MALIA
— Are you sure it's not a problem? — Eduardo asks, and I can't help but smile.
— Of course not, Eduardo. You're accepting me and my daughter. Amanda is your niece; it's no trouble at all for her to live with us. — I say.
— I have custody of her. I could leave her with my mother, but she's been getting a bit uncontrollable lately. — he says, and I simply nod.
After dinner, when Eduardo came back to the table looking frustrated, we all ate in silence. After a polite goodbye, he's now driving me home. But instead of heading toward my apartment, he turns toward downtown.
— We're going to my apartment. Tomorrow morning, we'll drop Sofia off at Henrique's. I have to go to work, so I'll take you to your place so you can pack your things, and then I'll head out. — he explains as he drives.
I look back at Sofia in her car seat, and my heart tightens.
— It's only for a little while. Soon she'll be living with you—with us.
— I know. That's the only thing keeping me from falling apart. — I say, staring out the window.
He doesn't push the conversation further and just keeps driving.
We pass a huge building, loop around it, and enter through the underground garage. It's spacious, well-lit, and filled with luxury cars.
— My spot is near the elevator. I'll park, you grab your bag, and I'll get Sofia. — he says, pulling into his space.
I nod, and as we get out of the car, I grab my purse and Sofia's bag while Eduardo carefully lifts her from her seat. We walk to the elevator, which has a glass digital panel with numbers instead of floor buttons—like a smartphone keypad.
Eduardo enters a code, and the doors close. The elevator starts moving, but there's no display showing which floor we're going to. After a few seconds, the doors open into a private, luxurious foyer.
Eduardo walks to the door, brushes the back of his hand against the electronic handle, and scans his fingerprint.
— I'll give you the passcode for now. I'll have them add your fingerprint to the system. — he says.
I just nod, taking everything in.
We step inside the apartment, and it's breathtaking. Light wood floors contrast perfectly with dark gray furniture and a crisp white ceiling.
It's perfect.
— Your apartment is beautiful. — I say, still looking around.
— A bachelor pad. — Eduardo replies. — I bought it before my sister got married. When Amanda was born, I had safety measures installed throughout the place. The idea was for her to stay here occasionally, but when I got custody, I moved back in with my parents so we'd have extra help. You don't need to worry about Sofia—the apartment is already childproofed for when she comes to stay.
I smile at him, grateful for the thought.
— I'll put you in the guest room. Since it's just the two of us, there's no need for us to share a room.
— That's fine. Thank you so much.
— Don't thank me. I'll only be sleeping here tonight. Maybe a few times a week, but otherwise, this place is yours.
That's when I remember.
— Oh, wait.
I dig through my purse and pull out the credit card I still hadn't returned.
— I forgot to give this back. I'm sorry. — I say, holding it out to him.
Eduardo frowns slightly as he looks at the card, then smiles.
— Don't give it back. Keep it. You'll need it for the wedding expenses. I'll call the bank tomorrow to increase the limit. Don't worry about how much the wedding costs.
I just nod, staring at the card in my hand.
— This is insane… — I whisper, thinking about the size of this wedding.
— Why do you say that?
— Your mother suggested the Cathedral of St. Victoria for the ceremony. — I tell him, and he lets out a small laugh.
— I see. I thought it was a bit much when my sister got married there too, but my mother and sister love that kind of luxury. It's extravagant, sure, but it fits all the guests. It's a good place.
I nod slowly.
— How many people do you want to invite? — he asks. — I can handle the main list. Most of the guests will probably be from my side. Somewhere between four and five hundred people.
I almost choke.
— I… I have no idea. Between my family and a few neighbors, I don't think my list will even reach fifty. And you're talking about five hundred…
— Right. We can send invitations per family. I'll prepare the list, and you can send me your names later. Come on, do you want something to drink?
— No, I just want to shower and get Sofia cleaned up.
— Fair enough. Let me show you your room.
We go upstairs. He walks down the hallway and opens the third door.
— Here. Make yourself at home. I'm going to shower and head to bed too. Goodnight.
He kisses my forehead and hands Sofia to me.
— Goodnight. — I whisper.
I walk into the room and place Sofia on the bed.
— Everything is getting so complicated, isn't it, my love? — I murmur.
She's awake but sleepy.
A moment later, there's a knock on the door. I tuck her in and go open it.
— Hey, I brought your bags. — Eduardo says, holding my purse and Sofia's things.
