Epilogue
ALEKS
Iset the massive vase of flowers on the wooden dining table in the kitchen of our rented villa in Naxos, the thick cream envelope with Nic’s name on it on display in front of them and a big box of kourkoubinia beside it.
When I glance through the open doors, I catch movement in the hanging wicker chair.
Nic leans back, her tanned skin covered only by a blue bikini, her bare feet brushing the air as the horizon spills open behind her.
Wavy brown hair, which she hasn’t gotten treated in the last year or so, catches a breeze, reaching toward the salt of the Aegean Sea below her as if to become one with it.
I reach for the sketchbook that has become a shrine to her, pulling the pencil from the metal hoops that bind it. Pages upon pages of sketches of her on the court, in a swimming pool, sleeping in hotel beds. I flip to an unused one near the end and get to work.
“It’s been three days of lying in the sun, and my sock tan has gone nowhere,” she says to her phone, where Delilah, Harper, Sahar, and Maya are squares on her screen.
The girls share a laugh before Harper says, “And it never will. We’ll have pale feet for the rest of our lives.” Nic’s laugh joins theirs, a dripping of warm honey from her lips, and I find my own pulling up.
“It’s true. I don’t play nearly as much anymore and it’s still there,” Maya adds.
“How—feel—career—Wimbledon,” a choppy voice sounds from her speaker.
“Del, babe. Where are you, and why is your service so bad?” Sahar questions.
There’s shuffling, then Delilah’s voice. “Sorry! I was asking how it feels to have a career Grand Slam.” Last week, Nic won Wimbledon for the first time, which means she’s officially won every major at least once—a career Grand Slam.
French Open the first year we worked together. US Open later that year. A repeat performance in Paris the next year. And this year, a win at the Australian Open and at Wimbledon.
World number one and a 5-time major winner. Pride builds in my throat again, as it’s been doing often the last few months when I contemplate how far she’s come. From struggling to win at multiple 1000 tournaments to winning titles left, right, and center.
She’s unstoppable, resilient, and an absolute inspiration.
Tennis fans love her fire and determination, rooting for her at every tournament like she’s always wanted.
I don’t know how I got so lucky to be pulled into her orbit, but each day, I thank her for grounding me with her gravity.
Loving me as deeply, even if it is in her own quiet way, as I do her.
Helping her achieve her dreams has been the most rewarding thing I have ever done.
Screw my titles. Witnessing how a change in her training plan can make a world of difference to her on the court injects a euphoria into my veins, and it’s further proof I’m getting to do what I love with the person I love.
“Kind of hard to believe, I guess? It’s this thing that you want your whole life but that has always seemed so far out of reach.
Then suddenly, it’s right there, and I…” She shrugs, staring past the bright blue pool and padded daybeds to the sea, a relaxed smile on her face. “Surreal is the only word.”
“And now you can take a break! You could skip hard-court season and still go to the finals.”
She laughs again. “Not even Aleks could keep me off court for that long. I’d be clawing my way back.”
Nic turns, her gaze clashing with mine and locking, her lips climbing when she notices me watching her. Her eyes flick beside me to the flowers, and she stands.
“Seriously? Here I was thinking the sexcation would last until the end of the year. Is little Aleks not up to the task?” Sahar asks as Nic pads to me.
“Little Aleks is doing just fine. Thank you for your concern, Sahar,” I reassure her.
“Oh, phew. Hi, Aleks. Noah misses you.”
I chuckle. “I miss him too.”
“Who are these from?” Nic asks me, setting her phone down. The four faces of Nic’s closest friends stare back at me.
Handing her the card, I finger the velvet box in my pocket and walk behind her, pretending I’m going onto the terrace. But instead of stepping out onto the stones, I turn and drop to one knee.
Hopefully Pen is walking onto the terrace as planned, ready to take photos and videos from afar with Karolína by her side. This week-and-a-half break from the tour is as much for Nic’s team as it is for her, and though she’s a private person, she’ll be glad to celebrate this moment with them.
“Aleks?” Nic asks, her voice breaking as she flips the piece of paper over. It details how proud of her I am, talks about the smallest fraction of the reasons I love her, and asks her to turn around. Which she’s not doing.
“Right here, solnyshko.”
“Aleks, wha—” She cuts off when she turns and sees me, her gray eyes light. Luckily, that means she’s happy and not that she’ll be threatening a vase to the head in the next few seconds.
Always a good start to a proposal.
“Bye, Nic! We love you. Hope you have the best night,” Delilah calls over the phone. The four of them helped me pick out the pear-shaped diamond and emerald inlaid stones beside it.
“Use protection!” Sahar’s voice joins in. “Or don’t, whatever you want.”
Harper laughs. “We’ll celebrate when we’re all together.” They click off, and there’s silence.
A salty breeze sifts through Nic’s hair as her eyes water. Her expression will be seared in my head for the rest of my life; it’s a moment I’ll sketch for decades and still never get right.
