring injury.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Ivan limping up to the net to shake Noah’s hand, Noah placing his arm around Ivan’s shoulder in genuine sympathy for such a misfortune. Noah was through to the finals of the US Open! Her new ‘best friend’, the twenty-four-year-old slightly French Aussie who drank martinis and pints and who was quite partial to smoking on the odd occasion! She was forced to admit to herself that she hadn’t honestly believed it was possible for someone so laid-back to ever reach the pinnacle of his sport; from her perspective, he just didn’t seem to take it seriously enough. Although she had to concede, he was steadily climbing up the ranks with each match he played, which must be exciting for him.

All of a sudden, the final of the US Open held far greater significance to her than it had mere moments before. Not only would Noah be playing in his first grand-slam final, but Ivan’s status as Number One was also potentially at risk.

Throwing a towel around her neck and ignoring the pain in her ankle, she quickly returned to her suite to shower. Afterwards, she flicked the TV to the channel dedicated to the US Open. A reporter was interviewing Stephan Nordstrom, who had made it through in straight sets to the final against Noah.

His face and his deep authoritative voice immediately captivated Eloise, and her belly pulled tight at the sight of him.

The only thing that distracted her was the buzz at the door as the concierge delivered a message to her room. The gold-embossed envelope announced that it was from the one and only Caesar.

Dear Eloise,

This message is to inform you that should Stephan Nordstrom win the US Open, he will immediately become Number One in the ATP men’s rankings. Arrangements will be made for your transfer to him within twenty-four hours of the end of the match, should he agree to this. Should Noah Levique win the final, there will be no change in ranking and you will remain assigned to Ivan Borisov until otherwise notified.

You may wish to acquaint yourself with the copy of your contract that I have included with this letter. My solicitor has highlighted the specific clauses you would be expected to uphold should such a transfer of Mastership occur.

My driver will pick you up from reception at 3pm tomorrow to escort you to my private suite at Arthur Ashe Stadium so we can enjoy this momentous match together.

May the best man win.

Caesar

As Eloise placed the note from Caesar on the desk in her suite, sounds of the interview with Stephan echoed in the background. She had signed up to Caesar’s game of human chess, and now he was making his next move. The thought that she was merely his pawn sent shudders down her spine, though she couldn’t decide whether they were from excitement or fear.

She wondered whether Noah had any hope at all against the formidable Stephan Nordstrom. She sent her friend a text message, congratulating him on reaching the finals and wishing him the very best of luck.

On the spur of the moment, she decided to quickly dress and go out to source a snow dome from one of the tourist shops to commemorate the occasion. She chose a dome featuring New York’s skyline, with King Kong holding a large tennis racquet on top of the Empire State Building. The ever-helpful concierge kindly organised its express delivery to Noah’s hotel and she once again cherished the memories of the special week they’d shared.

The next afternoon Eloise ensured she was impeccably attired for meeting with Caesar. She prepared with the same fastidious care as she had always done for the stage, and felt suitably glamorous as she was escorted into the enormous luxury limousine waiting for her.

Looking out at the stadium from Caesar’s private suite, she felt like she was in a bubble, not really part of the commotion of the crowd but still able to sense its raw energy. It was a far cry from the polite decorum on display at Wimbledon – the spectators nowhere near as homogenised, most of them flamboyantly showing off their uniqueness. Music was blaring from the speakers; some people were smoking joints, entwined in each other’s arms; others were jiving to the sounds on their headphones. You could literally feel the vibrant pulse of New York City pumping through your body. On her way to join Caesar she’d even passed a couple of brawling men who were in the process of being escorted out of the stadium by security.

Despite feeling a little removed from the action, she was glad to be witnessing the commotion from safely behind tinted glass panels, in air-conditioned comfort. Otherwise she could easily have believed she was in a modern-day Colosseum, awaiting the arrival of lions and gladiators.

