Hello everyone :) I have an update ready to be uploaded, but first...
Thank you again to everyone that has favourited/followed either myself of this story. I was surprised by the number of new follows/favourites A Perfect Match got after Chapter 19, which I must admit was a nice counter for the reviews that basically insinuated that I should just get on with the romance! I must be doing something right if not every is uber frustrated by the pace of this story! While I'm here, I just want to say that criticism is always welcome in my home. However, I will not respond to it on here, just as I don't respond to praise in my weekly notes either. If you would like to discuss my story then please, make sure your PM settings allow me to message you, and I promise, we can discuss any grievances you might have with my story. Hell, you might even convince me to pick up the pace. If you, however, do not wish to have a discussion then by all means, keep commenting using Guest accounts. It's your call to make!
I appear to have confused many people with the end of the last chapter (which I went back and rewrote a little the day after I uploaded the chapter, so feel free to check it out if you didn't know that), so I will use this space to explain my characterisation of Santana. In my mind, she's a fiery player, very confident in her own abilities, but also known to lose her cool when she feels like she's being wronged. Her OCD ways and tendency to do things at her own pace can rub fans the wrong way, so people tend to either love her, or hate her. But her talent is undeniable. In the context of her match against Rachel she let her emotions get the better of her, and gave away a free point to prove a point. Do I think she looks back and regrets it? Yes. Is it all a part of a player growing up? Yes. Will she learn from it? Yes. Athlete's are human beings, and sometimes we all do things we wish we could go back and change. And that to me is what the end of Santana's Wimbledon campaign was to her.
Those are my musings this week. Wimbledon (yes, the real one) starts Monday, and I'm looking forward to getting my tennis fix. I hope all is well in your world's. As usual, expect a reply to your feedback soon. And again, feel free to point out any typos/grammatical errors, so I know to fix them.
And now, we march onwards...
Rachel dipped the spoon into the bowl of ice cream, bringing a large chunk of the fudgy goodness up to her lips. Pointing the remote at the television, she aimlessly flipped through channels till she came across Sky Sports, and immediately stopped scrolling. Hitting the mute button brought forth a flood of sound from the previously silent TV, causing Leroy to look up from the book he was reading.
The curly-haired man frowned, "Are you sure that's a good idea sweetheart?"
Rachel grunted noncommittally, turning up the volume just enough to discourage any more comments from her father. Leroy sighed and returned his gaze to his book, briefly shaking his head before resuming his reading.
"…that Chelsea will make Valencia an eighteen-million-pound offer for the Dutch striker, but there's been no official confirmation from the reigning European champions", a blonde female presenter was saying.
The teenager took another bite of her ice cream as the camera switched to a brunette, male presenter, "The Ladies Singles semifinals were played at Wimbledon today, and there were no surprises as Marley Rose and Fleur Delacour both made easy work of their unheralded opponents." Rachel made a sound at that description, causing her father to raise his eyes from the page before him and watch his daughter for a few seconds.
"The fourth-seeded American put on a clinical display," the presenter continued, "defeating Asami Sato 6-3, 6-4. Her opponent in Saturday's championship match seemed to be in even more of a rush, dispatching the unseeded teenager Rachel Berry 6-1, 6-3 in just over an hour. Here's what the players had to say after the match."
The sports new bulletin cut to footage of Fleur Delacour from her post-match conference, "I'm very 'appy wiz 'ow I played today." It jumped to another part of the Frenchwoman's interview, "She ees very young, and I am sure we will play against one anozer many times in ze future. Today maybe my experience 'elped, and for zat I am 'appy." Here the editor made another quick switch, "Oui, zis ees ze first final 'ere for me, and it ees already a dream come true. I will do my best on Saturday, and 'opefully win ze title."
Rachel paused with a spoon of ice cream halfway to her lips when her own face came up on the giant wall-mounted LCD flat-screen, "It was just a disappointing day. I mean, not just that I lost, but how I played overall. Nothing coming off my racket felt right today, and, yeah, it was just a bad, bad day."
