Chapter 48

Lamia’s Point Of View

The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet. Just that pale, silver-blue kind of light seeping in through the edges of the curtains, like morning was still deciding whether it was ready to start.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning and the soft little breaths of my daughter sleeping in the bassinet beside the bed. I remember it was Faisal’s bassinet before, the one Rani also used in this house when she ran away with me.

Rebecca.

One month old today.

God, that didn’t even sound real in my head yet.

I turned slowly in bed and stared at her. Her tiny mouth was slightly parted, her cheeks full and warm, her little fists tucked up near her face like she was boxing in her dreams. Her eyelashes were long. So long. They looked just like Rani’s.

I smiled.

Then, slowly, I peeled the covers off my body and sat up carefully so I wouldn’t wake anyone. Rani was still curled up on the other side of the bed, blanket pulled up to her chin, one leg slung out like it always was. Her hair was a soft mess against the pillow, lips parted slightly, and even in sleep, her hand was loosely angled toward Rebecca’s crib like her body refused to be far from her baby.

My baby, too.

I stood, bare feet meeting the cold marble tiles of our bedroom in Santa Rosa, and made my way toward the vanity table where I left my bag last night. My movements were slow, half from the early hour, half because… I was nervous.

My Hermès Birkin sat neatly on the cushioned chair, exactly where I put it. Nude beige. Crocodile leather. Quiet luxury. Understated in a way that matched how I wanted this morning to feel.

I took a deep breath and opened it gently, pushing aside a compact mirror, a folded receipt, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a velvet pouch of baby barrettes Rani made me buy, and finally…

My fingers found it.

A white velvet box, still in the boutique’s delicate wrapping tissue.

I stared at it.

Then slowly unwrapped the paper and opened the box.

And there it was.

The ring.

A brilliant, cushion-cut diamond with two pear-shaped side stones, set on a thin platinum band. It sparkled so violently even in the dim light, like it couldn’t contain its own clarity.

It had taken me three weeks to find this.

Every time I visited Peterson in rehab, pretending to keep the peace, pretending to still owe him something, pretending I was doing it for closure… I was also sneaking off after. Quietly. Discreetly. Trying not to get spotted. Boutique to boutique. Diamond to diamond. Not because I was indecisive…

…but because I knew I only had one shot.

Rani deserved a perfect ring.

Because the first time we became “us” wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t planned. We were shoved together like two puzzle pieces from different boxes, forced to marry, and too proud to admit we didn’t know how to love yet. I never got to ask. Never got to kneel. Never got to say the words.

But now?

Now I could.

Rebecca was one month old today. A new month. A new beginning. And for the first time, I wanted to propose not because I had to.

But because I wanted to choose her. Fully.

I closed the box slowly and held it to my chest for a moment.

Then I looked over my shoulder, back at the sleeping image of our lifec Rani curled beneath our blankets, Rebecca softly breathing in her crib.

I felt it rise in my chest like a wave I didn’t want to stop.

This was the life I never knew I needed.

And today…

I was going to ask Rani if she’d let me start all over again.

But this time…

By choice.

——

By the time we reached Casa Al-Gaddafi, the sun was high and harsh, painting the limestone driveway in gold and casting long shadows beneath the trimmed cypress trees. The wide black gates had already been opened for us, and as we drove through, I could see the house…no, the estate, standing tall and proud like something out of an old Mediterranean film. Stucco walls. Arched windows. Balconies wrapped in flowering vines. The tiled roof glinting in the sunlight.

Home.

Or… something like it.

I glanced beside me. Rani was in the passenger seat, adjusting the ruffled sleeves of her white dress and checking on Rebecca’s baby bag for the hundredth time. In the back seat, Faisal was quietly humming to himself, clutching his dinosaur plushie, his tiny feet swinging above the floor mat.

She looked nervous.

I was, too. But for a completely different reason.

“You okay?” I asked gently.

She looked at me, biting her lip. “I think Rebecca pooped.”

From the backseat, Faisal chimed in, “Ewww, baby poop!”

I laughed softly, then pulled the car up into the circular driveway where two maids were already rushing out from the main door to assist us. “Perfect timing. We’re surrounded by grandmothers.”

Rani groaned as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Not the best entrance.”