This thought made her immediately aware of what was at stake, the dichotomy of her feelings causing her muscles to tense in anticipation of what the result might be. Though she would love for Noah to win, she couldn’t deny her personal desire for a change in her own circumstances; after the coldness of Ivan a new Number One would be more than welcome.

The reality was that her life could be vastly different in a matter of hours, depending on who won this match, and it finally hit her with such force that she inadvertently lost her grip on the crystal glass of Krug. A waiter arrived swiftly at her side, offering another before cleaning up the expensive mess she had made.

Caesar watched her every move from the corner of the room like a hawk sitting on a perch. She truly was a beauty to behold; there was no denying her attractiveness to every male in her midst, even those more than double her age, like himself. But Eloise was far too innocent a creature for him; these days, his relationships with women meant only sex, never love. Besides he despised the look of older men with much younger women hanging off their arms. He thought them pathetic and believed such relationships merely provided an entrée to financial grief.

There had only ever been one true love in Caesar’s life, and that had been many, many years ago. Even though the relationship had been brief, his heart had been crushed so completely he had never recovered enough to trust or love another woman again.

However, it didn’t stop him from admiring the graceful curves beneath Eloise’s pale pink wrap-around dress. One could never deny she was a ballerina; it was just that today she wore a more elegant outfit, appropriate to the circumstances.

Caesar found himself reflecting that it was a shame his father wasn’t here; he’d always appreciated beauty, even though he’d never really respected women. (This remained a sore point between father and son – though Caesar had to admit he was growing more cynical about relationships himself these days.)

The relentless onset of Alzheimer’s ensured that Antonio King was now essentially a prisoner within the grounds of his Sussex mansion, under the constant care of Nurse Victoria. Caesar tried to mask the constant worry he carried for his father, his ever-present poker face allowing him to effectively shield his true feelings from others. Winning substantial amounts of money always proved an excellent distraction for Caesar, so whenever his emotions threatened him, he deliberately increased the stakes, hoping the euphoria of winning would provide the ultimate high and deaden the feeling of loneliness that sometimes seeped through.

More than his many other business dealings, his intriguing Number One Strategy was proving an excellent tonic for his emotional state. The smile returned to his face as he considered the money he had made already, knowing that was only a pittance compared with what was to come, particularly after today’s match was won.

And Eloise was just where he wanted her for this momentous match. She was ever discreet and softly spoken in conversation – features he always appreciated in a woman yet rarely found – but he was fascinated that she had mentioned nothing to him of her week in London with Noah. He wondered if she honestly believed he wasn’t aware of her every move on any given day.

He sighed inwardly. She might be beautiful, but she was still so young and unworldly. Even so, as long as she honoured her end of the deal, he would always honour his.

In the meantime, however, there was far too much at stake for her to be roaming around aimlessly as she had been with Noah Levique – of all people – when Ivan disappeared into an emotional hole after his loss at Wimbledon. Caesar’s sources had mentioned nothing of a relationship between Noah and Eloise before she was offered the contract. Only time would tell if she was being secretive or merely naive in her actions; he didn’t know her well enough yet to say. But either way, if she honestly believed her contract with him allowed her that much freedom – with a tennis player he didn’t represent, no less – she was sorely mistaken. This was the sort of inside information he depended on – indeed, was betting on, and not insignificantly! It was time to stalk his prey a little more closely …

‘Lovely to see you again, Eloise. How are you?’

‘Very well, thanks, Caesar. And you?’

‘Couldn’t be better. Nothing more exciting than the potential changing of the guard, don’t you think?’ There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said the words and nodded to the waiter to refill her glass.

Talking to Caesar when her life could be about to change was making Eloise nervous, so she made a deliberate attempt to remain as polite and calm as possible, carefully considering her answers before she spoke.

‘How have things been with Ivan?’ he asked.

‘Well, as you’d be aware, he hasn’t quite been himself since the loss at Wimbledon, and now with his injury and all …’

‘I know. Poor chap, things haven’t gone his way recently. So what’s been keeping you occupied?’

