Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 192

Scouting Sedona-2

Chair

I straightened up. I didn’t wipe my face yet. Some instinct said: *let her see what you look like after four sets.*

“Sedona.” Dante arrived first, fell into step beside me without making it a big deal as he showed up, as always, being present. Just there. “You played well.”

“I played a tie.”

“Against a ranked player, two months post-treatment, with zero competitive practice in eleven years.” He glanced at me sideways. “I’ll take the tie.”

Maria reached us. She extended her hand, and I shook it-firm, brief, professional.

“You know,” she said, “when Dante first told me about you, I thought I remembered the name. I went back through junior circuit records. Regional champion at fifteen, finalist at sixteen, circuit records for three seasons before you disappeared.” She had a directness that wasn’t unkind, just undecorated. “I couldn’t understand it. Players with your trajectory don’t just disappear. I assumed injury.”

“Something like that,” I said.

She looked at me for a moment. Let it sit. “Dante also told me about the cancer.”

Something tightened in my chest. Not defensiveness exactly-more like the instinct to brace for a *but*. For the *however*. The thing that came after the compliment and undid it because my history greatly conflicted with what they wanted and expected of me and nobody was willing to take a gamble on a cancer patient that might fail their hands.

‘It’s been two months since you completed treatment,” she said. “And you just played four competitive sets against a ranked player and you’re standing here talking to me.”

‘I am.”

‘I’m impressed.” She said it flatly, like a fact rather than flattery. “Not because I think cancer survivorship is the credential-I think your game is the credential. But what you just demonstrated out there is that your body is responding. That you can still generate the physical output that is needed in this game, despite what you have been through. And your reading of the court is exceptional. I noticed it in the second set- you started anticipating her serve placement before she telegraphed. That’s not something you can train into a player who doesn’t already have it.”

I didn’t say anything. My throat was doing something complicated.

“I’m going to sign you,” Maria said. “I’ll be your manager. We’ll register you for the circuit and get you into competition. You’ll start at the lower rankings and work up-there’s no shortcut through that process-but given what I’ve seen today, I don’t expect it to take long.” She paused. “You understand what this means. You’ll be visible. People will recognize you. You’ll be on television.”

“I know,” I said.

It came out quieter than I intended. She heard something in it.

“Is that a problem?”

1/2

Scouting Sademe 2

thought about Logan. About the custody case. About the deliberate, careful way I’d been keeping my Tennis return out of every conversation that might route back to Chicago.

“No,” I said. “I know.”

Claim

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