Epilogue
MATTEO
Islam a shot as hard as I can down the line, but Maria Kachura gets it back, volleying right at Delilah. She moves forward, takes it early, and perfectly places it so it passes behind Maria and is too far from Andrei Lepik.
“Game, set, and match, Anderson and Corsi. Six–three, seven–five.” I can hardly hear the chair umpire’s words over the cheering.
I don’t care. All I care about is the woman on this side of the net with me, whose smile is more radiant than the sun.
It’s fixated on me now, and when she does her favorite thing—drop her racket—I know what comes next.
I take a step forward, and she comes barreling into my arms, laughing and crying.
“Matteo, we did it. Oh my god. I can’t believe we did it.
” A giggle, her cerulean eyes bright, freckles dancing across her cheeks.
Her Stratosphere visor has been knocked off her head, her blonde braid swinging.
I grin as she places kisses on my forehead, cheeks, nose, chin.
“You barely broke a sweat while winning a Grand Slam final,” she says, laughing again.
I see our opponents waiting at the net and know we should join them.
Screw it. I drop my racket to make her more comfortable, tightening my arms around her and spinning. We need to shake their hands in a timely fashion, but Delilah just won her first slam, and if she wants to laugh and cry in my arms, I won’t let anyone stop her.
I kiss her on the lips quickly, and she pats my shoulder, her way of telling me to set her down. I do, and when we finally shake our opponents’ hands, then the umpire’s, Delilah jumps up and down, waving at a crowd that adores her almost as much as I do.
They go wild again.
Time moves at light speed. We sign and hit balls into the crowd. A stage is built, and a bunch of people come on the court. Thanks is offered to a couple of Australian tennis legends before our opponents give their speeches. Alessio and Francesca accept the coach’s trophy.
The emcee turns to us with a smile. Delilah slips her hand into mine, and I squeeze. “And now, our Australian Open mixed doubles champions, Delilah Anderson and Matteo Corsi!”
More cheers as we step forward, hoisting the bowl-like trophy over our heads. I reluctantly give the camera the smile Delilah insists I use for photos, teeth and all. It’s gotten slightly less fake over the years, though I’m sure she’s the only one who can tell.
We set it back down, and Delilah takes the microphone.
“Hi everyone! Thank you so much for being here. I want to say a huge thank you to Maria and Andrei for a great match today. They played their hearts out all week and deserve a big round of applause for that.” The crowd listens, cheering for our opponents.
“Thank you to everyone here in Melbourne for making this such a special couple of weeks for us. To my best friends, Austin, Nic, Harper, Sahar, and Maya. To my coach Francesca, my siblings, and Eli and Lilian for being here with us today and for supporting me to this point.” Everyone in her box looks so proud of her, and even from here, I can see Lilian’s and Eli’s eyes brimming with tears as they hold onto each other, watching her like they’re her parents.
Which, as far as I’m concerned, they are.
“Thank you to Alessio and Matteo’s team for everything you guys have taught me over the years. ”
Delilah turns so she’s facing me, that dazzling grin still holding strong.
“And finally, thank you to the love of my life, Matteo, for letting me ride his coattails into this win.” A few laughs.
I join them, rolling my eyes because we all know damn well she’s an integral part of this team.
“Two years ago, we hopped on a plane to Melbourne together, and I was just hoping we would make it through the qualifying round. Now, I get to hold the trophy with you, and it’s the sweetest win of my career so far.
I love you”—she’s choked up but shakes her head and pushes on—“so much, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together, potentially winning a couple more of these. ”
Squeezing her hand again, I exchange a knowing look with Francesca because while I can’t control whether we win any more, I can control us spending the rest of our lives together.
The ring—which I purchased with the help of almost everyone in her box, but especially Francesca—in the pocket of my dress pants laid out for tonight’s festivities is a step in that direction.
I was going to propose whether we won today or not, but it’ll be so much more meaningful with our first mixed title in our pocket.
It’s my turn to talk. Delilah gives me a peck before pushing me forward.
I rub a hand on the back of my neck. There’s so much I could thank everyone for, her more so than anyone.
For taking a chance on me over two years ago despite what everyone said about me.
For showing up for me over and over again.
For making me smile and laugh every single day.
For her beautiful heart and kindness, even when people don’t deserve it.
