I broke into a smile as we embraced, tight. “I love you too, Sebastian.”
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. Not any longer from the sadness that came from a broken heart, but from the joy of having it put back together like new.
Sebastian’s lips were beside my ear. “Can we start over, Elly? For real this time.”
For real? More real than all of this? Than all of the feelings that were bubbling inside me? More real than his embrace, his heat against me, holding me tight. The smell of him exactly like the Cartagena I remembered. That I came to love. The place I had slowly come to know as my home. More real than that?
I wanted every moment of us together to be real.
“Sebastian, that’s a proposal I can agree to.”
EPILOGUE
A YEAR LATER: ELLY
Reader, I married him.
Exactly a year after Sebastian met me on the beach by my house, I walked down the aisle of what used to be my tennis court in the grounds of his, no, our, mansion.
It was my idea to have our ceremony there, in the place that had helped us understand just how much our hearts could open for each other. The artificial grass, the net, and the plastic cupboard stacked with our tennis rackets and balls. Even the painted lines on the ground. All of these were like little mementos of where we began. I had insisted we keep everything intact for our guests to come to know us better, to glimpse the tennis star and her husband promise to love each other through sickness and in health, till death do them part.
This time around, my mom was there to help me buy my dress. As soon as she felt well enough to travel, I had flown her in from Florida to show her around my new home in Cartagena. As predicted, she and Sofia became fast friends. So much so that they began hosting weekly tea parties and even friendly tennis tournaments for what they called “mature women.” I wasn’t so sure about the “mature” bit, especially after overhearing some of their conversations over cookies and cream.
As for me, well, my new agent really helped push my tennis career to the next level. I said I moved to Cartagena but really, at least for next season, I was traveling all over the world—from London to Berlin, to California and Brasilia. Sebastian came with me whenever he could, between his engagements at work. I felt alive again being on the court, facing down my opponents, studying their every move. My body had never felt so in touch with itself.
It helped that my best friend was in the crowd cheering me on. Sometimes, my mom came too. And then I’d have my two favorite people hugging me tight just as I was about to stand up and receive my trophy. And there were many trophies that season. My sponsor was very pleased to hear.
Between flying for photo shoots in new sportswear or grabbing my tennis racket for a new match, my fiancé and I were also planning our wedding. Amid the palm trees of a plaza in the center of Cartagena (apparently the same one where his father had proposed to his mother), Elonzo had put together a great big party for his and Laura’s wedding reception. There was food enough to feed the whole city, champagne to probably fill up all the rivers of Colombia, and so many people that I wondered if there was anyone actually sitting at home that evening. If they were, they were not sleeping. The musicians, who were loud and lively, played all night. Sebastian and I left at four a.m., and it felt like we were leaving in the middle of the celebration by the way some of the couples were still going. But I had a flight to catch later that day, and I needed my beauty sleep.
Hours earlier, as the clock struck twelve and the band sang of everlasting love being like the most beautiful song you will never forget, Sebastian had held me to his chest and said he loved me. With the moon full above us, he had gotten down on one knee and asked for my hand in marriage, for real. (He had already asked my mom for her blessing, and she had been all too eager to give it.) And though it was the same ring as before—the beautiful green emerald that he had spent hours picking out—I knew we were ready to rewrite our story. This time, the ring could stay on my finger (well, except when I was playing tennis, of course) and I could proudly call Sebastian my fiancé. My real fiancé. I even updated my social media accounts. It was official!
Six months later, I married my best friend. In between flying from one state to the other, from one country to the other, from national to international tournaments. We were married right there in Cartagena, at the hotel where we had first met. The same receptionists who had, without meaning to, brought us together, were actually the ones to catch my bouquet as I tossed it into the crowd of excited guests.
I married him not believing in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. But strangely enough, I felt Sebastian and I did finally get our happily-ever-after. Just like his father said, once you fight for your love, the rest is easy. We had fought for our love, so everything else was a mere bump on the road in comparison.
In case you were wondering, it turns out Sebastian didn’t lose the company in the end. As we finished off our festivities and were ready to head off to our honeymoon, Elonzo made an announcement. He and his father had decided to split the company between the two brothers, now that each son had fulfilled the criteria. My husband was, indeed, overjoyed but I knew him better now.
He was happy, but he was even happier sitting beside me on the beach, holding hands, watching the waves come in and out. Love, I had come to understand, was all we needed.
The End