Eloise’s nerves shifted a gear but fortunately her voice remained steady.

‘Taking in the sights; there’s always plenty to do in New York.’

She offered nothing more, and he decided to let the matter rest, for now. ‘Indeed there is. So tell me, what are your thoughts on these two players?’

‘I’m no expert on tennis, Caesar; you’d know far better than I would.’

He silently congratulated her on her answer: sticking to generalities rather than getting personal. Perhaps she had more intelligence than he’d given her credit for.

‘Yes, yes, quite right.’ He chuckled. ‘Then let me phrase my question more succinctly. Would you prefer a change, or for your circumstances to remain as they are?’

She paused before answering, unsure of what he was hoping to hear. ‘My preference is irrelevant, Caesar. I will accept whatever happens; that’s the commitment I’ve made.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear that you’re taking the contract as seriously as I am. I’m not one for deviations once something has been agreed. Enjoy the game, Eloise; heaven knows I shall.’

With a clink of his glass and a cheerful wink that belied the veiled threat in his words, he excused himself to go and chat with his other guests as the pre-match tension rose steadily around them.

The knots in Eloise’s stomach tightened as the two players entered the stadium and applause instantly erupted. Noah came out first, and the crowd enthusiastically welcomed the new kid on the block. Though he was smiling and waving, everyone could sense his nervousness at being in his first grand-slam final. Eloise beamed with pride, hoping he’d received her message and small gift. Caesar didn’t miss a single twitch of her expressive face from the other side of the room.

The cheering changed when Stephan Nordstrom appeared on the court, sporting his sponsored Maui Jim sunglasses. The newly appointed tennis superstar acknowledged the crowd with a brief nod before immediately getting down to the business of ensuring the brands of his clothes, racquets and even his drink bottles were facing the right way for maximum exposure. It took three attempts for him to find the racquet with the perfect string tension, then he carefully placed the other two back in his sponsored sports bag, ensuring they were in the exact position he wanted them. Some might have called him obsessive–compulsive – and many had, often – but the sponsors Caesar had secured on his behalf would handsomely reward such meticulousness.

Once these actions were performed, he sat perfectly still, more focused than a neurosurgeon about to make his first incision. It was as if the crowd no longer existed in his mind. The look on his face made it clear that Nordstrom was here for one reason only.

To dominate and to win.

Eloise’s nerves electrified as she was torn between her excitement at the prospect of a new Number One particularly a Swedish god like Stephan – and wanting to protect her gorgeous Noah from such a tour de force. Though beaming at Noah, she found herself drawn to Stephan, wondering if he was as domineering in person as he was on court. She watched in awe along with thousands of other fans as he sat trance-like in his seat before the announcer summoned the players onto the court for their warm-up.

Eloise desperately hoped the knot in her stomach would ease when play commenced.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.




Transition


The entire match lasted a little over an hour – much to the disappointment of the crowd, some of whom had paid a small fortune just to witness a wipeout.

There was no opportunity for Eloise to find Noah and offer her condolences on losing so catastrophically in straight sets. Realistically, she had no idea how she could even have attempted to locate him, given the security around the stadium. Since her brief conversation with Caesar she had sensed he was watching her every move, so she didn’t even dare send a message to Noah in case he showed up and aroused Caesar’s suspicions further.

Caesar’s people ensured she was escorted directly back to the hotel to await further instructions. Once again, she felt like an object in Caesar’s world – a world where he oversaw her every move until the transition was complete. She was sure that, had she attempted to leave the premises, she would have been prevented.

She tried to call Noah when she was finally alone but went straight through to his voicemail. She left a message telling him she was sorry but reassuring him that it was only the first of many grand-slam finals to come. She couldn’t help but think that perhaps eliminating smoking from his lifestyle might guarantee better success, but she didn’t dare say it!

