When Elena comes, that light she always has inside her explodes like a star going supernova. I want to watch her do that over and over, all night, every night, forever.
"Let's go to bed," I say. "And you can tell me what sort of house you want us to live in."
Epilogue
Elena
Three months later
I lounge on a cushy chaise, on the patio of the beautiful house owned by Chance's family, and watch my brother playing football with three Brits. Chance and his brothers got a kick out of teasing Kyle when they asked if he'd like to join them for a football match. Being American, Kyle assumed they meant the game in which large men wear huge shoulder pads and helmets and they carry an oval ball.
"Do you know how to play?" Reese had asked. He's the youngest brother, and according to Chance, the one who loves to orchestrate practical jokes.
"Yeah," Kyle had said. "I love football. Played it in high school."
"Are you a good kicker?" Dane asked. He's the middle brother and the most reserved one, Chance had told me, though he'd also said Dane enjoys a good joke as much as anybody.
"Oh yeah," Kyle said. "I love a good kickoff."
Chance chimed in to say, "Now remember, there's no getting your kit off until after the final whistle, or you'll be severely penalized. We play by FIFA rules."
"Fee-what?"
"The Fédération Internationale de Football Association," the love of my life said as if my little brother ought to know that already. "How can you be an experienced footballer if you don't know about FIFA?"
"Well... uh..." Kyle shrugged. "I guess you Brits have your own football association and gave it a Frenchy name. In America, we've got the NFL."
Reese grinned. "Does that stand for Nutters and Fucking Losers?"
And that's when I stepped in. They'd had their fun, but my poor brother was looking more confounded every second. The Dixon boys can harass Kyle more later, when we eat lunch and he hears the bizarre British names for the dishes offered to us.
"They're talking about soccer," I said. "Brits call it football."
"Are you serious?" Kyle asked. "These uptight dickwads think soccer is football? That's beyond lame, guys. Pushing a ball around with your feet is a game for girls."
Now, twenty minutes later, the four of them are kicking a ball around like old friends. They all decided to go shirtless for the game, calling it "the British way," though I know they were teasing my brother again with that claim. Kyle has already tackled each of the Dixon boys at least once, twice for Chance. I think my brother enjoys ramming into my fiancé. Chance can handle it. He might be a lawyer, but he's no slouch at athletics. With a body like that, of course he's a fantastic athlete.
He certainly has all the moves in bed.
I watch the guys for a while longer, admiring my hunky soon-to-be-hubby's bod---and, okay, his brothers' bods too. The Dixons are one handsome bunch. Their parents are good-looking too, but not buff. I met them this morning when Chance and I first arrived at the Dixons' home in the countryside, not far from London. William and Claire Dixon had greeted me with enthusiastic hugs. Nobody mentioned Raisa, but Chance's mom had said how happy she was that her son had found such a sweet girl. I took that as an oblique reference to his ex-wife, the antithesis of me.
Claire and William had excused themselves after that so they could make lunch for everyone. The Dixons might live in a big, spiffy old house, but they still do their own cooking. They have a housekeeper to do everything else.
The boys wander back to the patio. They'd left their shirts in a pile on the grass, and each grabs his on the way back to me. All but Reese pull their shirts back on.
Kyle tugs on his shirt while he trots up to me. He winks, then stretches out on the patio on his back, hands linked under his head.
Reese drops onto a chair, holding the soccer ball in both hands and turning it around and around. His shirt is draped over his shoulder.
Dane sits in a chair beside Reese and takes off his glasses to wipe sweat from his forehead with his shirt.
Chance takes the other chaise, next to me, and leans in to kiss me, holding his lips against mine for a blessedly long moment.
"Lucky me," I say when he pulls away. "Surrounded by gorgeous, sweaty Brits."
"Having fun?" he asks.
"Oh yeah. I could get used to this." I glance at his brothers, then smirk at Chance. "I could have my own harem."