It seemed a reasonable explanation to me.
By the time the players are called up on the podium in Argentina, a lot of the crowd have descended from the stands to swarm around the barriers and I’m grateful to have a front-row spot. The band plays, the smoke cannons go off either side, and the team lift the huge, silver cup in the air, grinning for the cameras and their elated fans. I’m too busy clapping to notice Mateo has been peering at the crowd, his eyes scanning over the faces carefully until they land on me.
A satisfied smile settles on his lips. He’s finally found what he’s looking for.
Before the others have lowered the trophy, he’s jumped off the front of the podium and is walking my way. While the other members of his team are handed magnums of champagne to shake up and open, Mateo ignores the person carrying the bottle meant for him and instead gestures for me to come join him.
‘Here,’ Jules says, pushing the barrier forward to create a gap between it and the next one along. ‘Go through. Go to him!’
I do as she says and slip through the gap. He stops in front of me, wraps his arms around me and lifts me into the air, spinning me around and making me shriek with surprise.
‘Where have you been?’ he asks, lowering me to the ground.
‘I wanted you to have your moment!’
‘I want you to be a part of every moment.’
‘Mateo, you did it,’ I gush, holding his face in my hands as he grins down at me. ‘You won the Argentine Open!You did it.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ he whispers, his eyes glistening with tears.
‘I can. You deserve all of this.’ I slide my hands down to lay them flat against his chest, his heartbeat thudding hard and fast beneath my palm. ‘So, what’s next in your sights? The Triple Crown of Argentine polo? Make history at the US Open somehow? Now that you’ve achieved your dream, what are you going to do?’
He shakes his head.
‘Things have changed. For a while now, I’ve had a new dream,’ he says gently, gazing down at me. ‘And I’m looking at her.’
The noise, the people, the music, the cheer at the spraying bottles – everything fades away as Mateo presses his lips to mine. My hands loop around his neck while his arms wrap around my waist. We break away briefly to smile against each other’s mouths as his teammates aim the spray of their bottles at us, our hair soaked, bubbles running down our cheeks. He laughs and kisses me again, lifting me up on my tiptoes, the two of us in the middle of a polo pitch helplessly caught in a shower of champagne and the wonder of everything yet to come.