— Thank you. I completely forgot them.
He steps inside just enough to leave the bags in the corner.
— Don't worry about it. Goodnight again.
After he leaves, I pick up my baby.
— Bath time, love.
— Bath… — she babbles, yawning.
As soon as I have custody of her, I'm taking her to a speech therapist. At her age, she should be saying much more. It's not that she doesn't understand, she's just too quiet. I think being around other kids, like in daycare, could help her develop faster—but I definitely want a professional opinion.
After her bath, I dress her and lay her on the bed. I sing softly, and she smiles at the sound of my voice. Soon, she's asleep.
I surround her with pillows—on the bed and on the floor, just in case—and take a quick, hot shower myself. Then I lie down, holding my daughter close, cherishing the moment. I don't know when I'll have her with me every night again.
Two Weeks Later
Two weeks have passed since I moved into the apartment.
It was painful handing my daughter over to Victoria, especially since Henrique wasn't even home. She made sure to insult me, but I stayed strong, said goodbye to Sofia, and left. I packed the rest of my things from my old place and handed over the keys.
Lately, Denise has been incredible. We visited the cathedral—it's breathtakingly huge. We've set the wedding for June, which gives us just a month and a half to organize everything.
We're taking our time with the dress. First, I want to figure out the style: classic, mermaid, short, long… there are so many options.
— I'm going to call the same designer who made my daughter's dress. He's brilliant. — Denise says. — He's experienced and will give you exactly what you want.
— Wouldn't it be faster to just go to shops? — I ask.
— We will, to get a sense of what you like. But Jean is French—he understands fashion like no one else. When he delivered Angelina's dress, I was speechless. It was a work of art. I even have a photo. Do you want to see?
— I'd love to.
Denise eagerly pulls out her phone and shows me the picture.
I'm stunned by how beautiful her daughter is—and how perfectly the dress fits her. Angelina's bronzed skin contrasts beautifully with the white fabric. The dress has delicate details, but it's light—not too voluminous, not too tight.
It's simply perfect.
— It's perfect. — I say, leaning in to admire the details as Denise scrolls through the photos.
— I'll get in touch with him. In the meantime, you can start narrowing down the style of dress you want. The wedding planner is coming tomorrow; she said she has some ideas to show you. — Denise sighs contentedly.
— I don't know what I'd do without your help. — I tell her. — I'll call my mother closer to the date, before we send out the invitations, so she can come and help me with the final details.
— She'll love that. Well, I'm off. Get some rest, dear—you've got a busy day ahead. — She says goodbye and leaves.
Now that I'm alone in the apartment, everything starts to feel overwhelming and exhausting. Bridal magazines are scattered everywhere, sticky notes cover nearly every surface, and my head spins with the number of decisions I still have to make.
The only things I don't need to worry about anymore are the church and my side of the guest list—which, honestly, took less than an hour.
But I still have to choose the reception venue, decorations, catering, music, bridesmaids, the dress, the invitations… and probably a dozen other things I'm forgetting.
I hear my phone vibrating somewhere under the pile of papers on the table and start digging through the mess.
— Hello? — I answer without even checking the caller ID, afraid the call might drop.
— It's me, Eduardo. Have you had lunch yet?
Just hearing his voice makes my heart skip.
This is dangerous.
Eduardo takes me out to dinner a few times a week, or we eat quietly together here at the apartment. He's kind, polite, attentive—and it makes my heart race more than I'd like to admit.
— Not yet. I was with your mother; she just left.
— Perfect. Can you come to the office? I want to show you something, and we can have lunch together.
I can't help but smile.
— Of course. I'll be there in thirty minutes. I just need to get ready.
He agrees and hangs up.
I head to the bedroom, put on a light dress, and brush my hair, leaving it loose. Once I'm ready, I grab my purse and leave the apartment.
I decide to walk. It's not far, and the cloudy sky makes the air feel fresh.
As I walk through downtown, a stationery shop catches my attention. In the display window, there are several invitation samples—different prints, textures, even bound designs.
But one in particular makes me stop.
I step inside and walk straight to the counter.
— Good afternoon. I saw an invitation in the window that caught my eye. Is it made of glass?
— I know exactly which one you mean. It's actually acrylic with UV printing. It's beautiful and has become very popular with our clients. — she says, pulling out a sample.
— Could I buy this sample? I'm on my way to meet my fiancé, and I'd love to see what he thinks.
