Page 78 of Tell Me What you Think

Epilogue

Eight months later, December 31st.

Marina is stretched out on the couch, her feet in thick socks resting on Olga's thighs. Her right arm is extended at her side, her hand close to the white wine glass sitting on the coffee table.

An hour ago they finished dinner—a braised meat dish Olga had made, having developed a habit of following TikTok recipes and, as a result, appointing Marina as her official taste tester, which Marina is more than happy about. Several appetizers the vice president had prepared rounded out the meal, and once they finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, they settled onto the couch and Olga put on one of those shows she likes while they wait for midnight.

The assistant—who will stop working for Marina once she finishes the master's program she started in September and earns the two certifications the company requires to join the analytics team—glances sideways at her with a smile on her lips. She remembers that last year Marina told her she didn't usually make it to midnight, and today she's made good on her word, because nearly an hour ago she dozed off.

"Marina…" Olga calls, giving her foot a gentle squeeze.

"Mmm."

She smiles.

"Honey, it's almost midnight—you should wake up a little."

The vice president opens her eyes and yawns lazily. She glances first at the screen, then at Olga, trying without success to suppress another one.

"You don't have to stay up. Go to bed, come on," the assistant says.

"No, I told you I'd eat the grapes with you this year, and I keep my promises."

She yawns a third time, then sits up and settles with her legs tucked to one side. She looks at her wine glass and decides against it—it must be warm by now.

"Okay, wait here."

Olga pads barefoot to the kitchen and comes back with two bowls of grapes, two glasses, and a bottle of cava tucked under her arm. Marina watches her, and when she finishes setting everything on the table, she looks up and feels those blue eyes on her—her cheeks flush red. That still hasn't changed: the assistant blushes under Marina's gaze and gets just as nervous as she did at the beginning, and Marina loves her for it.

"Okay—twelve peeled grapes for you and twelve unpeeled for me." She sets a bowl in front of each of them.

"I don't know how you can eat them with the skin on. There's no way you swallow them all before the clock runs out."

She opens her mouth to yawn again.

"And I'll still beat you," Olga says with a smile.

"Excuse me?" Marina snaps awake instantly, because there's nothing she loves more than a challenge.

"I said I'm going to beat you. I'll bet whatever you want that I finish mine before you do—and on time."

Marina raises her eyebrows. It's been years since she's eaten grapes under the pressure of the countdown and she's out of practice, but it's just a matter of chewing and swallowing.

"We'll see about that."

"If I win, we go to Barceloneta tomorrow and get in the water," Olga proposes.

A shiver runs through Marina just at the thought.

"Not that—pick something else."

"If you're so sure you're going to win, it shouldn't matter," she teases, and the vice president runs her tongue along her lip, tracing the scar.

"Fine."

Pleased, Olga smiles. When there are two minutes left, they turn up the TV volume and both sit facing their bowls as if they're not about to eat grapes but waiting for a starting gun. Marina uncorks the cava, fills both glasses to the top, and sets the bottle in the corner so it's out of the way.

"And if you win? What do you want?" the assistant asks.