Chapter 35
Roman
Three Weeks Later
The fact that Iris’s birthday tomorrow falls smack in the middle of my bye week is a godsend. It means I’ve got a few well-timed days off to celebrate the Birthday Girl.
Tomorrow, on Iris’s actual birthday, I’m throwing her a dinner party with close friends, family, and teammates at a famous sushi restaurant in Malibu.
Today, in advance of the official party, however, we’re celebrating Iris’s big day in a much quieter way: by enjoying a relaxing horseback ride and picnic with Maverick.
Or so Iris thinks. Little does Iris know, today’s also the day she’s finally going to become my fiancée.
Assuming she says yes. God help me if she doesn’t.
Like I told my Council of Advisors at my housewarming party six weeks ago, I’m a new man this season.
Happy and relaxed, not a dick at all. I’m still as competitive as ever on the field—as the Thunderbolts’ four-and-one record thus far undeniably proves—but the difference this time around is I’ve managed that winning record without flogging and torturing myself, like I’ve always done in the past.
Even after that one loss a few weeks ago, I bounced back fairly quickly and didn’t take things out on myself or anyone else, including Iris.
Am I determined never to lose again this season?
Hell yes. But the point is I didn’t lose my fucking mind, as usual, and make myself and everyone else around me miserable in the wake of that loss.
I simply put the bad week and my contributing mistakes behind me and looked ahead, productively, to our next game, like all the sport psychologists who’ve ever tried to crack my stubborn walnut have always harped on me to do.
“It’s perfect weather for a picnic,” Iris murmurs as we get situated on our thick blanket.
When Maverick struggles to unwrap his sandwich, Iris deftly handles the task for him, at which point Maverick takes it back and attacks his lunch with gusto.
“I love it!” Maverick blurts after his first bite, prompting both Iris and me to chuckle and exchange a look of shared adoration for the kid.
I’ve always been more than a little bit jealous that Vanessa’s husband, Jay, gets to spend so much quality time with my son.
And now, here I am, experiencing fatherhood the way I’ve always imagined and envied.
Actually, sitting here now, I’d bet my entire bank account my life with Maverick and Iris is better than anything Jay’s ever experienced in his entire damned life.
Not that I’m keeping score.
Except that I am.
Maverick takes another huge bite. “What is dis?”
“Turkey pesto,” Iris supplies. “Isn’t it fun eating something yummy after you’ve worked up an appetite?
” The three of us just finished a long trail ride on a fifty-acre horse property in Malibu—a beach-adjacent oasis that’s only five miles from our house.
As in Orchard Blossom, Iris led the way like the pro she is, this time on a mare named Trixie, while I rode behind on a gentle gelding named Cheerio, with Maverick nestled safely between my thighs.
When the winding trail reached the beach, Iris galloped on Trixie for a bit, while Maverick and I stayed behind and cheered her on.
Given how much Iris has been cheering me on this season, it felt good to be able to return the favor, especially in front of Maverick.
I want my son growing up admiring his future stepmom’s superpowers every bit as much as he admires mine. My smart momma taught me that.
“What’s ‘apple tight’?” Maverick asks, tilting his little head and cinching his eyebrows.
As Iris and I laugh together, she murmurs to me, “Another one for your momma’s journal.” To Maverick, she says, “I said ‘appetite,’ buddy. If you’ve got an ‘app-e-tite’, it means you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots and lots of apple tights!” Maverick bellows proudly. To emphasize his point, he fist-pumps the air with his sandwich in hand, prompting its turkey-pesto insides to flop unceremoniously onto the plaid blanket below.
“Uh oh,” Maverick says, looking forlorn. “My samich got messed up.”
“It’s okay,” Iris coos gently. “I’ll fix it for you, buddy. No worries.”
God, I love this woman. She’s Superwoman, as far as I’m concerned. And I know Maverick feels the same way.
Reflexively, I touch the outer pocket on my backpack to make sure the ring box is still there, and when it is, I breathe a sigh of relief.
In light of what Nicola told me six weeks ago, I settled for proposing to Iris today, the day before her actual birthday.
But contrary to what Nicola told me, I’m going to give Iris both her birthday present and the ring today.
I would have preferred to give Iris her birthday gift tomorrow night, frankly, at her birthday dinner.
But what I wound up getting as her gift isn’t something that can be wrapped up, tied in a bow, and handed over in a restaurant.
Not to mention, I’d much rather get to see Iris’s reaction to my over-the-top gift in private.
