After Thalia and PJ walk down the aisle, the flower girl, Lucia, makes her grand appearance, holding tight to Luca’s hand. A laugh catches in my throat when she stops midway through the aisle and shouts into the crowd.
“Ari! Ari! Come take a picture of me right here.” Her small pink painted nail points down, her eyes firm on Ariella’s flushed face.
“Lucia, there’s a photographer right there.” Ariella’s whisper echoes in the large church.
Nero chuckles, and Luca takes off down the aisle to his mother, Olivia, abandoning Lucia, who is posing for the camera as she walks the rest of the way dramatically. Thalia shakes her head and pulls Lucia to stand with her behind Alma, but not before scolding her under her breath.
The laughter in the church fades, quieting at the soft piano that begins the traditional bridal chords. The door opens to reveal Mireya in a long white dress and veil. Adrian watches her possessively. Fire ignites in his gaze—he’s ready to burn the world in a moment if she asks. Adrian very rarely cared for anyone. For him, life was just a game of survival, but Mireya was his one reason to survive.
The guests stand, and Mireya steps forward. Don Vicente hooks his arm through hers and walks her down the aisle to meet his grandson. He places Mireya’s hand in Adrian’s, and Adrian kisses her wrist before wiping away the tears falling down her cheek.
I stand next to Adrian the entire ceremony, my eyes on Alma as I avoid the death glares from Patricio sitting in the front row. There’s so much beauty in the cathedral, from the stained glass windows to the statues and architecture. So much money had been put into this wedding, and I can respect the elegance, but none of it fazes me the way the woman standing behind the bride does.
Alma beams at the couple. While she watches, I can’t take my eyes off of her. All I see is her. She catches me staring and gives me a pointed look. I don’t look away though.
Enrique Consuelo and his husband, Gael, approach the altar and lift a lasso over Adrian and Mireya. The dark redbeads shimmer under the church light. Alma watches with a softness I only ever see when she’s unguarded. Her eyelashes blink slowly, and her lips part in that delicate way when she’s fighting emotion. It makes me wonder if she wants this for herself. For us. Does she need a public display of our unity or is the baby inside her enough for her to know I am bound to her for life? Does she know that not even fate itself could take her from me?
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest announces.
Adrian doesn’t hesitate. He grabs his wife and kisses her like he waited his whole life for this moment. His fist closes around her long veil as he pulls her into him, and Mireya melts into the kiss, a red bouquet of roses clutched tight in her hands.
“It is my pleasure to introduce to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Ibarra,” the priest announces.
The church erupts. Applause, whistles, and cheers echo off the stained-glass walls. An all female mariachi band begins to play their rendition ofOceansby Karol G, and Adrian leads his wife down the aisle while red rose petals rain over them.
PJ begins to cry when he sees his parents leaving. Thalia shifts him in her arms, whispering to calm him, but he twists away from her. I move to Alma, but I can’t ignore the tiny hands outstretched toward me. I take PJ into my arms.
“Vamos, chiquillo llorón,” I murmur against his soft hair.
Alma and I step out behind Adrian and Mireya, following them to the front of the church. Guests rise pew by pew, crowding the aisle with hugs, blessings, and phones raised to capture the moment. We’re halfway to the courtyard doors, sunlight spilling in, the rose garden beyond already set up for photos and champagne, when a voice sounds behind us.
“Hey!”
I turn immediately to find Patricio standing at the top ofthe cathedral stairs behind us, cutting through the groups formed outside.
“Give me my grandson,” Patricio says, grabbing PJ from my arms.
I want to laugh in his face. His grandchild is literally in the womb next to me.
“Alma,” he repeats, eyes fixed only on her. “Can I have a word with you?”
My hand tightens around hers on instinct. I glare at Patricio, a part of me amused by what he can’t see. The similar features that I hate to admit we share. I catch a distraught Thalia looking at me from where Silas stands talking to Nero. PJ begins to fuss, and the tension becomes thick.
“Privately,” Patricio says when I don’t budge.
“Like hell,” I mutter, pulling Alma into me.
“You need to leave. The ceremony is over,” Patricio warns.
“Mireya told us to wait for pictures,” Alma explains as Thalia comes to grab a now wailing PJ.
“¿Què traes Tio? You’re gonna start some shit outside the church?” she questions him.
“Patricio,” Don Vicente calls, walking towards us. “What’s going on here?”
“This fuckingCholio.He needs to leave,” Patricio explains.
Don Vicente’s eyes soften on me with a flicker of recognition as he takes me in.