The news cut back to the anchor, and Rachel put the spoon into her mouth, the ice cream already melted by then, "Indeed it was. The American hit thirty-three unforced errors today, and only seven winners. In comparison, Delacour ended the match with seventeen winners and an impressively low eleven unforced errors." The brunette took a deep breath and dug her spoon into her bowl with a little more force than was necessary, only to realize that she her finished her ice cream.
The TV coverage cut to a two-shot of both presenters, seated at opposite ends of a long desk, "Sounds like Berry had a rough day in the office," the female presenter said.
"A bit like your weekend games, Alex?" the man asked with a cheeky grin.
The woman, obviously someone named Alex, laughed back, "Unfortunately, yes. So I completely sympathize with her."
"Well, she's only eighteen, so I'm sure this will be a good learning experience for her" the man replied, and a snarky voice in Rachel's head spoke up, 'Easy for you to say.'
The camera cut back to Alex, "Delacour will now play last year's losing finalist Marley Rose, with the winner set to claim their first Wimbledon title and a winner's purse of one million, one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand pounds."
Marley's smiling face appeared on screen, "They say the third time's the charm, so I'm crossing my fingers. Hopefully I can cross that last hurdle this year." The footage cut to Asami Sato, whose wet hair made it obvious that she had showered before her post-match conference, "It's tough to call. They're both playing fantastic tennis, and know what it's like to go deep into Slam's on a regular basis. So yeah, it could be anyone's game on Saturday."
The coverage cut back to Alex, behind the desk, "Sato isn't lying. Delacour and Rose have played each other eight times, and have split their meetings right down the middle. But, and this is interesting, this is the first time they're meeting on grass."
The bulletin cut to a two-shot of the presenters, "Who's your money on, Graham?" Alex asked.
He looked like he was thinking for a second, "I'm going to have to say Rose. She's been a finalist for the last three years now, and I think this might finally be her year."
"Especially with last year's winner Quinn Fabray far away, enjoying the Ibiza sun" Alex added, prompting Rachel to let out a little laugh. For some reason the presenter's words reminded Rachel of the Vengaboys' hit 'Going To Ibiza', which was all the rage when the brunette was five-years-old, and the song's hook began playing on repeat in her head, lifting her spirits.
Rachel realized she had zoned out and missed the end of Graham and Alex's discussion about Wimbledon when the television programme began showing footage of some sort of motorcycle race. The brunette muted the television again, and rose from the couch with a smile, intent on getting another serving of the chocolate ice cream. Leroy looked up at his now-standing daughter, "I have to admit, I did not expect you to be smiling at the end of that."
The brunette shrugged, "I lost dad, fair and square. But I'm still a Wimbledon semifinalist. And I'm happy with that."
"That's my girl" Leroy smiled, placing his book in his lap and opening his arms for a hug.
Rachel embraced her father, assigning his scent to memory as she did, before straightening up again and looking at him with a serious expression, "When I say I'm happy with that, I mean for now," she clarified, looking him in the eye.
Leroy laughed, "I know, sweetheart. You get your competitive genes from your Dad."
"Yes Papa, but you and I both know that Wimbledon is a tad more important than our Berry Scrabble-thons" she mock-huffed.
Leroy picked his book up, "Shh! Don't tell him, it'll break his heart," he said, making his daughter giggle. He winked before turning his attention back to his book, and Rachel made her way to the rented apartment's kitchen.
She had just finished scooping some more of the creamy treat into her bowl, humming the ridiculously catchy Vengaboys tune about the Spanish party-island as she did, when her phone rang. The teenager opened the freezer door and quickly put the tub back inside before reaching into the pocket of her pajamas to retrieve the device. Her face split into a grin when she saw the name on the display.
"How's Ibiza?" she asked, in lieu of a traditional greeting.
"A bit cold tonight" Quinn's smooth voice replied, and Rachel was pleased to realize that she could hear amusement in the blonde's voice.
"Yeah, I'm glad I carried my winter pajamas" Rachel said, stopping by the living room to switch the television off before making her way to her temporary bedroom.
"Mmm, how did your press go?" Quinn asked. Rachel could hear what sounded like the squeak of mattress springs as the blonde asked her question, and pictured her friend sitting on a bed in a hotel room.
