I reached into my duffel. “One more thing.”
Holding out my hand, I let the white gold chain dangle from between my fingers while the dented little charm shaped like a shield rested on my palm. “I’ve worn it under my jersey since I was nineteen. Every big match. Every moment that counted. Except today.”
Rio lifted curious eyes to meet mine. “Why not today?”
I took her hand, turned it palm-up, and placed the charm in it gently. “Because I want you to have it. I don’t need it anymore.” I paused, heart full. “Not when I have you.”
She curled her fingers around it. Didn’t say a word. Just looked at me like I’d handed her the damn moon.
Still holding her hand, I guided her finger over the ink on my forearm.Love is goal, goal is love.From the look in her eyes, I knew she got it. I leaned in and kissed her again—quick, fierce, grounding.
A smack on my shoulder pulled me back. One of my teammates, grinning. I was then swept away by the line of players, but not before glancing over my shoulder at Rio. She stood right where I’d left her, smiling, her eyes glinting. She knew exactly how much I loved her and how much I needed that last look.
Out on the pitch, I stood tall with my hands behind my back, the crowd a thunderous wall around us. The opponent team lined up across from us as the national anthems began to play.
I couldn’t see the VIP box from where I stood, but I didn’t need to. I knew who was there. Rio. My grandfather. Simon and his family. All of them waving flags, shouting our names, hoping we’d fight our way into the quarterfinals.
And I would. With or without that charm. Because today, it was kept in a better place—close to the heart of the woman who owned mine.
THE SUN WAS SINKINGbehind the Aegean Sea, casting molten gold across the water and painting the white walls of the villa behind us a soft peach. Laughter floated out from the open patio doors—Walter and Simon talking over the grill, Nicole chiding Emma for running around, my mother pouring more wine than anyone asked for, someone—Chloe probably—queuing up music that was probably too loud for the neighbors.
Yes, my mother. “It’s a short flight, I can make it,” she had said when I told her where we were heading for the World Cup. Her husband was somewhere inside the house, probably messing with my spices and explaining to everyone the right way to marinate fish.
Out on the terrace, I had everything I needed.
Rio leaned against the ornate iron railing, barefoot, legs bare, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and my Team USA hoodie—the sleeves were past her fingers, like she was trying to wear every inch of it. A white wine glass dangled lazily from her hand, the stem hooked loosely between her fingers. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed against the glow of the setting sun, the breeze off the sea brushing her bangs off her forehead.
She looked like a damn dream. My dream.
“So this is Greece,” she murmured, her voice soft with contentment. “I like it here.”
I stepped up behind her, wrapping my arms around her middle and pressing a kiss first to her nape, where the whitegold chain rested on her skin, then another just below her ear. “I’ll buy the whole island if you want us to stay.”
Her laughter was low and warm. “I’ve already got everything I want.”
I leaned my cheek on her temple, breathing the same sea air. I’d won a match earlier that day—the one that got us into the quarterfinals—but even that high didn’t come close to this.
THE ANCHOR DROPPEDwith a deep clunk as we pulled into a deserted beach that looked like someone’s screensaver—white sand tucked between rocks, the water so clear it didn’t seem real.
I leaned over the side of the yacht, the salty air curling my hair.
Emma squealed somewhere behind me and Walter argued—playfully, I hoped—with Simon and Owen’s mom about sunscreen or sandwiches or something equally important.
But my eyes were on Owen.
Shirtless, tanned, laughing off comments about his new tattoo, responding to something Chloe said before walking toward me, probably unaware of how good he looked. I turned before he could catch the look on my face.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, tugging off my tank top. “I thought these places existed only in Bond movies. We’re in a Bond movie.”
And just like in one, Owen had flown all of us to Greece—even offered to bring my mom, but she couldn’t make it—then, whisked us off to this island, to a villa I hadn’t even known he owned, until he’d first offered it. And today, he rented a large yacht that came with champagne and a fruit platter and oversized towels that I was willing to bet cost more than my entire wardrobe. But Owen being Owen, he wasn’t showy about it. It was wealth he’d earned all on his own by hard work. It was the kind of luxury you noticed only when you dried your face on Egyptian cotton and tried not to be too impressed by the private chef that came with the yacht.
It was still surreal for me. But I let him spoil me a little. I remembered what January said about Oliver—how his money didn’t define him, it never touched the core of who he was. He used it to care for the people he loved. I felt the same about Owen. Maybe that was why it was so easy to forget he was rich, and why being here still felt like a surprise.
“Corfu was in a Bond movie,” Owen now said with a smile.
I rose to my feet and slung my arms around his neck. “Figures. You Brits.”
He was chuckling when he kissed me.
