Epilogue
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Theo's POV
Val was right.
"Sometimes love is messy," she said, wiping away tears I didn't know I had when she whispered those words three years ago.
"Sometimes people push because they're scared they'll ruin the one good thing they have."
And that's what I did. For love. For fear. For her.
It's been three years since that day. Three years since I pushed through the crowd at her door, coat soaked from the rain, heart heavier than it had ever been, and buried myself in the arms of the only girl who ever made me feel like home.
Now?
We're engaged. Rings chosen. Dates set.
Val's name is practically immortal in the figure skating world. She's won championships I can't even pronounce. She's graced the covers of Vogue, Elle, even Forbes—because, yeah, she's probably richer than me now. I run four companies and I'm still pretty sure she made more money off one sponsorship deal than I did from a whole merger.
She's still the same Val though. Still orders fries and ice cream when she's sad. Still wears my oversized hoodies even though she has a closet full of designer jackets. Still kisses me on the cheek when she wants something. Still yells at me when I leave wet towels on the floor. Still says "you're impossible" when I tease her in public.
And I still love her more than I can explain.
We live in this penthouse she calls "too clean," with a white piano we don't play and a sunroom where she keeps her sketchbooks. Sometimes, I catch her sketching me. Sometimes, I catch myself pretending not to look.
I've learned that love doesn't need to be easy.
Love just needs to be real.
When I scroll through old photos—the rink, the café, the fight we had in history class—I don't feel sad anymore. I just feel grateful. Grateful for the chaos. Grateful for the girl who stood by me when I was a mess. Grateful for the nights we argued and the mornings we made up. Grateful for every time I doubted myself and she reminded me I was hers.
And now, in three months, I get to call her my wife.
She wants a small wedding. I wanted a royal one. So we compromised: a royal-themed, "tiny" wedding in Italy with a guest list of 400. She rolled her eyes but let me have it. That's love, right?
Sometimes I wake up before her, just to watch her sleep. I sound like a creep, I know—but it's the only time she's quiet. The only time her mind isn't racing. The only time I can look at her and think,
"How the hell did I end up with you?"
And when she stirs, opens those sleepy eyes and mumbles something incoherent—
I know I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
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Val's POV
Three years.
Sometimes it feels like a blink.
Sometimes it feels like a century.
If you'd told sixteen-year-old me that the boy who once drove me insane at the rink would be the man I'd marry—
I would've laughed. Or stabbed you with a skate blade. Probably both.
But here we are.
Three years later. Engaged. In love. Still fighting sometimes, still laughing always.
Theo changed, but not in the ways I feared. He's still that smug, frustrating, gorgeous idiot with the green-brown eyes and crooked smile that makes my knees weak. But he's also the man who remembers how I take my tea, who knows when I'm quiet it means something's wrong, who sits with me through interviews even though he hates the spotlight just to hold my hand under the table.
I've seen him build an empire. I've seen him cry in my arms. I've seen him lose his father and still come back to me like I was the only thing left tethering him to this world.
We live together now.
Our apartment is filled with books he never reads and crystals I pretend to believe in. I have a walk-in closet, but I still wear his sweaters. We argue over movie nights. He wins every time. Except when I want Studio Ghibli—that's non-negotiable.
My skating career took off. I travel a lot. He does too. But no matter how far we go, we always return home—to each other.
He says I'm the strongest person he knows. I think he's wrong. He's the strong one. For surviving what he did. For choosing love even when it scared him. For choosing me—again and again.
Sometimes I look at the ring on my finger and smile. Not because it's big (even though, yes, it's huge—he's so dramatic). But because it's him. Because it's us. Because somehow, through all the mess and pain and years of almosts, we made it.
And now, when he comes up behind me and kisses the back of my neck like he always does when I'm working late, and says,
"Mrs. Dodge sounds kind of hot, doesn't it?"
I roll my eyes and say,
"Only if I keep my last name too."
Because I'm still Val.
Val Deluca. The girl who chased ice and got burned.
The girl who fell.
The girl who got up.
And found love in the most unexpected place:
With a boy who used to be her rival,
And became the love of her life.
—
The End.