"As the English would say, it went swimmingly dahling" Rachel answered, putting on a fake British accent as she did.
"God, don't ever speak that way when conversing with an actual Englishman, Rach. They'll chase you out of here with three-pronged forks" Quinn laughed.
"It wasn't that bad" she replied, sounding petulant to even her own ears.
"Sure it wasn't" the blonde answered, her tone clearly implying that she was lying.
"Anyway, how was your evening?" Rachel asked, sitting down on her own bed and eating a spoonful of ice cream.
Quinn hummed, "It was alright. We ordered some Chinese takeout, and watched a movie called 'The Ballad of Little Jo'".
"I haven't heard of that one," Rachel frowned, "is it new?"
"Nuh uh," Quinn answered, "it came out in 1993."
"Wow! Is it a classic or something? What made you guys pick it?" Rachel asked.
"Well, for some reason that I still don't really get, Brittany thought it would be about ducks. And she looked so excited that I didn't have the heart to say no. And even if I had wanted to say no, I don't think Santana would have let me" Quinn huffed.
The brunette laughed out loud, "Was the movie good at least?"
Quinn let out an audible sigh, "It was- Wait, do you want me to tell you what it's about?" Rachel hummed, so the blonde continued, "It's set in, like, the late eighteen-hundred's, and it's about this unmarried woman that gets disowned and kicked out of home by her family after getting knocked up, so she pretty much lives the rest of her life pretending to be a man. There's more to it, but that's the gist."
"So it was…?" Rachel trailed off, prompting her friend to end her sentence.
"Depressing. It was depressing" Quinn deadpanned.
"And were there any ducks?" Rachel asked, her voice shaking from an effort to keep from laughing.
"What do you think?" Quinn responded, and that was all it took for Rachel to crack. The brunette laughed and laughed, her amusement exacerbated by the fact that she could hear the blonde join in on the other end.
Rachel wiped away tears from her eyes when she finally found her voice a good thirty-seconds later, "I sort of wish I had come now."
Quinn sounded amused, "Well, you definitely missed out. And for the record, if you ever choose to watch the movie, please, don't extend an invitation to me."
"Noted" Rachel smiled into the phone. "So, what time did you guys leave Brit's?"
"Who says we've left?" Quinn asked, and Rachel adjusted her mental image of the blonde, changing the location from a random hotel room to Brittany's bedroom. 'The sound of the springs could have also been the couch at the Pierce's…' she thought to herself, now picturing Quinn sitting in the living room of their comfortable Earl's Court apartment.
"You're still there?" Rachel asked, glancing at her alarm clock and realizing it was well past nine at night.
"Yup. Santana and Brittany are upstairs in her bedroom, looking through some old photo albums. I'm making air quotes around the last part, just so you know. But I told Santana I'd like to leave by ten, so hopefully they come out soon, no pun intended" Quinn said, and Rachel could hear her yawn, "I'm usually getting ready for bed by now."
Rachel felt a yawn of her own coming on, and didn't fight it. When she was done she laughed, "Tennis players. We're practically rock stars, with our routines."
Quinn laughed, "Mmm, tell me about it." The were a few seconds of companionable silence, before the blonde spoke up again, "So, Santana and I are heading back stateside tomorrow evening. How long are you here for?"
"Someone at the WTA helped get us onto the British Airways flight back to JFK tomorrow. I think we leave around six in the evening," the brunette answered, finishing off the last of her second bowl of ice cream.
Quinn sounded surprised, "You aren't staying longer? I thought you'd want to have a bit of a holiday with your parents."
"Mm-mm" Rachel answered, "Daddy and Papa resume work on Monday, so it was actually their suggestion that we head back soon. It gives them enough time to get over their jetlag, and get some things done back home."
"Mmm, ok" Quinn said.
"What time is your flight?" Rachel asked, wondering if they would all end up on the same plane.
"Well, the press thinks I'm in Ibiza, so Santana and I decided to fly private. Wait! Did you want to come with?" Quinn asked, suddenly sounding excited.
