They sold it.
Too many rooms held versions of themselves they no longer wanted to
inhabit.
Two years after Isabela’s birth, Alejandro asked Lucía to marry him
again.
This time, he asked in their kitchen.
Isabela was throwing pieces of banana from her high chair.
Alejandro was wearing an old T-shirt.
Lucía had flour on her cheek.
He put the ring on the table.
No kneeling.
No audience.
“No answer tonight if you don’t want.”
Lucía stared at him.
“You planned this badly.”
“I planned the first wedding perfectly.”
“Look how that went.”
She laughed.
Then cried.
Then said:
“Yes.”
Their second wedding was small.
Thirty-two people.
Gabriel attended.
Diego attended.
Mariana attended.
Valeria did not, but she sent flowers and a card.
Sebastián carried Isabela down the aisle.
There were no business reporters.
No magazine exclusives.
No family lawyer controlling anything.
Ramón’s absence was not discussed.