I settle on, “It won’t come as much of a surprise that Delilah executed that perfectly.
So ditto.” A collective chuckle. “Thank you to the tournament staff, to our teams. To Alessio specifically for putting up with me every day. To you all for being here. And thank you to Delilah, who has taught me more life lessons in two years than I learned throughout the rest of my life before her.”
The crowd cheers louder. Someone screams “We love you, Delilah!” and she turns to the sound of the voice, pointing in their direction and yelling “I love you too!”
Part of the reason my team and I thought it would be a good idea to play mixed with her was exactly this; everywhere we go, every tournament she plays, every single person in the crowd can’t help but love her.
I’m like everyone else, no less obsessed with her than I was the day I stepped onto the facility grounds and remembered how incandescent she is.
The picture taking continues, and after the ceremony, cool down, and a press conference, we go back to our hotel room to rest. We have a big night ahead of us, plus Delilah has an assignment due for her online class, and I have a singles final to prepare for.
We settle onto the bed, my spine against the one million pillows, her between my legs, and my arms wrapped around her. “I have to finish my paper,” she mumbles sleepily, her head turning so her cheek presses against my sternum.
She began online classes last year, though with the tour, it’s slow moving. Without financial stressors, she’s having more fun playing, so right now, the classes are for finding something she’ll be passionate about down the road.
“Soon, tesoro. For now, revel in your triumph.”
Delilah snorts. “You sound like a Stratosphere billboard.”
“God, I do. I hate that.”
“I’m glad Chase and the twins could make it. I feel bad I lost in the semis again.”
I frown. “Why do you feel bad? They’ve gotten to see so much they wouldn’t have otherwise. Plus, we just won a Grand Slam. That’s reason enough for them to enjoy their time here.”
She hums.
“Did Chase say something?” I ask carefully. Their relationship is miles better than it was a couple of years ago. He works as a mechanic now to pay for his community college courses and seems to be happy. They haven’t had many issues over the years, but I’m forever on the lookout for trouble.
I never want her to feel the way she did that day we rushed to Tampa from the airport.
“No, no. They all seem happy. Excited for dinner tonight and to watch your finals match.” Her lips curl into a sleepy smile, eyes closing. “A couple of years ago, I never would have pictured this, but I’m realizing it’s all I could have ever asked for.”
I kiss her temple. The twins both got their scholarships; Hazel is working toward a biochemistry degree, and Finn is a leading scorer at his dream school.
I know Delilah wishes her parents were around to witness it all, but after everything they put her through, including her father disappearing from her life for good after trying out a treatment facility, I can’t say I’m sorry they’re not.
Delilah is the only parent her siblings ever had, and she is a better one than either of her parents were to her.
And after watching how hard she worked for her biological parents to care about her just to be disappointed time and time again, I stopped taking my father’s attempts for granted.
We’re by no means in the best of places, but we talk for a few minutes once a month, and a lot of the anger I felt around our situation has dissolved.
Just one more thing I can attribute to Delilah—and therapy.
“I think there’s something else that could make this moment better,” I whisper.
One of her eyes opens, assessing me. “Matteo, if you propose to me while I’m half asleep and still grimy from our match despite my shower, I’ll say no.”
I bite back a laugh. “Actually, I’m going to find you some disgusting ice cream while you take a nap. I need you on a nice sugar high so you’re awake at dinner tonight.”
Her eye closes, and she nods, though there’s a hint of disappointment on her face when she says, “Good.”
She’s already asleep when I get out from underneath her, kissing her again and grabbing my wallet, phone, and hotel key. I have to meet with Alessio for an hour or so to go over strategy before picking up ice cream and getting ready for dinner.
When I step out of our room, a newspaper beside our door catches my eye.
The darling couple of the tennis world has finally taken home their first mixed doubles title. This comes two years after their first tournament together and their unprecedented semi-finals run...Has “Matteo the Malignant Narcissist” officially proved he’s changed?…
What a crock of shit. I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to toss it into the trash. Delilah will want it plus five more to bring back to our house, so I add it to the list of things I need to grab for her before dinner.
Tucking it under an arm, I find the elevators, knowing nothing can bring me down today. Not because we won a Grand Slam or because I’m in the finals with a shot at another, but because tonight, I think, the love of my life will agree to be my wife.
Non vedo l’ora.