Rachel's eyes went wide, "You want me to catch a ride with you to America?" she asked, laughing at the absurdity of that sentence.
"Yeah, come on! There's more than enough space for you and your dads!" Quinn said, all traces of sleepiness gone from her voice.
"And Shelby?" the brunette asked.
"And Shelby" Quinn replied confidently. "Sue will be there too, so the more the merrier."
"Hold on," Rachel said, standing up, "let me check with my dads."
Less than twenty-four hours later the Berry's were seated in the comfort of a Gulfstream G550, flying some forty thousand feet over the Atlantic. Rachel looked around in wonder, then turned her gaze to Quinn, who was sat beside her in one of the camel-coloured oversized seats, "I can't believe it was just going to be the three of you on here" she said, gesturing around her.
Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but was beaten to the punch by Santana, "Oh, we were going to fly out on a G100, but-."
The Latina stopped when the blonde seated across her coughed rather loudly. She gave Quinn a funny look before shrugging and turning her attention back to Rachel, "Anyway, want some wine Berry? Your teenage ass isn't going to get any booze for a while when this plane lands."
"I'll have a glass if everyone else is having one. If not, it doesn't matter. I'm not much of a drinker," the young American shrugged.
Shelby sauntered up to them, and sat down beside Santana. Rachel looked around for her father's and saw them taking what appeared to be selfies with Sue, before looking back at her coach.
If Shelby had been surprised that Quinn was still in London then she definitely hadn't voiced it when her young charge had called to tell her about the offer to fly back to America with the world's top two female players. Rachel had given Shelby the choice to stick with the commercial flight if that's what she wanted, but the former player was quite happy to tag along on the private plane.
"Nice ride, ladies" the older brunette commented, nodding her head at Quinn and Santana. She turned her body towards the Latina before anyone could say anything, "So, what was that stunt you pulled in the quarters?"
Rachel didn't think she'd ever live to see Santana Lopez shrink in on herself, but that's exactly what just appeared to have happened. The young American was almost impressed by the false bravado the Spaniard managed to put into her tone when she answered, "I'm not sure what you're referring to."
Quinn barked out a laugh, which landed her on the receiving end of a stink-eye from the Latina. Rachel smiled at their interaction, earning her a glare of her own. Shelby continued, nonplussed, "Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I think you called it a "mishit" in your post-match interview. I recall reading some mumbo-jumbo about the ball hitting the frame of your racket."
Santana looked like a deer caught in headlights, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, my timing was off on the shot, and I ended up framing it. Not my best moment," she replied, her nonchalance sounding forced.
"Uh huh," Shelby said, nodding as Sue came to stand beside her seat, "you framed the ball hard enough for it to fly into the top half of the stands, on the opposite side of the court. Very impressive." The expression on Shelby's face was a direct contrast to the words coming out of her mouth.
"It was a good match, and a good win for Berry here," Sue piped up, nodding approvingly at Rachel who smiled at the praise, "and it really could have gone either way, even at that point. Pity you couldn't help but throw that little tantrum."
"It wasn't-" Santana began to defend herself, but obviously decided against it when both former players turned to look at her. She sighed, conceding, "It wasn't my best judgment."
"Well, the fact that you recognize that is a good start. Keeping your emotions in check is half the battle when you're a tennis player. If you'd kept your head then who knows, it could have been you in the final tomorrow. But I believe Remus already had that chat with you," Shelby said, referring to Santana's coach, who wasn't flying with them that night.
Santana nodded, and Rachel couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her friend, who had just gotten publicly schooled by two of the game's greats. "Now, did I hear you mention something about wine?" Shelby asked, easing the mood around them. The Latina nodded and rose out of her seat in flash, clearly intent on escaping the scene.
The rest of the flight was relaxing, to say the least. Rachel had mentioned to Quinn that her parents had been looking forward to meeting the blonde, and she felt a warm sensation wash over her when the World No.1 went out of her way to make conversation with the Berry men. The young brunette appreciated her relatively new friend's efforts, and found herself watching the interaction between the trio when they didn't realize she was eavesdropping. She also thanked the heaven's that her dad's were refraining from sharing any embarrassing stories about their daughter with Quinn, but she had a sneaky suspicion that they were too busy being charmed by the blonde to even recall any.
