Epilogue
UNDERDOG UPSET – LOWER-RANKED TEAM BEATS THE FAVORITE.
Two Years Later
Iknew when Italy stopped being a vacation and wove itself into my heart. Ironically, it was when Troy and I were in London and I stood in a smelly locker room facing my past head-on and felt nothing but regret for time lost.
Then again, if I hadn’t traveled that road, would I be here? Hand in hand with the man I love, walking towards our tree in the late afternoon, sun spilling through the vines, the wind carrying the scent of earth and wine?
Maybe, maybe not.
Looking back, I’m certain a divine member of the sisterhood was looking out for me to ensure I overheard the putrid words that came out of my ex-fiancé’s mouth. That had me booking my first real vacation in forever at Tenuta delle Ombre.
That made me recognize my future was Troy.
Sure, I told my past self I just wanted to extend the trip. But even then, I knew it was my fear talking. After all, how could I trust falling in love so quickly when the man I had put my faith in for so many years had cruelly betrayed me?
Turns out, it was easy if the man was Troy.
Since our first Thanksgiving together, I resumed my life—figuring Troy had to know who I am to truly be in love with me.
I collected more stamps on my passport—returning to Vietnam, New Zealand, Thailand, the Maldives—assignments that kept me away for weeks.
Yet, what surprised me was that each and every time, Troy sat down with me and figured out if there was a way possible for him to meet up with me.
To share this part of my life.
The building blocks of our life.
Eventually, I gave in and had all of my mail forwarded to Italy, to which my mother remarked, “What took you so long?” Troy said nothing, merely asked if we needed to add an addition to the villa to accommodate what I was shipping over.
That brought about a whole new set of questions.
Was there anything from my past life—other than clothes, books, and mementos—that was worth the expenditure?
I flew back to the States, stood in the remnants of my life before Troy—which my parents had stored at their old home—and much of it felt more foreign than the places I traveled to.
It belonged to another me. A me I let go of long, long ago.
A me who once loved a weak man, but who no longer resembles that same woman.
Finally, I’m at peace with that.
Which brings me to today. To what I have planned.
Getting one over on Troy.
Troy and I are lying back on the picnic blanket beneath the chestnut tree, praying it doesn’t drop its nuts like well-aimed missiles at our heads.
We’ve just finished devouring a picnic of bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine that we still prefer to share the way we first did—by exchanging heated kisses instead of using glasses.
He rolls toward me. “What are you thinking about?”
I point upward. “That cloud. It started as a dragon. Then, a ship. Now, I think it’s a pterodactyl.”
“That’s awfully imaginative.” He reaches for my free hand, tugging me closer. “I was going to ask how your day was, but I think you finding pictures in clouds tells me it went pretty well.”
“It was good,” I affirm.
He leans up on his arm, “How about we try for perfect?”
“Overachiever,” I accuse as he brushes a kiss at the corner of my mouth.
“With you? Always.”
I smile during his kiss. It tastes like early fall, wine, and joy. My favorite flavors.
After a while, Troy pulls back and rubs his thumb down the hollow of my cheek. “You’ve got that face…”
“What face?”
“The one that says you have something on your mind. What is it?”
“It’s nothing major,” I deny, knowing the next few minutes are about to change the trajectory of our lives together.
He leans down and plucks another kiss from my lips. “Liar.”
“That’s you.”
“I never lie,” he manages with a straight face.
“No? Who ate the burnt toast this morning and didn’t complain?”
“Semantics. It was made with love.” He declares, unbothered because to him, that’s what love is. It’s him, it’s me, it’s the occasional burnt toast, but it’s togetherness. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Tenuta delle Ombre. It’s trust that’s weathered storms and is still standing.
We fall quiet, me curled into his side. My heart is thundering, but it has nothing to do with the wine. Then, he shifts, trying to move his body upward—so determined to be a traditionalist in this when in our day to day lives there’s no his or her plays.
There’s only winning in the game of love.
His mouth opens to ask something I know he’s been working up to—several times in fact.
I lay my finger on his lips. “Don’t.”
A myriad of emotions flash across his face—hurt, confusion, but then the one I was waiting to see. Trust. “Why?”
“Because I want to.”
Troy’s breath catches. I wish I had thought to set up a video because the look on his face—the shock, the awe—nearly unravels me.
And I haven’t even asked the question yet.
I reach into the canvas bag I insisted on carrying and feel around for the small hand-carved wooden box.
It’s something I had been planning on giving him for Christmas, but when it was delivered to me early last week, well, the timing seemed fortuitous.
I run my fingers over the smooth top, surprised at how difficult it is to summarize a year’s worth of love into words.
Looking at him, I find Troy watching me with his enduring love and patience.
“When I first came to Italy, I wanted nothing to do with love. I was certain I just needed a vacation, time to recharge. What I didn’t realize is I would fall for you. I think it started happening right around the time you poured me a glass of wine from a reserve bottle.”
His breath catches audibly. “Maya…”
I open the box. “This is from that barrel of wine. I had intended to give it to you over the holidays, but celebrating not just a season but a lifetime of us seemed much more appropriate.”
He blinks, and the tears he’s trying to keep at bay leak down his cheeks despite his best efforts.
I shift to one knee next to him while he scrambles to a sitting position.
His breathing is labored, tears falling down his face so rapidly, it’s a wonder I can see his glorious smile.
Instead of making me more anxious, it settles the butterflies in my stomach to know he’s just as affected by this as I am.
“Troy, you stood up for me out of simple kindness. You stood by me as my friend. You made me see you as a man.”
“Your man,” he injects, a choked sob turning into a husky laugh.
“Always. Forever. If you’ll say yes to this question.” I take a deep breath but can’t prevent my voice from shaking when I propose, “Will you marry me? Will you keep building our life—which may require a few kickstarts over the years—with me? Will you choose to love me forever?”
For a heartbeat, his lips just tremble with the force of his emotions. Then his sobs turn into laughter, and he nods hard. “Yes,” he says, his voice breaking. “God, yes.”
When I slide the ring onto his finger, it fits perfectly—as if I hadn’t snooped in the drawer and gotten his size from the wedding set he’d already purchased for us.
He pulls me into his arms and flops backward. Burying his face in the crook of my shoulder, we don’t immediately kiss—he’s too overwhelmed for that. But when we do, it’s soft, real, and salty from our mutual tears. It’s the kind that says, we’re just confirming what we’ve known for years.
I choose you, and I’m not letting you go.
He presses his forehead against mine. “You really are something, Maya.”
“I know,” I tease softly. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“I knew the first night I met you,” he counters. “What took you so long?”
“I guess I just needed to make you my full focus.”
His face softens as he stares down at his new ring. “We’re engaged.”
“Yeah, we are. And years from now, we’ll be able to tell our children, I asked you.”
The horror that fills his face causes me to laugh, full and free. “Now, Maya…”
I loop my arms around his neck. “You have years to negotiate.”
He rolls me over. “Then let me start now.”
“Give it your best shot,” I tease him right before his lips seek mine out.
Our love didn’t need years of crumbling history to support a leaking structure. What it needed was the pillars of trust, faith, hope, and courage—plus a good kick—to send it sailing in the right direction.
I can’t wait to see where we land.