Hello faithful readers :) Before we get to the chapter update, here are my weekly notes.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone that has followed or favourited either this story or yours truly. It makes me incredibly happy, regardless of whether you did it after the first chapter or you did it five minutes ago. I am not, and will never be, one of those writer's that insinuates that more follows/favourites/reviews will somehow encourage me to write better/longer/faster chapters. I update once a week, and will continue to do so until this story has been completed. But, as I always say, it is nice to be appreciated, so really, merci beaucoup.

Now, this new chapter. I will say, it was going to be very different when I started writing it, but I decided to go in a different direction. I hope you like it. Just so you know, I don't plan on taking forever to get the girl's together, but I'm also not done with the build up yet. To me this story harks back to days when you liked someone, and it took you a while to realise that you did. And then you didn't know if they liked you too, and you overanalysed every little interaction that you had with them. And you just wished you knew what was going on in their heads. Ring a bell for anyone? No? Just me?

Thank you to everyone that wrote me a review. I will reply to you all very soon, if your PM settings allow me to. For all the guest's that reviewed, thank you :)

Finally, the WTA has released a rather funny video of some of the top ranked female tennis players making emoticon faces. I suggest watching it if you need a laugh. And the French Open starts Monday, so yay!

On to the update! Enjoy!

Rachel's phone pinged, alerting her to a new message. The brunette paused, the liquid eyeliner in her hand hovering mid air as she glanced at the message bubble that had popped up on her locked screen. Smiling at the words, she looked back at her reflection and applied a quick line of the liquid over her lashes before lifting the phone from the bathroom counter. Unlocking the phone, she reread the message she'd just received.

Quinn FabrayYes, I noticed that too! Guess we'll just have to find a way to meet in the final ;)

The two sentences from the World No. 1 were in reply to a text Rachel had sent earlier that afternoon, after watching the live stream of the Wimbledon draw ceremony on her laptop. As the women's defending champion, Quinn had been obliged to attend the event alongside her male counterpart, Sam Evans.

As the top two seeds, it was a given that Quinn and Santana would be in opposite ends of the draw. Quinn was joined by the third- seeded Fleur Delacour in the top half of the draw, while Santana would meet the fourth-seeded Marley Rose in the semifinals if the draw played out the way it was projected to. Rachel had watched the remaining twenty-eight seeds be divided equally into the two halves, but had to wait till the actual draw was released to see where she herself had landed.

As it turned out, Rachel had been placed alongside Santana in the bottom half of the draw, where she would also have to compete with the likes of Wilde, Stephens, Chan and Azarenka to make it to the final. While the draw wasn't easy in the slightest, the brunette found herself feeling slightly relieved that she wouldn't have to contend with Quinn till the final, that is, if both of them made it that far in the tournament. She'd texted the blonde to alert her to their different paths at the upcoming major, leaving out the bit where she was happy they were in opposite sides of the draw.

Grinning, Rachel's fingers flew over the touchscreen as she typed out her own reply.

'I'll do my best to uphold my end of the bargain :)'

Seconds later, her phone pinged again.

Quinn FabrayAs will I. Back at the hotel now, and I need to hurry if I want to make it to the party on time. See you soon, Rach.

Rachel locked her screen without replying. Looking back at her reflection, she lifted a compact from the counter and applied some blush to her cheeks. The rouge was followed by some lipstick and gloss, which completed the sparse makeup look that Rachel was going for. Taking a step back she eyed herself critically and, satisfied with what she saw, turned and exited the bathroom.

"It's all yours, father's" Rachel shouted out, heading towards her bedroom. The Berry's had decided to rent an apartment in SW19 for the duration of their stay in London. It allowed the New Yorker's some semblance of a family life while in the UK, and was also convenient for Rachel as she trained and played at what was arguably the world's most famous tennis tournament.

The brunette walked into her room, and as she had been doing all day, stopped to admire the dress that was hanging in her open closet. The knee-length, long-sleeved embroidered chiffon lace silk dress was stunning, and Rachel still couldn't believe that she would get to wear it tonight.

The dress had shown up at the apartment that morning, hidden from view in a large box that piqued Rachel's curiosity. The box itself was held in the arms of one Kurt Hummel, whose lips held a mysterious smile as he explained to the tennis player that since she was wearing Adidas' Stella McCartney line, it was only fitting that she also wore one of the designer's creations to the WTA's Pre-Wimbledon Party that night. The Adidas man had then lifted the top off the box with a flourish, and Rachel had quite literally squealed when she saw the creation inside. Needless to say, Kurt's theatrical side had been pleased by her reaction. And this was before he fished the Barbara Bui blue suede pumps and Chanel clutch out of his courier bag.

Rachel got dressed, slipping the dress up over her shoulders and pulling the zip up as high as she could by herself. Walking to the door, she opened it and called out, "Daddy? Papa?"