After meeting up with Ivan for a platonic yet warm goodbye, she was informed of the request for her to be in the hotel boardroom at 9pm to meet Stephan Nordstrom.

Eloise felt like she was in limbo. So to keep her thoughts and emotions at bay, she went for a long swim in the hotel pool. After which, she prepared herself, dressing simply and elegantly in a black cocktail dress and heels, her hair pulled into a low chignon.

At 8.50pm there was a sharp knock on the door of her suite. A suited man, no doubt one of Caesar’s entourage, silently escorted her to the boardroom. The butterflies in her stomach were as violent as they’d been before her first performance as Principal.

She sat demurely with her eyes lowered while Caesar’s lawyers negotiated with Stephan’s. As the paperwork was signed and exchanged, every fibre of her being could sense Stephan’s wild excitement as he courteously pulled back her chair from the boardroom table. As she stood, she looked up to meet his intense gaze as his steely-blue eyes feasted on her petite form and the dynamic between them intensified. Stephan’s dominance on the court was nothing compared to meeting the man himself – and it took her breath away, literally – as the electricity between them was undeniable to everyone in the room.

‘So, tomorrow morning, then, I shall see you at the Waldorf?’ His eyebrows rose in question, as if not quite believing this extraordinary situation to be real.

‘Yes, sir,’ she responded quietly, knowing even as she uttered the words that her relationship with this Number One would be entirely different from her distant relations with Ivan.

‘I shall await your arrival with pleasure.’

A delicious shiver ricocheted to the core of her belly at the prospect of what was to come. If his words had that effect on her, then who knew what impact his touch might have …

As if sensing her body’s response, he guided her out the door with a sudden smile.

It was rare for Stephan to agree to a meeting straight after a match – particularly one involving his lawyers – but when Caesar’s letter had arrived requesting a private audience at Stephan’s earliest convenience, he’d accepted immediately. Since signing with The Edge, his success both on and off the court had grown exponentially. So Caesar was the last person he’d decline to meet; after all, Caesar was to tennis what the Pope was to Catholicism. However, to say Stephan was anything less than dumbfounded at the private discussion he’d had with the great man right before meeting Eloise would be a lie.

Stephan’s celebrations that evening after his third grand-slam victory were tinged with unexpected visions of what his future might hold given Caesar’s ‘bequest’ of Eloise Lawrance. Stephan had never been with a professional ballet dancer, but had he met one as exquisite as Eloise, he’d have rectified that situation immediately.

After he’d laid eyes on the enigmatic Eloise, the bevy of inane beauties who accompanied him for drinks at the hip Ling Ling Bar at Hakkasan Restaurant didn’t quite have the desired effect on his usually virile libido. Not that it seemed to bother the leggy blondes and brunettes, as long as the zesty martinis kept flowing between their ready lips and the eager photographers captured their image as they partied with the man who would adorn the front pages in the morning.

Two of them accompanied him back to his suite just beyond midnight. But instead of enjoying the ménage à trois as he usually would, Stephan found himself distracted by the sight of the milky limbs and innocent aquamarine eyes gazing at him from the portfolio Caesar had left with him. As soon as the girls had finished blowing him – a perfunctory experience at best – he called for Garry, who managed his security and his life, to escort them out. He and Garry exchanged a look that suggested Stephan would have no problem should Garry want to enjoy the sexual delights the ladies had to offer.

To the best of his understanding of Caesar’s proposition, Eloise would be on loan to him, for his personal use, so long as he retained the ATP ranking of Number One. Her role in his life was to be discussed and mutually agreed between them. A bizarre arrangement, but he had no wish to argue after their introduction last night.

For the first time in a very long time, he was excited about something other than tennis. It was no surprise that sleep came to him like a steam train after such an eventful day.




Perfect


The next morning Stephan dismissed his staff from his suite at the Waldorf, to ensure the privacy he wanted with this stunning ballet dancer. He needed to understand more intimately the machinations of this highly unusual relationship.

