The A-6 highway from Madrid's Barajas Airport was a river of taillights leading into the heart of the Spanish capital. In the back of the sleek black Audi arranged by the club, Arianna Flowers-Wilson watched the city unfold, a silent movie of grand, sand-colored architecture and bustling plazas. Kaleb, exhausted from the transatlantic flight, was asleep in his car seat, his head lolling to the side. Arianna's mind was a whirlwind of logistical details—jet lag schedules, unpacking, finding a grocery store, the phone call she needed to make to her most important client to explain the six-hour time difference.

She was in manager mode. Survival mode. The adventure, the romance of it all, was buried under a mountain of practical anxiety.

Kyle watched her from the other seat. He saw the tension in her jaw, the slight frown as she mentally cataloged their to-do list. He'd been in Madrid for a month, a whirlwind of intense two-a-days, brutal physio sessions, and a crash course in the intricate plays of Coach Laso. He'd found a rhythm, a grueling, painful, but satisfying rhythm. But it was a solo rhythm. The beautiful apartment in Salamanca felt more like a very luxurious hotel room. It wasn't a home. Not without them.

Now they were here. His heart was pounding, but not from the pressure of an upcoming game. It was pounding because the most important play of his life was about to be run, and there was no playbook for it.

The car pulled up to their building on Calle de José Ortega y Gasset. The facade was majestic, all wrought-iron balconies and carved stone. A doorman in a crisp uniform greeted them with a quiet "Bienvenidos, Señor Wilson," and ushered them into a silent, marble-lined elevator.

The apartment took Arianna's breath away. It was spacious and flooded with light, with high ceilings and herringbone hardwood floors. The club's interior designer had done a stunning job—modern, comfortable furniture, art on the walls, a fully stocked kitchen. But it was sterile. There were no photos on the mantelpiece. No toys scattered in the corner. It was a stage set, waiting for life to happen.

Kaleb, waking up, immediately began exploring, his little footsteps echoing in the vast space. "Big house, Daddy!" he declared, his voice small against the high ceilings.

"It's our house, buddy," Kyle said, his eyes meeting Arianna's. He saw the overwhelm in them.

For the next few hours, they unpacked. They built Kaleb's bed in the room that would be his. They put their clothes in the closets. They arranged Kaleb's toys in a basket. It was domestic and normal, and with every familiar item placed, the apartment began to feel slightly more theirs.

As the afternoon sun began to soften, casting long golden shadows across the floor, Kyle knelt in front of Kaleb. "Hey, little man. How would you like to go see a huge, huge square with a king's palace and maybe get some super yummy chocolate and churros?"

Kaleb's eyes went wide. "Chocolate!"

Kyle looked at Arianna. "Come on. Let's go be tourists. Just for an hour. The boxes will still be here."

Arianna hesitated, looking at the half-unpacked kitchen. Then she sighed, a small smile finally breaking through her fatigue. "Okay. Tourists. For one hour."

They took a taxi to the Plaza de Oriente, the vast, majestic square that lay between the Palacio Real and the Teatro Real. The scale of it was breathtaking. The setting sun glinted off the white marble statues of Gothic kings that lined the square, making them look like giants frozen in gold. The palace itself, a monumental testament to Habsburg grandeur, loomed against a sky turning shades of violet and orange.

Kaleb ran ahead on the cobblestones, chasing pigeons, his laughter echoing in the open space. Arianna slipped her hand into Kyle's, and for the first time since she'd gotten off the plane, she seemed to truly breathe. She looked around, taking in the impossible beauty of it all.

"It's incredible," she whispered.

"This is our city now," he said, squeezing her hand.

They found a café with outdoor tables overlooking the square and ordered chocolate con churros—thick, pudding-like hot chocolate and fried dough pastries for dipping. Kaleb was instantly covered in chocolate, a picture of pure, sticky joy.

As they sat there, a wave of profound gratitude washed over Kyle. He looked at this brilliant, strong woman who had put her career on hold, who had left her entire world behind, to follow his dream into the unknown. He looked at his son, adapting to this grand new adventure with fearless wonder. They were his team. They were everything.

The plan had been for later. A fancy dinner. A more orchestrated moment. But sitting there at that wobbly café table, with Kaleb giggling and the palace glowing in the twilight, he knew. This was the moment. Real. Messy. Perfect.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed around the small, velvet box he'd been carrying for weeks.

"Ari," he said, his voice a little rough.

She was wiping chocolate from Kaleb's chin, laughing. "Hmm?"

"Look at me for a second."

She turned, and her smile faded when she saw the look on his face. It was serious, intense, full of love.

He didn't get down on one knee. He stayed in his chair, leaning forward, closing the small space between them. The world—the tourists, the bustling square, the grandeur of the palace—seemed to fade into a blur.

"Arianna Flowers," he began, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You have been my anchor through every storm. When my mother died, you were my comfort. When I was drafted, you were my celebration. When I was in that hospital, broken and lost, you were my reason to fight. You saw the man I could be, even when I was just a scared kid from Kingston."

Tears welled in her eyes, her hand going to her mouth.

"You gave me our son," he continued, his voice growing stronger, filled with emotion. "You built a life with me. And then, without a second thought, you packed up that life and brought it across an ocean for me. You have given me everything. You have believed in me when no one else did, including myself."

He opened the box. Nestled inside wasn't a large, traditional diamond. It was a stunning art deco ring, with a central emerald—the green of the Celtics, of Jamaica—flanked by baguette diamonds. It was unique, strong, and beautiful, just like her.

He took her hand. "This adventure… it's not my adventure. It's our adventure. And I don't want to do it as your boyfriend. I want to do it as your husband. I want to face every new challenge, see every new sunset, in every new city, with you as my wife."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers. "Arianna Flowers, will you marry me?"

For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the distant sound of a street musician's guitar and Kaleb's happy humming. Arianna was crying freely now, tears streaming down her beautiful face. She looked from the ring to his eyes, seeing the love, the vulnerability, the hope shining there.

She didn't answer with words. She launched herself from her chair and into his arms, almost knocking him over, kissing him with a passion that held a lifetime of answers.

"Yes," she finally whispered against his lips, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes, a thousand times yes, Kyle Wilson."

She pulled back, laughing and crying, holding out her hand. He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

Just then, as if on cue, the floodlights illuminating the Royal Palace snapped on, bathing the enormous façade in a brilliant, golden light. It was a breathtaking spectacle, a moment of pure magic.

Kaleb, noticing the commotion, looked over. "Why you crying, Mommy?"

Arianna scooped him up, hugging him tightly. "They're happy tears, baby. Daddy just asked me a very special question."

"Are we getting cake?" Kaleb asked, ever practical.

Kyle laughed, the sound full of joy and relief. "Yes, buddy. We are definitely getting cake."

They sat there for a long time, wrapped up in each other, a family of three on top of the world. The half-unpacked suitcases, the daunting challenges of a new country, the pressure of the upcoming season—it all melted away in the face of this perfect, unplanned moment.

As they finally got up to leave, Arianna laced her fingers through his, the new ring feeling both strange and perfectly right on her finger.

"You know," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, "when I got off that plane, I was so scared. I had a list of a hundred things to worry about."

"And now?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with love and a renewed sense of adventure. "Now I have a fiancé. And all I can think about is finding a wedding dress in Madrid."

Kyle smiled, pulling her closer. The pressure of the white jersey was still there. The challenges ahead were still immense. But as they walked through the glowing plaza, hand in hand, their son riding on Kyle's shoulders, he knew he was already a champion. He had already won the only game that truly mattered.

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