Then she looks at the medal.
At the ring.
Back at me.
And the expression that crosses her face then will probably live in my body until I die.
Gold at her throat.
Diamond on her hand.
Moonlight on her skin.
She laughs once more, pure disbelief and joy and a little edge of wonder still in it. “This is insane.”
“You say that like it’s bad.”
She lifts her left hand and turns it slightly, watching the stone catch light.
Then she touches the medal at her throat with her other hand, and something in her face goes soft in a way that almost levels me.
“I have a gold medal around my neck,” she whispers, almost to herself.
“And a diamond on your finger.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
I step closer and put both hands around her waist.
“And both look exactly right on you.”
That does it.
She laughs and cries at the same time and then she’s kissing me with both hands in my hair and the medal cold between us and the ring catching against my collar as if the whole universe just decided subtlety was no longer required.
Just my mouth on hers under a Greek sky with forever sitting warm and bright between us.
When we finally break, she’s smiling against my mouth.
Then, because she is still Stella even in the middle of a life-changing moment, she narrows her eyes slightly and says, “Just so we’re clear, this does not mean our children are all playing basketball.”
I bark out a laugh.
“There it is.”
“I’m serious.”
“Our kids are not all playing volleyball either.”
Her brows go up.
Dangerous now.
Good.
“One of them is absolutely becoming a libero just to spite you.”
“One of them is coming out six-four with your attitude and my jumper.”
