Page 115 of A Game of Deception
“Penny for your thoughts,” Tara said, looking up with those dark eyes that had haunted my dreams for over a decade.
“Just thinking how different everything is now.”
“Different how?”
I watched over her shoulder as Leo attempted to dip his new friend and nearly dropped him. “A month ago, I thought my career was over. Hell, I thought my life was over. Now I’m dancing at a quinceañera with the woman I love, and tomorrow I get to play the sport that made me who I am.”
“And?”
“And I’m grateful. For all of it, even the painful parts. If none of that had happened, if your father hadn’t brought me here, if we hadn’t gone through everything... we might never have found each other again.”
Tara went quiet, her fingers tracing patterns on my neck. “You really believe that? That it was all worth it?”
“Don’t you?”
She smiled, transforming her face in ways that still knocked the wind out of me. “Yeah. I do. Even the obsession wall.”
“Especiallythe obsession wall. That thing was a masterpiece.”
“Shut up,” she laughed, swatting my shoulder. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Not a chance. I’ll still tease you about it when we’re eighty.”
The words slipped out unplanned.When we’re eighty.Like our future together was inevitable, and as natural as breathing.
Tara’s eyes widened slightly, and I panicked, wondering if I’d pushed too far too fast. We’d never discussed long-term, too busy surviving the present to plan for a future that seemed impossible weeks ago.
But then her smile brightened, enough to outshine the chandeliers. “Eighty, huh? That’s a long time to perfect your dance moves.”
“I’ll need every minute of it.”
The song ended, shifting to something slower and more romantic. Around us, couples moved closer, the energy changing from celebration to intimacy. Vicente and his wife swayed near the stage, lost in each other despite the crowd. Twenty years married, according to Isabella, still looking at each other like teenagers in love.
“Want to get some air?” I asked. The ballroom was getting hot, and French doors led to what looked like a terrace.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
We slipped away from the dance floor, the thrum of the party fading into a gentle pulse behind us. The terrace was a quiet haven, the air blissfully cool. Below, the golf course stretched out like a dark velvet sea under a canopy of stars.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Tara murmured, leaning her hips against the stone railing.
“Yeah, it is.” My gaze was fixed on her—the way the moonlight caught in her hair, the gentle curve of her smile. My entire world had tilted on its axis and found its new center right here.
“Tara?” My voice was rougher than I intended.
She turned to face me fully, her eyes searching mine. “Xander?”
“I meant what I said in there. About being eighty with you, sitting on some porch complaining about our knees.”
A flicker of a smile touched her lips. “Did you?”
“More than I’ve ever meant anything.” I stepped closer, my hands finding her waist. “I know this is crazy. I know it’s only been a month. But this… us… it’s the only thing that’s ever felt completely real.”
“Xander,” she breathed. “I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old. I’ll love you when I’m eighty. We’ll figure it all out. Together.”
I lowered my head and kissed her, a kiss that wasn't about passion, but about promise. It was soft and slow and tasted of salt and absolution. In the distance, the city lights sparkled, but right here, on this terrace, we had created our own universe. This was our beginning, the first page of a story free from lies, finally written in our own words.
When we broke apart, Tara rested her forehead against mine, eyes closed and breathing uneven.