‘Eloise! Come in, please,’ he called as her polite knock was heard at the door.

As soon as pleasantries were exchanged, they both settled onto the lounge, looking out at the most impressive cityscape in the world. Eloise sat demurely in a pale blue jersey dress and beige peeptoe court shoes. Stephan spread his arms wide across the lounge, looking exactly like the Scandinavian sports god his publicists liked to suggest he was. His striped blue and white shirt seemed startlingly bright against his tanned skin, and sat taut across his broad chest and shoulders. For Eloise, his presence in the room was even more dominating than on either the court or the screen as he took up at least three times the space she did.

Stephan was not one for small talk, so he wasted no time in getting to the point.

‘So, let me get this straight: you are apparently mine, as long as I retain the Number One position.’

‘That is correct, sir.’

‘And we are to mutually agree on the role you will play in my life?’

She nodded.

‘Please answer me directly.’

She raised her eyes to look directly into his from beneath her lids; he was a completely different species from Ivan, and Noah for that matter …

‘Yes, sir,’ she responded. ‘It is important that I understand your expectations and boundaries in order for our relationship to work.’

‘I see. Then I suppose you should know my life is about two things, Eloise: perfection and control.’ He paused to gauge her reaction. ‘Let me be clear. Domination is my life. Winning is my world.’

Shivers raced through Eloise from head to toe as his words resonated deep within her, and although she made a concerted effort to hide her reaction, it was without success.

A satisfied smile stretched across his lips as he noticed her muscles quiver at his words; her eyes remaining steadfastly fixed to one spot on the floor. His groin instantly reacted to the sexual tension between them.

It had caught him off guard that she was even more appealing in person than her photos had suggested. He loved her prim English accent, with the merest hint of Australian casualness to it. Her lithe body with her toned curves seemed to be begging to be stroked. The discipline she maintained over herself as she tried to rein in her reaction to him caused him no end of arousal.

She was perfect. And he worshipped perfection.

‘Do you think you can handle that?’

‘I hope I can always rise to a challenge, sir.’

‘Do you understand what I am saying?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I sensed as much.’ He paused thoughtfully, rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger. It was a rare experience for him to be so entranced by a woman. ‘I would expect your total honesty in all aspects of our relationship. Can you agree to that?’

‘I can, sir.

‘Excellent. Tell me about the relationship you had with Ivan, your previous Master.’

‘I danced for him, sir. Before every match he played, and sometimes afterwards.’

‘That’s it? Nothing else?’

‘Nothing else, sir, no.’

Stephan was astonished by this revelation. He found it almost impossible to believe any man could keep his hands off such a sexual delicacy. Perhaps the rumours floating round about Borisov’s sexuality were true …

‘And you were content with that, given the other conditions outlined in your contract?’

Stephan noticed the slight shift in her body language and the rose colour that flushed her cheeks before she answered.

‘Meeting his wishes made me content, sir.’

‘Answer me honestly, Eloise. What if he had wanted more?’

‘I would have given him more, sir,’ she replied simply and honestly.

Stephan ran his fingers through his thick, sculpted blond hair. He wasn’t used to the array of emotions his body was experiencing, wild and confused. He needed to take control of himself immediately.

‘Stand up for me.’

Eloise immediately stood from her seated position, her eyes still cast downwards.

‘Did you bring your ballet slippers today?’

‘They are always with me, sir.’ She pointed to her bag.

Stephan swore this woman’s actions had the potential to break him. Her submissive nature wound around his cock like a vice.

‘Good. I’d like you to dance for me, like you did for Ivan; I want to see what he saw. You can prepare in the bedroom.’

With a flick of his hand, he quickly dismissed her, lest she see the undeniable physical effect she had on him. He was pleased that he had organised for the furniture in the dining room to be shifted prior to her arrival so she could dance on the parquet flooring. He always liked to be prepared.