Rachel herself spent some time with Sue, who, unprompted, gave the young player advice on her game, based on what she'd seen of the American's matches at the French Open and Wimbledon. Rachel had learned very early on that it was important to stay open to comments and criticism in the quest to becoming the best athlete you possibly could, and she was grateful for the tips Sue was giving her. She even made notes as the legendary star rattled off pointers, intent on trying some of the changes Sue was recommending.
With seven people on board, Rachel didn't actually spend much one-on-one time with Quinn, but the two managed to chat a little about their plans for the immediate future while eating dinner. The first thing on the blonde's list was to get a detailed brief and update on her dad's trial, which was set for the thirteenth of August, and to resume tennis practice as soon as possible. The World No. 1 hadn't actually been on court since losing to Brittany, and had pulled out of the Stanford-based tournament she was supposed to participate in in a little over a week. Quinn would now only next compete at the Olympics at the end of the month, and Rachel was almost envious when the blonde stated, almost guiltily, that she was still looking forward to competing in her first summer Olympics despite all the drama surrounding her personal life at the moment. The older American must have sensed the slight change in Rachel's mood, because she rested her hand on the brunette's arm and commented that she was sure Rachel would be a part of the US squad in Rio in 2016. Her show of faith lifted Rachel's spirits again, and actually made her feel a little silly about her brief bout of self-pity.
Before Rachel really knew it, the six-and-a-half-hour flight had come to an end, and the plane had rolled to a stop on the tarmac at JFK International. The pilot announced that it was safe to undo their seatbelts now, leading to a series of clicks filling the air as the travelers freed themselves.
"So, do you just continue onwards when we get off?" Rachel asked, turning to ask Quinn the question that had only just struck her.
The blonde shook her head, "No, Santana and I switch to a smaller plane that'll take us to Miami, and Sue's flying commercial to Vegas to spend a few days with her family."
"Oh, ok," Rachel said, adding, "Shelby's flying onwards to Charlotte for a few days too."
One of the cabin crew on board disarmed the door, and the temperature in the plane went up as a gust of warm air entered the cabin. Everyone began to stand up, reaching for the smaller bags that they'd brought on board. Minutes later, the group was gathered outside, standing near the steps that led up to the plane.
"Well, this is us" Rachel said awkwardly, thinking how strange it was to say those words after disembarking from a plane. She stopped herself from stating her next thought, 'Thanks for the lift' out loud.
The pilot approached, "The plane for Miami has been cleared for takeoff in fifteen minutes, so anyone that's flying on should probably come with me now."
Quinn nodded, before turning to Sue, "See you in a week, Coach?"
Sue nodded, pulling her charge into a hug. "Don't hesitate to call if the paparazzi give you a hard time. I'd be happy to fly back sooner, just to give them a piece of my mind."
Quinn nodded, the ghost of a smile on her features, and then reached out to shake hands with Shelby, followed by the Berry men. Santana was saying her goodbyes to them when the blonde turned to Rachel, "Well, this is goodbye then. For now."
Rachel surprised even herself when she practically launched herself at her fellow tennis player, "Take care of yourself, Quinn," the brunette said, tilting her head to speak into the taller woman's ear. "And remember, you can come spend a few days with my family in New York if things in Miami get too much."
She felt Quinn nod against her cheek, before the two women pulled apart, "I appreciate the offer, Rach." She smiled down at the shorter woman, and Rachel wouldn't have been able to turn her gaze away if Santana hadn't pulled her into another surprising hug.
"See you soon, Berry? I have a loss to avenge" the Latina said, winking cheekily. "Ready, Q?"
Quinn looked at Rachel for a moment, her gaze intense as it bore into the brunette's, before turning to nod at Santana. The two women waved their final goodbyes, picked up their carryon luggage and followed the pilot down the tarmac. Rachel followed them with her eyes, till her father's nudged her, and the small group made their way inside the airport building. No one seemed to notice how quiet Rachel was on the walk there.