She heard some footfalls coming her way, before Hiram came into view. "What's up, baby girl?"

Rather than answer, the brunette simply opened the door wider and turned around, "Could you help me, please?"

She heard her Daddy take a sharp intake of breath, before he walked closer and pulled the zip up the rest of the way. Rachel tugged the bottom of the dress to straighten it properly, before turning back around to look at her father. Hiram looked his daughter up and down, his throat bobbing with emotion, before he swallowed and spoke, "Oh sweetheart… You look stunning."

Rachel smiled bashfully, "Thank you Daddy. I haven't seen myself yet, but I'll take your word for it."

Hiram opened his mouth and yelled, "Leroy! Come here!"

"I'm getting dressed Hiram. What is it?" the other man yelled back. Based on the sound of his voice, it sounded to Rachel like he was in the bathroom.

"You'll see when you get here!" Hiram yelled, and Rachel knew he was cryptic on purpose. It was an open secret that her Papa's curiosity often got the better of him. Sure enough, she could hear more footsteps coming her way, and moments later her Papa joined her Daddy in gushing over her appearance. 'I haven't even put my shoes on yet' Rachel smirked inwardly, knowing she was in for another round of gushing when her parents saw the complete ensemble.

Forty minutes and lots of pictures later, Rachel, Hiram and Leroy set off to the Pre-Wimbledon Party at The Roof Gardens. The two male Berry's were dressed to match their daughter, both turned out in sharp designer suits. This was the first professional tennis party that Rachel was attending with her father's, and arguably the biggest one she had ever attended herself. The excitement in the taxi was palpable.

Rachel pulled her phone out of the bright orange clutch, whose colour clashed with her dress and shoes in a surprisingly stylish way. Unlocking the screen, she quickly sent Brittany a text saying she was on her way, and after a moment of contemplation, forwarded the same message to Quinn. The brunette considered sending the text to Santana as well, but decided against it. She had been surprised when the Latina texted her a couple of days ago asking if she was interested in having a practice hit the next day, and while the subsequent training session and all her other interactions with Santana had been great, Rachel didn't think they had reached a text-on-your-way-to-a-party level of friendship yet.

That was not an issue she had with Quinn. Rachel had texted the blonde to thank her for the flowers on her birthday immediately after leaving the Adidas photo shoot, and the two American's had instantly started a text-dialogue that was still ongoing days later. Rachel found Quinn's texts to be amusing ('They're playing that terrible 'Wimbledon' movie on BBC 4. How could someone make a movie about tennis that's so factually incorrect?!'), informative ('Sorry for the lateness of my reply. I was at the British Museum. They have an excellent exhibition called 'The Horse'. You should check it out if you have the time.'), random ('Not much, it's raining, so I figured I'd reply to some fan mail. Did you know Mickey Mouse once received 800,000 fan letters in a single year? True story, my friend.'), and, in a nutshell, completely entertaining.

Despite all the texting, the two women had yet to meet on this trip to London. All of Rachel's time seemed to be divided between training on court or in the gym and spending time with her parents. The tennis player had also given a few more interviews, and she and her father's were also discussing a few more endorsement offers that had come her way. As her Papa pointed out, Rachel's career was on the rise, and there were companies that wanted to lock her in while she was still a relatively unknown entity. Both he and her Daddy had advised that she wait till after Wimbledon before considering any new offers, and Rachel had opted to heed their council.

Rachel suspected that Quinn was just as busy, if not busier, than Rachel had been, and was really looking forward to finally seeing her blonde friend that evening. She suspected her father's were just as keen to meet the famous tennis player, and not because they were star stuck by the talented young woman. Well, not entirely at least. Rachel had told her parent's about the flowers Quinn had sent her for her birthday, and related some of the more pointless facts Quinn had texted about over the last few days. Hiram and Leroy had dropped many hints indicating their interest in meeting the woman they'd read so much about, and heard even more about in the last week alone. They'd also brought up how Finn spoke well of her, and Rachel had almost laughed out loud when they made it sound like they were super tight with Finn Hudson. Quirky and eccentric as they were, she wouldn't swap her father's for anything in the world.

Rachel's phone pinged, and she looked down at the message.

Brittany PierceI'm here Rach. By the bar.

Rachel shot her British friend a reply telling her she'd see her soon, and then, for no apparent reason, rechecked her text conversation with Quinn. Her brow furrowed when she saw a 'Read' notification under her last message to Quinn. It was unlike the blonde not to reply to a message. 'Maybe she's still getting ready', Rachel thought, locking her phone and putting it back into her clutch.

The black taxi pulled up outside the venue in Kensington, and flashing camera bulbs left Rachel momentarily blind as she and her father's stepped out of the vehicle. The WTA had sent out a brief earlier that week, alerting players to the fact that WTA-accredited journalists and photographers would be inside the venue. So the ones gathered outside were only there in the hopes of getting shots or footage that they could sell independently to magazines, papers or tabloids. Rachel politely nodded and waved at the gathered cameramen, steeling herself to ignore the expected calls of 'Who are you wearing?' as she and her father's tried to make their way inside.

