Epilogue
Adrián
Three months later . . .
As we drive to my house, I look over at Samantha in the passenger seat next to me.
She crosses her left leg over her right, the slit of her dress shifting to reveal her bare knee.
I reach over and place my hand there, gently trailing my thumb up and down the side of her knee.
She places a hand over mine, squeezing my fingers as she looks at me with a soft smile.
Flipping my hand over to clasp hers, I pull her hand up to my lips, pressing kisses to each of her perfect fingers. When I rest our hands on my thigh, Samantha leans across the console and kisses my cheek.
Heaven.
Tonight, we attended the premiere of the streaming series filmed about me and my fellow Venezuelan World Classic team members.
They hosted the event here in Kansas City since we were also the World Series Champions, so my Crowns teammates plus Griffin and Danae got to attend the night along with us.
Samantha wore the baby blue dress that’s spent the past seven months hanging in my extra closet—her reserved closet, as far as I’m concerned.
As we walked the red carpet, she stood with me for every photo, every moment, never leaving my side.
Just the way I’d wished it was the last time she wore this dress.
I convinced Samantha that I wanted to have our own quiet moment of celebration in the tree house together after the premiere, even though it’s the dead of winter.
She loves that spot so much that I now have a pile of blankets in a storage bin out there, so she agreed without giving it a second thought.
When I pull the sports car into the garage, I walk around to open Samantha’s door, hoping she won’t notice my sweaty palm when I take her hand.
“I don’t suppose you have a sushi delivery hiding in there?” she asks as she follows me inside. “Because dinner was a long time ago.”
Nervously laughing, I say, “No sushi. But I’m sure we can find something.”
She immediately kicks off her heels and starts to walk toward the kitchen, but I grab her hand. “Wait, I want to show you something in the basement first. I finally set up the trophy space you suggested.”
“What?!” she exclaims. “I thought you were gonna let me help design it!”
I don’t dare lose momentum now, so I keep her walking toward the door to the basement.
Flipping on the light in the staircase, I keep ahold of her hand as she raises the hem of her dress with the other to carefully make her way down the steps.
Passing the main seating area of the basement to the room at the back, I turn on the recessed accent lighting.
Samantha’s eyes light up as she walks from left to right, admiring my trophies from Rookie of the Year, the World Cup Classic, the League Championship MVP, and finally the display case for my World Series ring.
Each memento sits in a small alcove built into the wall and has a framed professional photo above it from those moments.
I watch as Samantha takes it all in, smiling.
When she finally turns to see the primary spotlighted space, she gasps.
Her eyes look from the large framed photo of us over to me. When Samantha looks back to the photo, her gaze lands on the “trophy” centered below.
A diamond ring.
Her lips part as she sharply inhales, and by the time she pivots to face me, I’m already down on one knee. I slowly reach behind her to take the velvet ring box, holding it in one hand while I take her hand in my other.
“Cielo, I love you. Nothing else in this room even matters to me in comparison to you. Being with you the past seven months has meant more than any trophy, than any experience, than any win,” I say. Tears stream down her cheeks, and she wipes them with her free hand.
“I know the earth turned to bring us closer for a reason. Because I need you. You are the highlight of my entire life, and I want to spend my whole life loving you, living in the dream together. Will you marry me, Samantha?”
Her “yes” is a sob as she leans down, kissing me, threading her fingers through the curls at the nape of my neck. The press of her lips against mine is salty with her tears, but sweet with her smile.
Samantha drops to her knees to match my stance right as I start to stand up, and we laugh as we stumble together. I catch her momentum as she tilts to the side, pulling her to her feet so I can better kiss her.
“I love you, Adrián,” she says without breaking our kiss. My name on her lips in this moment lights a fire in my chest. I angle my head to deepen the kiss, firmly planting my hands on the bare skin of her back.
When I’m fairly confident that one of the two of us will pass out from lack of oxygen, I finally release her. Dazed, she shakes her head as she looks up at me. “Based on that response, I guess my Spanish Rs have improved.”
Snorting a laugh, I wrap my arms around her waist and twirl her through the air, murmuring “I love you” a dozen times. When I set her feet back on the ground, she flinches, and I realize she stepped on the ring box I evidently dropped in the heat of our kiss.
Samantha laughs when she comes to the same realization, and I bend back down to one knee to retrieve it. Removing the ring with a large round-cut diamond surrounded by glittering smaller diamonds and blue sapphires, I slide it onto her slim finger.
Rising to my feet, I watch as she stares at the ring, her eyes sparkling with moisture.
“It’s beautiful, Adrián,” she whispers. “It’s perfect.”
“I thought it looked like the stars in the sky, cielo,” I murmur. “For my heaven on earth.”