❛ It's a sin, how we hit where it hurts.❜
The day Amali and Michael exchanged vows in 1992, against their own will, but under the authority of their parents' wishes, they both truly began assimilating into the vicious manner in which life spiraled...
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Wimbledon, London July 5th. 1997
In tennis, there are highly anticipated matches, then historical matches.
The matches which convinced the least interested in the sport to tune in right in front of their living room television, or gather inside a pub. Those that compelled amateurs to break the bank and take a day off from work to experience it first hand. And those that enticed the highest echelons of celebrities, ranging from entertainers to professional athletes, down to political figures and royals, to travel to the exact same place.
The reasoning behind it was the same for everyone: you simply cannot miss it.
Concealed by the early afternoon blazing sun, drops of sweat were amassing atop hairlines, plastic water bottles crippled under the pressure of the clammy palms that squeezed them, as necks grew sore from moving left to right with sparse interruptions. Withheld breaths pleaded for deliverance while spines cried to be rested against the seat each time they leaned forward in uncontrollable suspense. But no one dared to complain.
Wimbledon's Center Court stadium was crammed, yet still. The only sounds heard were the reverberations of sneakers scratching the world's most famous tennis grass court, racquets striking a green ball, and the continual noise of two women letting a grunt out of their lungs in a rhythmic back and forth.
"We're approaching the third hour of this final..." The commentator announced serenely, posh accent coating his every word.
"These two ladies are putting on one heck of a match." His colleague acknowledged, as the crowd abruptly burst into a series of perplexed chatters. "Was it really out?"
"Let's wait for the Cyclops to tell us..."
But before the computer system could verify the spot in which the ball had hit the ground, the spectators were already vocalizing what they believed was true. A wave of murmured 'It was in' echoed around the stadium, as the two players waited for the verdict.
It was in.
"30-love." The umpire announced the score from the high chair he sat on, behind the net post.
The audience erupted into fervent praises and applause, as the commentators chuckled in front of their microphones. "Look at her, she's trying to cover her smile."
Standing on the right side of the court—the deuce court, in a white, Nike pleated dress, Amali Malinucci coolly soothed the corner of her lips with one finger.