I touch Iris’s leg next to me on the picnic blanket. “You liked riding Trixie today?”
It’s a nonsensical question that’s already been answered—a question designed to prime the pump for my upcoming big surprise.
Yes, Iris loved riding Trixie today, a fact I already know because she praised the horse exuberantly and repeatedly throughout our ride today.
Not surprisingly, since when I made today’s arrangements a month ago and I asked the woman who owned the ranch to give Iris her very best horse for an expert rider, she replied, “I’ll give her Trixie. She’s our best horse, hands down.”
Iris pops a grape into her mouth, seemingly unfazed by the fact that my question has already been answered throughout the day. “I loved Trixie,” she gushes. “I’ve never ridden a more beautiful horse in my life. Whenever we come back here to ride, I’m always going to request her.”
She’s cued me up perfectly. In fact, I couldn’t have scripted a better segue.
“There’s no need for you to request Trixie when we come back,” I say, as a shit-eating grin spreads, involuntarily, across my face.
“Because Trixie’s all yours, babe.” When Iris stares at me blankly, I add, “Happy birthday, baby!” Iris still looks like the computer inside her head is buffering, so I add, “You’re Trixie’s proud owner.
She’ll be stabled here, and you can ride her any time you want. ”
“No, Roman.”
I laugh. “Yes, Iris.”
Understanding dawns on her, as her frantic, overwhelmed expression makes clear. Shrieking with glee, she hurls herself at me across the picnic blanket and tackles me so hard, I fall onto my back with the Birthday Girl on top of me.
“Thank you, thank you!” Iris gasps out, peppering my face with manic kisses. “You’re so generous! I love you so much! Thank youuuu!”
Belly laughing, I guide Iris to sit alongside me, and when I’ve got her face in my palms, and she seems capable of processing more good news, I move on to revealing the next birthday surprise. “I also bought Cheerio and another gelding named Pepper, so we can ride as a family, any time we want.”
“What?” Iris shrieks. “No, Roman.”
“Yes, Iris.”
She assaults me again with another round of hugs and furious kisses and thank-yous. Little does she know, however, I’m just getting started.
“Your daddy got you a horse, Mavvy!” Iris shouts at Maverick. “Your very own horse named Pepper!”
I provide details about Pepper, reminding Iris and Maverick he’s the gentle, black horse Mav fed baby carrots to when we first arrived today, and my son exuberantly leaps up, jumps around like he’s on a pogo stick, and begs to go find Pepper to give him a hug right now.
“In a bit,” I say with a chuckle, as Maverick wriggles and jiggles around the perimeter of the blanket.
“Please, please, Daddy! Please.”
“After we finish our birthday picnic, buddy.” And after I’ve secured myself a fiancée.
“I can’t believe you did all that,” Iris gasps out. “You’re insane, Roman. Absolutely insane, in the best possible way.”
I shrug. “Twenty-seven is a big birthday.”
Iris snorts. “No, it’s not. It’s totally insignificant.”
“Not to me. This is our first birthday together. That’s a really big deal to me.”
Iris blushes. “Thank you.”
“Which is why I got you another birthday present, on top of the three horses.”
Iris waves her palms in surrender. “No more. I mean it. You have to stop now.”
“I already did it, though. No turning back.”
Iris shakes her head. “You’ve already done way too much.”
I bite back a smile. “If you really mean that, then I’m in a bit of a pickle, since this next thing isn’t something I can return.
” I flash her a playful frown. “I mean, if you’re sure I’ve already done too much, then I suppose I could donate the next present to a charity without ever showing it to you . . .”
Iris swats at my shoulder and giggles. “Don’t you dare. Fine. I admit it: You’ve called my bluff. I’m dying to see it.”
It’s another perfect segue. I swear, she’s the perfect straight man for this particular comedy routine.
“You’ve actually already seen it,” I offer mysteriously.
“In fact, you’ve been looking at it all day long.
” My comment begets another blank stare from Iris, so I motion dramatically to our surroundings.
“Your final birthday present is everything you see. The whole ranch—all fifty acres and every horse, structure, and piece of equipment on it. Happy birthday, baby.”
Iris looks like the hard drive in her mind is physically glitching.
Shutting down. Experiencing a system-wide, catastrophic meltdown.
I repeat the gist of my prior comment, and also assure Iris every word of it is true—and, finally, Iris falls into my waiting arms and sobs like a baby against my heaving chest.
“Why is Irish crying?” Maverick asks with concern. “Why doesn’t your present make her happy?”