EPILOGUE
I don’t win the next Australian Open.
I don’t win the next French Open.
I do win the next Wimbledon.
I stopped caring about winning, and that’s when I finally won.
Aurelio and I dance together at the Wimbledon Ball, just like we did in Melbourne that very first time. The difference is that we’re both Grand Slam Champions. Fernanda winks and takes pictures from the crowd. She wears a silver dress; I wear gold.
I hold onto Aurelio’s hand, waiting for the music to play. He looks down at me affectionately, unreasonably handsome in his black tuxedo and gold tie. My brow furrows when the music finally starts playing.
It’s Vivaldi.
I shake my head at Aurelio. “Did you request this?”
He feigns innocence. “What? No, I had nothing to do with it.”
I try to hide my smile, but it lingers the longer I’m with Aurelio. “It is a classic,” I admit.
He nods, humming in agreement. “Exactly! It is just a coincidence.”
Before I can protest further, he spins me away from him.
The crowd applauds our audacity. I can practically feel Vince rolling his eyes in the audience.
Fernanda hovers at the edge of the dance floor with the tennis girlies, tittering over whatever pictures they took of me on their phones.
Knowing Fernanda, she’s sending the most unflattering ones to my mom.
She likes to make memes of them and post them to her Facebook wall.
I think I got my sense of humor from her.
It was nice to find that out these past few months.
It was even nicer to know her without Beck’s shadow looming over us. Now, we’re both free of him.
Aurelio spins me back in and between the heels and the dress and the surprise element, I teeter unsteadily into his chest. My hand rests right over his heart. He’s grinning down at me, achieving the result he wanted.
And like in Melbourne, he startles a laugh out of me.
The song eventually ends, but that doesn’t mean the dancing has to.
Aurelio grabs Fernanda and Francisco from the crowd.
I usher Vince to the dance floor; Barbara politely declines and continues chatting with Suzy.
Ofelia doesn’t have to be asked, dragging Anika and Marisa with her.
Bianca meets me halfway, Alessandro reluctantly on her heels.
I pick her up and return to the tiny dance floor clearly not meant for this many people.
“Hit it, DJ!” I point his way. Party music blares from the speakers, as though he was just waiting for someone to ask. It’s the incredibly cheesy “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang.
I love it.
My little family dances the night away, one unusual pack of joy and passion and celebration.
Fernanda and Francisco attempt some salsa for the group, falling into bickering when Francisco doesn’t remember all the steps.
Ofelia and the tennis girlies kick off their heels, jumping around with abandon.
Bianca charms the whole group, weaving through the adult bodies with ease.
Vince shimmies his shoulders in a way that makes me giggle.
Aurelio comes back to me, reaching for my hand.
I realize something as I watch them all dance together, Aurelio’s hand clasped in mind.
I am a winner today, in more ways than one.