“She’s a baby. She can poop on a red carpet and still be the star.”

Faisal giggled. “Red carpet poop!”

We stepped out of the car at the same time. The moment our heels hit the stone and Faisal’s shoes tapped beside us, the heavy double doors opened wide and there they were.

Both families.

The Hidalgo side was gathered on the left side of the foyer, Tita Margaret, already wiping her eyes like she was at a wedding, Tito Ramil, standing stiff in a polo with an awkward but proud smile on his face, and Rani’s sisters… Rabina, dressed in lilac with Rebecca’s stuffed toy clutched under one arm, and Rawid, who had her arms crossed but was visibly trying not to grin.

On the right, the Al-Gaddafi line, Babba, dressed in tailored beige and sipping tea like he hadn’t aged a day, Mama, standing tall in her floor-length nude Valentino, holding a bouquet of white roses for Rebecca, and my twins… Lameel, already waving at me excitedly, and Latif, trying to look cool in his linen blazer but failing miserably as he peeked into the baby carrier Faisal was trying to help me carry.

The only one missing was Luqman Omar, my eldest brother. Out of the country again with his wife and her daughter Suphatra. Typical.

We didn’t even make it past the staircase before the room erupted into overlapping voices.

“Ay, there’s my granddaughter… oh look at that face! Just like her mama Lamia!”

“Rani, hija, you’ve lost weight! Still glowing, though, ano? Ay, God bless.”

“Rebecca, sweetie! Tita Rabina missed you… look, I brought your lambie toy!”

“Where’s the yaya? Oh, never mind, I’ll hold her, I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Faisal, come to Lola… ay, you’re getting taller again, aren’t you?”

“Rani, ganda ng damit mo. You still doing the skincare I gave you?”

“Lamia, you look tired, anak. But expensive. I love that.”

“I thought the celebration was at two?”

“I told you it’s lunch, not merienda, Jazed!”

Faisal was holding onto Rani’s leg tightly, eyes darting between the crowd and the tall ceilings. “Mama, dami people…”

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, scooping him up with practiced ease. “They just love you and Becca.”

I didn’t even try to answer anyone. My arms were full, one hand holding Rebecca’s carrier, the other guiding Rani up the marble steps as she smiled politely, trying not to get pulled in five different directions. Faisal leaned into her shoulder, burying his face shyly against her neck.

Mama Victoria swept in, planting a kiss on Rebecca’s forehead and one on Rani’s cheek. Then she turned to Faisal, held his chin lightly, and said, “You look so handsome today, Prince Faisal. Did you dress yourself?”

Faisal beamed. “No, Mama Rani dressed me.”

“Then you must give her a kiss for doing such a good job,” Mama Victoria said grandly.

He giggled, kissed Rani’s cheek, and shyly waved to the others.

“Come, come. Lunch is ready,” Mama Victoria declared. “But I had the courtyard set up first, we’ll have welcome drinks. Latif, get their things. Lameel, help with the baby bag.”

“Ma,” I called after her, “don’t let everyone crowd the baby.”

She waved me off without even turning. “Everyone’s vaccinated and sanitized, Lamia. Don’t be so dramatic.”

I felt Rani slip her fingers into mine, soft, grounding, while balancing Faisal on her hip.

“This is a lot,” she whispered.

I looked down at her and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

We entered the grand sala, where trays of fresh fruit, iced rose tea, and chilled water with mint and cucumber waited on crystal stands. The white-and-gold couches had been rearranged into a lounge layout, and soft jazz was playing from the speakers tucked into the corners.

“Damn,” Rani muttered, eyeing the setup. “You Al-Gaddafis don’t do casual, huh?”

“We tried once,” I said dryly. “Didn’t go well.”

Faisal tugged at Rani’s neckline. “Where’s my orange juice?”

“You’ll get it, baby. Just wait, okay?”

We barely got settled on the plush couch before Mama Victoria was handing Rani a drink and Babba Jazed was reaching into the carrier to kiss Rebecca’s forehead.

“Such a strong girl,” he murmured proudly. “Already looks like she owns the room.”

“She does,” I said.

Rani looked sideways at me, eyes narrowing with soft suspicion. “You’re being too sweet. What are you up to?”

I blinked, all innocence, placing Rebecca’s carrier gently on the cushioned ottoman.

