Page 41 of Love, Amy

Mine and Aurelio’s.

The greatest match of the tournament ended a couple of hours ago on Center Court. Aurelio faced down his nemesis, the Frenchman and world number one, Charles Allard. My match was before his, so I cooled down on the stationary bike and bit my lip savagely as I watched them on the TV. As soon as the match started, I could tell the crowd was on Aurelio’s side. Charles has the experience, though. He broke Aurelio’s serve early and it felt like deja vu. It would be tight, but Aurelio would lose. Even the commentators started praising Aurelio for just “keeping it close.”

Aurelio lost the first set pretty handily. He looked more defeated than I had ever seen him. He went to sit on his bench, wiping his face with a Wimbledon towel. The stadium lights beamed down on him, blocking out the stars. I desperately wished I was sitting beside him on the bench, saying the right things to buck him up. But I should have known better. He didn’t need any love from me. He found love elsewhere. The cameras caught it perfectly. His little niece, Bianca, interrupted the relative quiet to call out to her uncle. She stood up in the box, her father’s restraining hand on her shoulder. She was once again wearing the sunglasses Aurelio bought her in Miami, looking like the coolest, bossest six-year-old in the world. “Uncle Aurelio!” she shouted. Her English was impeccable, just faintly accented. He turned around to look at her. He dropped the towel to his lap, brow furrowed. She clenched her little fist, stared right at him. “You can do it! Forza!”

It took a beat for Aurelio to understand, to comprehend, but then a smile broke on his face. He started laughing. He stood up, put up both hands in an exaggerated shrug, and shouted back, “I’m working on it, Coach Bianca!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and the commentators for ESPN complimented Bianca’s pep talk. Even Charles Allard smiled at the exchange. Bianca watched shrewdly as Aurelio marched back out to the court, a new focus on his face. She stayed standing as he won the next set.

And the next.

And the next.

When he won the match, he shook Allard’s hand professionally, not a hint of joy leaking through. He shook the umpire’s hand, sharing his thanks. He nodded and waved to the ball kids. Finally, he turned and ran over to his box. His brother handed Bianca down to him. And even though she was a little too big to be held, he carried her in his arms and did a joint interview after the match.

I teared up a little watching them. I had to blink a few times when I caught Rafe watching me strangely from the corner of the gym.

Aurelio and I are going to the finals of Wimbledon. Together.

I lounge on Aurelio’s bed waiting for him to come back to the hotel so we can celebrate properly. I figure a surprise sleepover with the world number one is an appropriate prize after beating the world number one. The clock says that it’s well after midnight, but we get to sleep in tomorrow. Two days from now, I’ll play my final against Fernanda for my first Grand Slam win. Right after, Aurelio will play the American hotshot, Joaquin Esquivel, for his first Grand Slam win. It feels like fate.

I told Beck that I was going out to “blow off some steam,” which strangely, he approved of. It probably reminded him of himself, sleeping with cocktail waitresses and not using protection. Even if I don’t come home until very late or very early, he won’t pass judgement. No strings attached romance is the only type he approves of. I know all of the lies will come back to bite me eventually, but Aurelio and I deserve a few more days of joy before having to confront the joy-killer that is Beck Bowman.

It takes Aurelio a while to escape the grips of the media, so much so that I almost doze off waiting for him. I sit up with a start when I hear the door opening. I take my contraband bag off the nightstand and fling some of its contents at Aurelio.

He cringes at the assault. “Agh.” He looks around in bewilderment, taking in the mess I have now made of the hotel floor and me sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Amy?” His gaze snags on the bag in my hand. “Why are you throwing rice at me? And how did you get in here?”

I shrug. “I took the extra keycard from your bag yesterday. And the kitchen gave me the rice. I didn’t have any confetti, so rice was the next best option.”

Aurelio’s confusion remains. “Next best option?” He starts walking over to me, dropping his bag on the ground as he goes. “Next best option for what?”

I stand up on the bed, for once several inches taller than Aurelio. He looks up at me, tired and befuddled. It’s the sweetest expression I’ve ever seen. I can’t hold it in anymore. “To celebrate!” I throw out my arms. “Or did you miss the fact that we’re both in the Wimbledon final for the first time?”

Aurelio cracks immediately, starting to laugh, and I jump into his arms. He shuffles back a step, surprised, before his warm arms wrap around me. I’m laughing, too, blinking back happy tears that hopefully he doesn’t see. Aurelio twirls us around, my feet swinging easily through the air. I loop my arms around his neck. “Can you believe it?” I ask him. “You were amazing today!”

“I’m so happy it is us, together,” he murmurs to me, tightening his grip. “It feels right.”

“You beat the number one player in the world.” I shake my head in wonder. “That’s a big deal, Aurelio.” I remember the way his expression darkened whenever someone mentioned Charles Allard. Today, he beat his own demons.

Aurelio’s arms tighten around me. “Coming from the woman who is the number one player in the world! I am just trying to get on your level, mia dolce.”

I smile down at him, happily. I didn’t realize that people could make you happier. I thought you were born with it. You just woke up and saw the good in life. The rest of us weren’t that way. But Fernanda, Aurelio, Vince—they weren’t born happy. I was wrong. Instead, they were just born lucky. Lucky to have a family that loved them, or a confidence in their ability, or a passion that was unmatched. They recognized that luck and worked hard to hold onto it. They cherished and took care of it. The good news for a girl like me is that luck can find me, too.

I think it already has.

I lean in to kiss him, wanting him near me, wanting him with me, always. Kissing Aurelio is like stepping outside and feeling the sun’s rays for the first time in hours. It’s like remembering that after being so, so cold, there’s something to warm you back up. I can just feel the soft scrape of his stubble on my cheek, taste a hint of red Gatorade on his lips. My heartbeat gallops in my ear, faster than during my match earlier today.

Aurelio spins us again, heading back towards the bed. I agree wholeheartedly with his assessment, my fingers twining through the golden curls at the base of his neck. He gently drops me on the bed, breaking our kiss to look down at me. “Is this okay?” he asks, gently skimming a thumb over my swollen lower lip.

A tremor travels through my body.

“Is this okay?” I give him a look. “You’re fucking torturing me, Aurelio.” He chuckles, low and dangerous. His curious fingers play with my tank top strap. Visions of us truly together start to melt my brain. My skin feels like it’s on fire. “Aurelio,” I say, a warning. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

He leans back down, kissing me gently on the jaw, the nose, underneath my ear. “Mia dolce,” Aurelio murmurs to me. “I do not want this moment to end, do you?”

End? What does he mean? This night? Our relationship?

I shake my head.