Which is why it was completely unexpected to hear the call of "Any thoughts on the Russell Fabray situation?"

The American stopped in her tracks, and turned towards the sound of the voice, only to be met by even more blinding lights. The owner of the voice must have realized he'd gotten a reaction, because he continued, "Do you really think Fabray was unaware of what her father was up to?"

Rachel turned to look at her parents with confusion spelt all over her features, and it was Leroy who sprang into action, gently taking his daughter by the arm and leading her into The Roof Gardens. The Public Relations expert walked Rachel in through the sliding doors, where the sudden quiet was a jarring contrast to the babel outside. An event staffer met with the trio outside the elevator, and Rachel was on the young man before he could even open his mouth to greet them, "What's happened to Russell Fabray?"

"I'm sorry, what?" the man asked, his nervous gaze flitting between the three Berry's before landing back on Rachel.

"Russell Fabray, Quinn's father. The paparazzi outside was saying something about him" Rachel prompted.

"Uh, sorry, I don't know who that is" the man replied.

"You don't know who… You're with the WTA, right?" the brunette asked, the incredulity evident in her voice.

The man actually looked relieved at her question, "Oh, no! No! I'm just an intern with the company that's organized the event tonight. But, uh, I'm sure someone can answer your questions upstairs." He led the trio to a stairwell, and nodded as they ascended the stairs.

The Berry's walked up, and through some more sliding doors, where they stepped on to a red carpet that led to a large step-and-repeat banner. Three different tennis players standing a couple of meters apart were being interviewed by different journalists, all in front of the same banner.

A clipboard-carrying woman approached Rachel and her father's, "Rachel Berry? I'm Terri Del Monico, from the WTA's Communications and Publicity division. We're just asking that the player's have a quick chat with the journalists before they head in tonight. And pose for a few pictures. It shouldn't take more than fifteen-twenty. And, we find, it's best to just get it out of the way at the start. Is that alright?"

Rachel nodded, and was about to ask the woman about Russell Fabray when she had another idea, "That's no problem. But, uh, would you might if I quickly used the restroom?"

"Of course, it's right down that hall" Terri nodded, her eyes already on another player who'd just walked in behind Rachel. "Just let me know when you're back out, and I'll put you on to the journalists. Your guests are welcome to stay inside while you deal with your press commitments."

Rachel thanked her, and marched down the hall that led to the room where the main event was being held. She ignored Hiram's call as she passed the restroom's, leaving her father's with no choice but to follow her. Once in the room, the brunette made a beeline for the bar, where as promised, Brittany was waiting for her. And keeping her company was Santana Lopez.

Rachel would have dwelled more on why the Brit and the Latina were standing so close together if she didn't have a more pressing issue on her mind. "Why were the press outside asking about Russell Fabray?" she asked, in lieu of a proper greeting.

"What?" Santana asked, looking mildly irritated at the sudden intrusion.

"Outside. They asked about the "Russell Fabray situation" Rachel said, making air quotes as she spoke.

"I don't know what you're-" Santana started, before something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Rachel, Brittany, Hiram and Leroy followed her line of sight, and noticed that most of the people in the room had drifted over to the television set mounted on the far wall. Without a word, the Spaniard set off towards the little crowd, followed by the rest of the little group.

The television was tuned to BBC News, with the words 'Live Breaking News' prominently displayed just below where the journalist's chest area should be. The presenter herself was standing in front of what appeared to be one of Wimbledon's lush green courts, and her voice grew louder the closer they got, "…earnings from 2009 to 2011. Our sources say he will be charged with setting up front companies to avoid paying income taxes on his daughter's multimillion-dollar tennis income."

The broadcast cut back to the studio, where a man was seated behind a desk, "Thank you Anita. We'll keep checking back with you as more details emerge. If you're just tuning in then here's a quick recap of this story. The IRS has charged the father of the world's top female tennis player with tax evasion and tax fraud. American tax officials believe Russell Fabray created bogus front companies and set up complex financial maneuvers to avoid paying income on Quinn Fabray's earnings from both her successful tennis career as well as her personal endorsement deals from 2009 through to the last financial year. Mr. Fabray serves as his daughter's business manager, and just to be clear, the IRS hasn't leveled any charges against the player herself. Russell Fabray is currently in London, where his daughter is scheduled to begin the defense of her Wimbledon title on Monday. Our sources expect him to fly back to America later tonight."

There was silence in the room after the telecast cut to a commercial break. Santana turned around, her unfocused eyes briefly landing on Rachel and Brittany before she wordlessly walked to the exit and disappeared. Rachel didn't need to ask where she was going.

She just really wished she could go too.