Art's grateful, he really is. Tennis has given him everything anyone could ever want— a fulfilling career, you and Lily, and countless influential titles and wins— and with him getting closer to becoming a household name, Art's more than aware of his luck. He's beyond grateful.

But fame is a double-edged sword. With it comes more prying eyes and less privacy. He can't go anywhere now without someone— fan or not— recognizing him, and when that happens, it's immediately filmed and spread over the internet. He's come to terms with the paparazzi being around every corner and strangers knowing so much about him, but there are lines that he won't tolerate being crossed.

And those lines— they include you and Lily. You're not a stranger to this lifestyle having come up in the tennis world with him until your injury, but Lily? No one comes within an inch of Lily Donaldson without him knowing who they are, what they're doing, why they're there, and so on.

It's why he's so upset as the Suburban driving the three of you back to the hotel rumbles down the road, Lily inconsolable in your arms while he seethes beside the two of you. The post-match press conference took a turn when the three of you tried making your departure; with the paps having no respect for personal space and fans seeking out photos and autographs, it only made sense that he'd lose his temper when the cameras were aimed at his little girl.

"She's not coming to one of these again." The words are steadfast and unyielding; there's no hope in changing his mind. "We'll bring your mom the next time, hire a babysitter— I don't care." A sigh leaves Art's nose as Lily's wet eyes meet his, still teary and red-rimmed as she sniffles. Damnit.

"... I just don't want this to happen again. They've got no right taking pictures of my kid."

Call him paranoid, tell him he's overreacting— Art doesn't care. His PR rep can have a hissy fit on the phone with him later; he's not above shooing away the vultures trying to profit off his life.