Faisal was already slouched beside me, sipping his juice and kicking his feet rhythmically against the couch. I ran a hand over his hair, absentmindedly.

“Babe,” I leaned in toward Rani, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear as she bounced Rebecca gently in her arms and kept an eye on Faisal who was halfway through a fruit skewer. “I’ll just go help Mama with whatever she’s doing, okay?”

She glanced at me, lips pressed to suppress a small smile. “Sure. Just don’t let her drag you into moving a piano or something.”

I smirked and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Then I stood, smoothed the front of my white trousers, and walked off through the arched corridor that led toward the service side of the house. I knew my mother. She might have a full staff, two event planners, and a cousin-turned-wedding organizer helping her, but she’d still insist on doing things herself… especially today.

The courtyard doors were open, letting in the warm midday breeze and the hum of voices from the garden. The air was sweet with the scent of orange blossoms and something sugary, perhaps the mini cakes we had ordered. I followed the sound of quiet fussing and clipped instructions until I found her at the side patio, standing with one hand on her hip and the other pointing at a gilded easel displaying Rebecca’s name in gold calligraphy across blush pink paper.

“Move it slightly to the left,” Mama Victoria was saying to a staff member in white gloves. “No, my left, not yours. There. Perfect.”

“Ma,” I said, approaching, heels clicking against the stone.

She turned at once, her pearl earrings catching the sun. “There you are. Thank God. I thought you got swallowed by the sala cushions.”

I chuckled. “Everything ready?”

She nodded once, proud. “Almost. Flowers are placed, tables are dressed, and the drink cart’s chilling. Chef said food will be out in thirty.”

I scanned the courtyard. Pale silk ribbons hung from the pergola beams, gently swaying in the breeze. The long dining table was covered in an ivory linen runner, topped with fresh peonies, crystal stemware, and personalized placards. Tiny glass frames with baby photos of Rebecca were scattered among the centerpieces. It was elegant. Romantic, even. My mother’s signature… understated luxury.

“Looks beautiful, Ma,” I murmured.

“I wasn’t about to let my granddaughter’s first month be celebrated with plastic tablecloths and a store-bought cake,” she sniffed. “Even if your Babba insisted on it.”

“Babba wanted store-bought?”

“He said it was more ‘authentic.’ I told him if he wanted authentic, he could serve dinner in the garage.”

I laughed, then lowered my voice. “The photographer?”

She tilted her chin toward the shaded corner of the courtyard. “Over there. They arrived thirty minutes ago. I told them to stay low until the mood was calmer. You know how your Babba gets if someone points a lens at him before his tea.”

I followed her gaze and spotted the team, two women, both dressed in black, quietly adjusting their cameras behind a topiary arch.

“They have the ring shot planned?” I asked softly.

Mama Victoria gave me a look. The look. “Of course. I sent them the reference photos. And I added a few extra peonies to the pergola you’ll stand under. You’ll thank me later.”

My chest tightened, both from nerves and affection. I exhaled.

She stepped closer, eyes searching mine. “Are you ready?”

I gave her a slow nod. “I think I’ve been ready longer than I realized.”

She smiled, rare and real. “Good. Then let’s give her a memory she’ll never forget.”

I swallowed, heart pounding.

——

I adjusted the edge of the floral arch one last time, feeling the smooth petals between my fingers. Everything was set. The photographer gave me a thumbs-up from the corner, and Mama was still fussing over one of the table arrangements when I took a step closer to her again.

“Ma?” I said, my voice low and casual as I picked up a rose that had fallen from a centerpiece and tucked it back in.

She turned to me, lifting a brow. “Hmm?”

“There’s… one more thing I’ve been thinking about.”

She stilled, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not changing the proposal speech again, are you? I swear, Lamia, if you go dramatic and end up crying before even getting the words out…”

“No,” I cut in with a soft chuckle, “it’s not about the proposal. I’m doing it exactly how we rehearsed.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank heavens.”

I hesitated, letting my fingers trail the edge of the tablecloth. My chest tightened. “It’s about what happens after. Not just the wedding next year…”

She looked at me again, sharper now. “Okay?”

“I’ve been thinking,” I said slowly, “after the wedding… I might do IVF.”

