“I still have it. It would look beautiful in your hair, kopela mou.”
Bea smiled. “That sounds perfect.”
Umma’s voice cut in gently. “Will you wear the hanbok?”
“Yes, Jisoo, I was waiting for you to ask.” Selene smiled.
“I’d actually prefer to wear white,” Bea said carefully, hoping she wasn’t disappointing her mother too much.
Umma didn’t miss a beat. “What about Abuela’s mantilla, for your veil?”
Papa gave an approving grunt. “Mama would’ve liked that.”
Bea had seen that in old photos of Umma and Papa’s wedding. It was her turn to wear it. “That I’d love, Umma.”
“You could change into the hanbok for the reception if you wanted to.” Selene lit up at the idea. “A second look.”
“She gets a dozen looksifshe wants them.” Rafael kissed her temple. “It’s her call.”
Leon raised a brow. “If your budget’s open season, son, let’s do a dozen pigs. Half the islands we deal with see that as the ultimate symbol of blessing.”
Papa perked up like a man who’d just been handed a quest. “You ever had it done over hardwood coals?”
“We did one outside Cebu last year—wrapped in banana leaves, low and slow,” Leon answered. “Heaven.”
Papa leaned in. “That’s how we do it in Valencia. Except no banana leaves, only a metal cross and salt rub. My cousin turns it by hand with a beer in the other.”
“If we let you two near the menu, we’ll need liability waivers and a fire extinguisher,” Rafael said dryly.
Bea watched their parents with open amusement. The last time they’d been physically in the same space, she and Rafael weren’t even official. But they were clearly already deep into the kind of rapport that came from overlapping book recommendations and incomprehensible shipping talk.
Selene clapped once. “Jisoo, Pepe, no hotels. You’re staying with us when you return to the UR.”
“Oh no, Selene, we can’t impose,” Umma said. “Rafael’s already booked something in Northgate.”
Selene turned her blues eyes to her son like he’d brought shame to the bloodline. “Nonsense.” She waved a manicured hand. “You’ll stay with us. The pool house is divine. Ocean views, not a glass skyline.”
Leon sipped his wine. “I don’t want to meet the father of the bride in a lobby. I want him on my terrace with a cigar and strong opinions.”
Papa chuckled. “Careful. I’ve got no filter once the cigar’s lit.”
“Arguments make the wine taste better,” Leon said.
“Mama,” Rafael said evenly, “they’ll want to be near the rest of their family.”
“We are going to be family, too, are we not?” Selene demanded.
Bea was going to referee but the pads of Rafael’s fingers had started tracing slow nonsense against the soft skin of her thigh. Whatever point she’d been forming dissolved.
“Split the difference, Pepe,” Leon said smoothly. “Give my wife her victory and your family their time.”
Papa looked at Umma, who shrugged helplessly. Rafael’s parents were a force. “We’d be honored. I’ll bring the wine. Rioja red good with you?”
When the screen finally went black, the clock on Rafael’s wall was nudging one. Their parents had hurled a hundred ideas at them with heartwarming enthusiasm. Bea had mentally saved two, forwarded three to Adriana, and torched the rest.
“It’s late,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder so she didn’t have to look at him. “You must be exhausted.”
She felt him nod.