“Aleks…”
I grin, my own tears choking me up. “Hi, baby. I had a long speech prepared, but I know how impatient you are, so I’ll give you the letter I wrote later and just say this: I am hopelessly, wildly, irrevocably in love with you, Nic.
I have been privileged enough to watch you grow, both on and off the court, and I can say with all the certainty in the world that you are the most amazing, determined, passionate, gorgeous person I will ever know.
I admire everything about you, from the furrow in your brow when I wake you, to the fact that you’re about to lead the charge to help other athletes by talking about the pressure you fought through after your early success, to the look of genuine disbelief on your face when you win a title, though I never doubt you.
“I sometimes can’t believe I’m the person you’ve chosen to wake up next to every morning, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to be that person for the rest of our lives. So, Nic Vassilakis, will you marry me and be the most beautiful bride the world has ever seen?”
Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
A second later, she’s flung herself into my arms, my grip on the velvet box tight as she wraps herself around me and kisses me.
“Yes. Of course, yes.” Another kiss. “If that was the short version, I can’t even imagine the long version.
” I pinch her, and she laughs against my lips before kissing me one more time.
“Screw you for making me cry. But god, I do love you.”
I push to a stand, taking her with me, and when her feet are back on the ground, she stares at the ring in awe. “Did you pick this out yourself?”
“Why? Do you think I wouldn’t be able to pick out your dream ring on my own?”
Nic giggles, my favorite sound in the world. It’s so rare to get one from her, so hard to earn that I relish it each time, victory warm and soft, dancing in my chest. “I didn’t say that.”
Taking the ring out of the box, I slip it onto her finger.
It’s the perfect fit, and after she watches it twinkle in the sunlight that pours into the room, I weave my fingers through hers and pull her into my body.
“You’re right. I had to send a lot of photos to the girls.
Natasha helped too. She’s excited that you’re going to be a part of the family. ”
Tash and I got closer after she left the tour. I’m helping her pay for her undergraduate degree, and though she’s a few years older than most, she’s made lots of friends. Still, we talk twice a week about what she’s learning and the college experience she always dreamed of.
Nic leans back, her eyes on mine, brows halfway to furrowed. “Yeah? You told your family?”
I nod. “Dima says congratulations. My parents too.” After a couple of weeks, they calmed down and met with the four of us for a family talk.
Natasha and I explained how the pressure bent us to the point that we no longer loved the game, and though they’ve struggled to ease up, they realized if they do want more Morozov legacies, they’re going to have to take a different approach with Anya and Dima.
“They’re excited for the wedding. I don’t have the heart to tell them we’re going to have a small ceremony. ”
“We are?” she asks, bewildered. “Have you planned everything and I missed it?”
Laughing, I kiss the tip of her nose, which is rosy from her time in the sun the last few days. “No, but I know you want to keep it small. Believe it or not, I do know you.”
Nic smiles softly. “And Anya?”
A month after Nic and I started dating, Anya tried to stir more shit up in the press, and I told her in no uncertain terms that I was very much in love with Nic and that she wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what Anya did.
Since then, things have grown less hostile.
They play each other often, trading wins and majors and pushing each other to play their best, but with new kids aging up, they have plenty of other players to worry about.
“She heard from our parents. Texted me that she’s glad I’m happy, which was a surprise.” I lift Nic a couple of inches in the air. “Who knows, maybe you’ll move from indifference to best friends.”
Nic snorts. “Highly unlikely.” She pauses. “But I will make every effort not to threaten to hit her, whether to her face or to you.”
“I’ll allow one a month.”
“A month? How ab—” Her eyes cut behind me. “Pen! Have you been there the whole time?”
Setting Nic on her feet again, we turn to look at her manager and coach, who can’t hide their watery grins.
In many ways, along with the girls, we are her family.
She hardly talks to her parents and only on her terms despite her mom now wanting more of a relationship.
Pen and Karolína are the two people she spends the most time with beside me. It felt fitting that they be here.
“Duh! When Aleks told me he was doing this, I knew we would need photos. They’re not great, but they exist,” Pen says, which means they’re going to be absolutely breathtaking.
Nic leaves my side to hug both of them, and after a quick, quiet conversation, we agree to meet tomorrow for a celebratory lunch.
Pen and Karolína make themselves scarce, and Nic and I change for dinner.
Before we head out, we stand on the terrace, staring at the water crashing below, glasses of champagne in hand.
Nic grabs my other arm and wraps it around her waist, and I rub the silky fabric of her blue dress between my fingers before splaying my hand across her torso.
“What should we toast to?” she asks me quietly.
“To the future Mrs. Nic Vassilakis Morozov?”
She laughs. “Or to the future Mr. Aleks Morozov Vassilakis.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I clink my glass to hers, setting my lips beside her ear and whispering, “To us. And to that new weapon you can threaten me with for years to come.”
She wiggles her ring finger, biting her lip. “And to the slutty little shirts that finally did me in.”