Her face didn’t register it at first. She blinked once. “IVF?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, grounding myself. “For me. This time I want to carry.”

Mama blinked again, then looked at me like I had just said I wanted to adopt a baby tiger or move to the Arctic.

“You?” she asked, tone sharp but not unkind. “You’re thinking of carrying?”

“Yes.” My voice softened. “I want to try. I want to experience what Rani did.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her face twitched through a dozen expressions. “But… Rebecca is just one month old.”

I gave a soft smile. “I know.”

“Rebecca is still practically a burrito in diapers, Lamia,” she added, blinking like she was genuinely struggling to process. “And in your mind, you’re already thinking of another baby?”

I shrugged lightly, but my heart was serious. “It’s not tomorrow. I’m just thinking ahead. I’ve been thinking for a while now, actually. Even when I was visiting Peterson in rehab… I was already looking for the right donor.”

Her hand came up to her temple. “You were scouting sperm donors while… while… during rehab visits?”

I tried not to laugh. “It’s not like I was making them line up. I was just researching. I mean, Rani still has eggs frozen from before. Her healthiest ones. And I thought… maybe one day, I could use them.”

Mama stared at me, mouth agape.

“I want to have a baby with her again. But this time, it’ll be me. My body. My turn.” I looked down at my hands. “Rebecca brought something out of me I didn’t even know I had. And I want to do it right this time. From start to finish. No secrets, no distractions.”

Mama didn’t answer right away. She reached for the back of a nearby chair, sat down gracefully, and gave me the kind of once-over only a Middle Eastern matriarch could pull off without speaking.

Then finally, she exhaled. “I raised a daughter who was once terrified of holding a baby. Who ran away from spit-up. And now you’re telling me, one month into your daughter’s life, that you want to grow another one inside you?”

I gave her a small, almost shy smile. “I think I’m in love with being a mother.”

Her lips parted again, and for a moment I thought she might argue, but instead, her eyes softened.

Then she reached across the table and touched my hand.

“Well,” she said, voice quieter now, “if you’re serious about this… then we better make sure your hormone levels are good by the end of the year.”

I laughed through the relief in my chest. “So you’re not going to stop me?”

“Oh, I’m still in shock,” she said quickly. “But when you’re in love, and when you’ve got something real, sometimes it makes you want more of it. Even if it’s a mess. Even if it’s hard.” She squeezed my hand. “If Rani’s eggs are still viable and you’re healthy enough to carry, then yes… we’ll find the best donor. But only if you promise me you’ll finish your prenatal yoga this time.”

I groaned. “Ugh, Mamaaa…”

She grinned and stood back up. “Well, you wanted to be a mother. You better be ready for more foot swelling and weird cravings.”

“I was born ready,” I murmured.

Mama was still smoothing out the hem of the tablecloth when I spoke again, quieter this time.

“But that might be the last baby,” I said, not looking at her just yet. “After that, I think… that’ll be it for us.”

She glanced up, confused. “You mean, three children only?”

I nodded slowly, my eyes following the soft curve of the floral garland winding around the arch I had obsessed over the entire week. “Yeah. Just three. Faisal, Rebecca, and our soon to be baby”

She tilted her head, waiting.

I inhaled, grounding myself before I said the rest. “I think… after this, I really want to focus. On work. On building.”

Mama narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re always focused on work.”

“No, I mean really focused,” I clarified, turning to her now. “I want to build something bigger. Not just for me. For them. For my children. I want to create more companies, branch out in sectors I haven’t touched yet. I want to take October Terra Firma global. I want to establish more schools and wellness centers. Maybe even enter renewable energy and green architecture. Mama… I want my children to have something so powerful and secure waiting for them when they’re older that they’ll never have to worry. Ever.”

She looked at me in silence for a long moment. Like she was re-meeting me again.

“Is this what motherhood’s done to you?” she finally said, one brow lifting. “Turned you into a tycoon with a calendar of legacy planning?”

I gave her a small laugh, then shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t just want to be a good mom in the house. I want to be a good mom out there. I want to build a world for them.”

“And that’s why your soon to be baby would be the last?” she asked softly.

I nodded. “One last pregnancy. One more time of soft mornings and bottle feeds and sleepy cuddles. Then after that… I’ll pour everything I have into securing their future. It’s not that I don’t want more kids. But I want to give these kids everything. Faisal deserves that. Rebecca deserves that. Our soon to be baby deserves that.”

