Epilogue
Inés
Birds of a Feather—Billie Eilish
Five Years Later
The sun cast long shadows across the Spanish vineyard as it sat on the horizon, turning the clouds shades of tangerine and
pink. A warm spring wind blew the scent from my parents’ nearby garden, wrapping us up.
“Here.” Chloe held out a wine bottle towards me, her lips glistening with leftover bubbles. “Your turn.”
We were sitting at the edge of the garden, on one of my mother’s swinging benches, just taking a moment as the wedding party
cheered loudly behind us, the band in full swing.
My hand met hers, wrapping around the neck of the Cava, matching gold rings catching in the sunlight. I leveraged the contact
to pull her closer, my lips pressing against hers, tasting the alcohol on her lips.
Mine. Years later, and it still didn’t feel real.
I pulled back, my eyes gazing into hers. “Tastes good, wife.”
The wind ruffled the skirt of her tulle dress, the off-shoulder detail giving me perfect access to place a kiss along her bare shoulder, finding a tan line she couldn’t hide from me.
Even when she was dressed up, her body still showed the evidence of our sport, and I couldn’t help but love finding it.
“Wife?” Her eyes darkened. “You didn’t waste any time with that.”
She’d practically stolen the breath from my lungs as she’d walked down the aisle, her brother by her side. While her dress
had been a secret, I’d needed her to come shopping for mine, but I’d loved picking out the strapless corset dress with her.
Loved even more how she’d gone down on me in the changing room.
“Advantages of a puffy skirt,” she’d teased.
“I’ve waited long enough,” I said to her. We’d gotten engaged just after our first anniversary. This time I’d taken her to
our wine bar, made her guess the wine, and given her a ring when she got it right.
I’d chosen an American white, with a burst of ripe apples and nectarines. The kind that reminded me of her.
But there was never enough time to plan a wedding, not with our schedules. Between the training, the tournaments, and the
four extra trophies we’d won (and Chloe’s Olympic gold she never let me forget), our time was taken up. The offseasons were
spent with our friends, busy traveling and exploring. Compared to living, a wedding hadn’t seemed important.
But finally, we’d made the time, just after the Spanish Open, to gather our closest friends and family to my parents’ house
and seal the deal.
I took a deep sip straight from the bottle, the bubbles bursting on my tongue, taking in the moment as the last of the sun’s
rays dipped below the horizon. The band behind us launched into another song, and I swore I could pick out Scottie’s signature
whoop of happiness, the gang all here. We’d only meant to take a little moment for ourselves, but then Chloe had grabbed the
bottle from the ice bucket, and a couple of minutes turned into twenty.
“We did take our time.” She rested her head against my bare shoulder. “But it was worth it for this view.”
I kissed the top of her hair, admiring the small braid she’d styled. “I can’t disagree.”
“We should head back, wifey.” Chloe sighed heavily, shoulders slackening. “I can only imagine what my parents are going on
about.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Wifey?” I questioned. “Do I really give wifey vibes?”
Chloe had only gained more independence from her parents with time, even working with a therapist to learn healthy boundaries.
Every step, Calvin and I had been by her side, watching as she grew and found her strength.
She shifted, her gaze meeting mine, a sly smile across her lips. “You’ll give divorced vibes if you carry on that way.”
I rolled my eyes, taking another sip. “Already with the empty threats?”
Her laugh rumbled through her body, the vibrations welcome against my skin. “It’s a good thing you love me.”
“I do,” I said, those words the easiest in the world. First, she’d been my rival. Then an unlikely friend. But finally, she
was my wife. And I’d never wanted anything more in my life. More than any trophy, any win. These past years with her had been
the happiest of my life, not only from the peace I’d found in my career, but in watching her proudly from the stands, cheering
her on like she did me.
“Quien bien te quiere, te hará mejorar,” I thought to myself, words my mother used to tell us growing up. Those who truly love you will make you better. Chloe had
done that for me; our long-gone rivalry had never made either of us a stronger player, but our friendship, our determination,
had given us opportunity to grow stronger. Together.
“Come on.” Her hand slipped into mine, our fingers interlacing. The beads of our friendship bracelets pressed together, catching
my attention. More permanent than wedding rings, they’d tied us together before we’d even realized it. She smiled. “I need
a snack.”
I blinked once, before jumping into action, pushing up from the swing bench. “Well then, wife, I think it’s about time we see somebody about a piece of cake.”
Her jaw fell open. “I have been dreaming of that red velvet.”
I’ve been dreaming of you, I thought.
We’d been building this love, point by point, for years. I looked down at our intertwined fingers, the frayed threads of our
bracelets still tangled. Before the vows, before the kiss, before even the on-court battles, we were always meant to find
our way here.
As we disappeared into the glow of the party lights, Chloe’s hand in mine and the scent of sugar in the air, I couldn’t help
but smile.
Rivalry. Friendship. Marriage. And we still had everything left to play for.
Forty–love.