She smiles and agrees.
With the sample safely in my bag, I hurry to Eduardo's company.
When I reach the lobby, I hesitate. It's full of people, but I can't just go to the elevators—I know I'll need a badge.
I approach the receptionist, who greets me with a professional smile.
— Good afternoon. How can I help you?
— Good afternoon. Mr. Lecler is expecting me.
She starts typing.
— Your name? According to the system, he's currently on his lunch break. Do you have a scheduled appointment?
— Just a second. — I take out my phone and call Eduardo.
— Malia? Is everything okay? — he asks immediately.
— I'm downstairs. — I say, noticing the receptionist watching me curiously.
— Why don't you come up?
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
— The elevator needs a badge, and I don't have one. I'm stuck at reception. I can just wait for you.
— I need to show you something first. Are you with the receptionist? Can you hand her the phone?
I find it a bit strange, but I pass it to her.
— He wants to speak with you.
— Who? — she asks, taking the phone. — Hello?... Mr. Lecler!... Yes, of course… I'll do that right away… Certainly, sir. Have a wonderful day.
She hangs up and hands the phone back to me, looking slightly startled.
— My apologies, Miss. I didn't realize you were Mr. Lecler's fiancée. Please, follow me. I'll take you to his private elevator.
— Thank you very much.
She steps out from behind the desk and gestures for me to follow.
— It's my pleasure. This elevator doesn't require a badge—it's reserved for the executive floor. Next time, you can come straight here. — She presses the button. — Have a wonderful afternoon.
— You too.
The elevator rises smoothly, and soon the doors open.
The office is just as impressive as the first time I saw it.
— Ms. Santos, it's a pleasure to see you again. — the secretary says.
I smile politely.
— You can go in. Mr. Lecler is expecting you.
I knock twice and open the door.
— Malia! — Eduardo stands as soon as he sees me. — Come, sit.
He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa. Picking up a tablet from the table, he turns it on.
— I asked you to come because I've narrowed down some houses in the gated community where I live. I want you to choose one.
He hands me the tablet. Several houses appear on the screen—each one opening into photos and detailed descriptions when I tap them.
— Take your time. I'll grab something to eat. Make yourself comfortable. — He runs his hand lightly through my hair with a smile. — I'll be right back.
He leaves the room, and I'm alone with the tablet.
I scroll through the options.
They're all stunning—more like mansions than houses.
I open a few that catch my attention… until one completely steals my breath.
It's near the end of the list.
I tap on it, look through the photos, read the details…
And I fall in love instantly.
— Have you chosen? — Eduardo asks as soon as he steps back into the study.
— I think so — I reply, tilting the tablet toward him. He glances at the house and smiles.
— An excellent choice. Now, I have something else. — He sits down beside me, taking my hand in his. — I actually bought this when we went to visit your parents, but I thought they might find it strange if I gave it to you then. Here, you're my fiancée—it would be odd for you not to be wearing a ring.
As he speaks, he pulls a small velvet box from his suit jacket.
Eduardo opens it slowly, and my eyes widen at the sight of the rings inside. One has a delicate design of intertwined leaves adorned with small, sparkling stones, while the other features a larger central gem framed by the leaf details and smaller stones along the band.
— It's beautiful — I whisper.
He smiles, removing both rings from the box and sliding them onto my left hand.
— They look stunning on you — he says, his gaze lingering on my fingers. — Are you ready for lunch?
— Yes, but first, look at this. — I pull my gaze away from his smile, trying to steady myself. — I saw this invitation on my way here and bought a sample. What do you think? It's made of acrylic.
I hold out the invitation. He takes it, examining the clear, modern material.
— It's beautiful. You have excellent taste.
— So you think it's a good idea for the wedding? — I ask, unable to hide my excitement. I had truly fallen in love with the design the moment I saw it.
— If you like it, then I like it — he says simply. I beam at him.
— Then I'll stop by the shop on my way back — I say, standing up. — We can go now.
We leave the office and head for his private elevator. As we descend, I prepare myself for the lobby, but just as the doors are about to slide open, I feel his fingers entwine with mine. He pulls me close and leads me out of the elevator.
It's peak lunch hour. The lobby is swarming with people, which means every single eye is on us as we walk out hand-in-hand. But it isn't the staring that makes me nervous—it's the way my heart has begun to race frantically against my ribs.
Oh God, I think, a wave of realization hitting me. I am so screwed.