It was as though the music awakened his senses like never before as her disciplined and finely honed body moved gracefully in front of him. Stephan couldn’t take his eyes off her; she was mesmerising as she danced. He became as lost in her world as she was, a space that seemed far removed from reality, as though it existed in an entirely new stratosphere. After the last flutter of her pale arms had played out in the tips of her fingers, in perfect timing with the final note of Chopin, both of them were lost for words.

The female before Stephan blew his mind. So frail yet so strong, so fragile yet so athletic. Eloise remained in her demure position, face towards her pointed, slippered toes and eyes lowered, awaiting his next move. He gathered himself quickly, forcing his mind back into the here and now.

‘I can see why Ivan had you dance for him. Such beauty, such serenity …’

He gently stroked the line of her long neck as she remained in position, not having moved a muscle since completing her dance. She was entirely still except for her beating heart and the delicate rise and fall of her chest: something much easier said than done.

He allowed his fingers to follow the line of her shoulder and trace the length of her arm to her fingertips. She didn’t utter a word, nor did she encourage or dismiss his touch. Boldly, he lifted her fingers to his lips, slowly kissing their tips, his curiosity at her reaction to him ensuring that his eyes never left her face. The sharp intake of her breath was barely audible, but certainly noticed.

The slightest of smiles that reached both their lips confirmed that their relationship with each other would certainly be much more than ballet, and both silently acknowledged it would be far from chaste.

Eloise burnt in places that she had previously been able to subdue, to deny the existence of in her body. Her glow was as much internal as it was external, and her muscles pulsed with excitement as she thought of how her relationship with this tennis god might unfold.

He pulled her body against his muscled torso and she felt every inch of his six foot four inches of height. Her petite frame felt even smaller as she rested against his bulk and inhaled his crisp, fresh scent. He wrapped his arms around her, encasing her body, and bent down to feather light kisses on her long neck. The simultaneous dominance and softness of his action threatened her upright position.

‘You are simply exquisite,’ he whispered into her ear, his words far less commanding than when she’d arrived. ‘Where have you been all my life? I’m sure I must be dreaming. Tell me I’m not dreaming, Eloise. Please, put me out of my misery.’

‘You are not dreaming, sir.’ She sounded as breathless as she felt light-headed.

‘What am I to you?’

‘You are my Master.’

‘And you choose this, of your own free will?’

‘I do, sir.’

He paused for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink in to his consciousness.

‘Why?’ he asked.




Unbelievable


For the first time, Stephan felt her tense beneath his touch. He observed her hesitation as he guided her back to the lounge and wrapped a throw around her shoulders, understanding the need for her to stay warm after such physical exertion.

‘Just like you, I need to understand what makes you tick if this is to work,’ he explained. ‘Talk to me …’

‘I need boundaries. I like discipline. I love to please.’ She didn’t make eye contact as she said the words.

‘I can understand that.’ He idly played with a strand of her hair that had fallen free from her tight bun. ‘Tell me more.’

‘You have my file, just as I have yours, sir.’

‘I want to hear it from your mouth.’ The words rolled off his tongue so sensually that she couldn’t imagine denying him anything.

‘The ballet gave me all of those things. All the details of my life were organised for me – what I ate, what I wore, where I went, what I did. I had focus, I had ability, they had control and I loved what I did. I had no social life, no life at all other than the ballet. When that stopped …’ She inadvertently rubbed her ankle … ‘I felt like I was in freefall. My life lost all its meaning and purpose.’

She raised her eyes to meet his and they locked for some time.

‘And your family?’

‘I have no family – only the ballet, since I was twelve, sir.’

‘I see. By the way, you don’t need to keep calling me sir,’ he said before continuing his inquisition. ‘Boyfriends?’

‘Not really, sir – oh, sorry,’ she corrected herself.

‘I can’t believe there was never any interest.’

‘There has been interest, yes, but I considered it all a distraction, as I was dedicated to the ballet. Dance always came first by a long way, so nothing ever developed.’

‘And now? Friends?’

‘Not really – some of the other dancers, perhaps, but I don’t keep in touch with them now. I suppose we were close in some ways, but we were also in constant competition with each other so it didn’t foster strong relationships. The constant bitchiness left me worn out so I tended not to socialise more than I had to. I’ve never been comfortable around a lot of people.’ She looked into his eyes, trying to read his face before continuing. ‘This role has given me the opportunity to enjoy a better lifestyle, continue my dancing and see the world from a different perspective. And to be of service, I hope.’

She felt a slight twinge of betrayal for not mentioning her relationship with Noah, but given that Stephan had just annihilated him at Arthur Ashe Stadium she thought it best to say nothing. It was all a little too close to home.

‘I find you utterly intriguing … perplexing, but intriguing.’

Stephan’s mind was racing. The entire premise of a relationship like this presented endless possibilities. The constant arguments he had with Ava, his current girlfriend, were monotonous and exhausting. Stunning as she was, her jealousy added a dimension to his life he didn’t need, and over the last few months she had become like a noose around his neck. Complaining about all the travel and never being able to see each other, telling him he wasn’t being sensitive to her needs and didn’t respect her career as a model. He still couldn’t believe she could even compare her job with his, but never even bothered getting into that argument, so futile would it be. He rolled his eyes in frustration just thinking about it.

Ava hadn’t even managed to make it back from her exotic photo shoot in the Maldives to witness his grand-slam victory yesterday. It was the US Open, for Christ’s sake, but she’d somehow managed to miss her connecting flight. Did she honestly expect him to sit idly around waiting for her when his career had just placed him on top of the world? What was he supposed to do when women threw themselves at him at the glamorous events he attended? Their persuasiveness could be intense, and he couldn’t help it if his eyes, and libido, led him astray on occasion. And now that he was Number One, he certainly had no intention of settling down with just one person. The world was his oyster, and it seemed as if he had just discovered the perfect pearl!

Here in front of him sat this delicate peach of such serene beauty, who was willing for him to be her Master – in all ways – and who wanted nothing but to be of service to him as he continued his all-important journey towards grand-slam domination.

It was unbelievable! Nothing excited him more than ultimate control; he thrived on it. And she was giving herself to him on a platter – and then some!

‘I suppose the main thing you have to decide is whether you want me and in what capacity,’ she said.

‘There is no doubt that I want you, Eloise. That decision has already been made.’

She was surprised at how his words roused deep feelings within her. To be wanted by someone meant more to her than anything else. It touched her to the core. It felt different from being wanted by Noah, who respected and accepted the friendship she’d enforced. She felt Stephan would never accept such a compromise; he was such a powerful force he would always demand more, and this realisation stirred strong and unexpected emotions within her psyche.

Stephan, meanwhile, could barely believe that a woman like Eloise existed. He made a mental note to check with his lawyers that the contract between them was rock-solid. He knew what doing business with Caesar could be like and he didn’t want her slipping between the cracks.

‘If that is your wish –’

He interrupted her at once. ‘It most certainly is my wish – and then some.’ His grin broadened to a full-blown smile at the thought that from this moment on, she was his.

She continued, ‘Then within the terms of the contract and the role we agree together, I am yours.’ She returned his smile with shy yet mischievous eyes.

‘But if I don’t retain the Number One ranking?’ He could never bring himself to say ‘lose’; it just wasn’t part of his mindset.

‘Then I am no longer yours. My contract with you would terminate and my involvement would be negotiated with the new Number One, just as it was with you yesterday.’

It dawned on Stephan that this was where she held some of the power.

‘Luckily for me I don’t have any desire to change my status.’

He looked down at the notes he’d scribbled when he reviewed the contract before she arrived. ‘It says in the contract that I may give you a new name, to protect your identity, given my profile.’





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