Mama walked around the table and came to stand beside me. She wasn’t smiling. But her eyes were proud. Glinting.

“You sound like your Babba,” she murmured. “This is exactly how he used to talk when he started our empire.”

“I want then to inherit something that can’t be shaken by a stock crash or a scandal,” I said. “Not just wealth, but something that matters. Hospitals. Universities. Sustainable cities. A family name that makes people feel safe, not threatened.”

She nodded, slowly. “And what does Rani think?”

I paused for a moment. “I haven’t told her yet. Not the whole plan.”

“And when are you planning to?”

I gave a soft smile. “After the proposal.”

Mama let out a breath. “You’re serious about this.”

“I’m in love with her,” I said simply.

She stared at me again, this time not as a mother, not even as Victoria Al-Gaddafi, the woman behind three businesses and two legacy foundations. But as someone who understood what it meant to build a life that would outlive you.

“Then do it,” she said. “Build it. Love her. Propose. And when you’re ready for that last baby… we’ll be there.”

I reached forward and hugged her, tight, quick, grateful.

——

The courtyard was humming with low conversation and soft laughter, the kind that always filled family gatherings but never quite masked the weight of something bigger in the air.

The tables were already set, round ones draped in soft cream linen, accented with pale pink roses and golden candlesticks that flickered in the late afternoon sun. String lights hung overhead like stars frozen in time, swaying slightly with the warm breeze. It wasn’t nighttime yet, but everything about the setup whispered magic, like the whole place was holding its breath for something to begin.

Faisal was running around near the jasmine hedge with Latif chasing after him, both of them giggling, and little Rebecca was nestled in Rani’s arms, fast asleep. Rani stood near one of the fountains with Mama Victoria and Tita Margaret, who were both fussing over her earrings and asking if she was tired… typical grandma stuff.

I stood a little off to the side, watching it all unfold like I was outside my own life for a moment. My heart was racing under the surface of my calm expression, and my palms were sweating despite the flawless makeup and tailored ivory jumpsuit I was wearing. I had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my head, but now that it was finally here, time was moving in these strange, stretched-out frames. Like the universe was watching too.

Then Mama stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stone tiles as she gracefully made her way toward the small podium we’d set up earlier for her welcome speech. She clapped twice, soft but firm and immediately the buzz of conversation slowed to a hush.

“Everyone,” she began, smiling with that poise only my mother ever really mastered. “Before we officially begin the celebration of our beautiful little Rebecca’s first month, I just want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for coming here today. It means so much to both our families that we get to witness not just the growth of our little ones, but the deepening of bonds between us all.”

She looked across the courtyard, her gaze gentle but deliberate.

“Margaret, Ramil… Rabina, Rawid… all of you, thank you for loving our Lamia and for welcoming her into your family. And Rani,” Mama said, now locking eyes with her, “thank you for becoming a daughter to me. You are more than just my daughter-in-law. You are the kind of woman I prayed Lamia would someday stand beside.”

Rani looked stunned. Her lips parted slightly as if unsure what to say, and I saw her eyes glisten a little, but she gave Mama a small, respectful bow of her head.

Mama turned, and her eyes met mine across the garden.

And I knew it was time.

My heart began to hammer in my chest as the soft instrumental music started to play, piano and strings, subtle, delicate. Just as we’d rehearsed. I stepped forward, walking slowly past the tables, past my babba’s proud, unreadable expression, past the curious stares from Rabina and Rawid.

I could feel Rani’s gaze snapping to me the moment I moved. Like her soul recognized the change in the air before her mind could catch up.

She watched me as I walked toward her, her arms tightening instinctively around Rebecca, whose head rested on her chest, still asleep. She looked beautiful. A soft blush dress hugged her waist, and her hair was pinned back with tiny mother-of-pearl pins. She looked like a painting, alive, glowing, and entirely unaware that her life was about to change in the next few seconds.

I stood in front of her.

The music faded into near silence.

The world did too.

Then I reached gently for Rebecca, cradling her from Rani’s arms with both of mine, careful not to wake her.

Rani’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Lamia?” she whispered, one hand hovering over mine.

I smiled, my throat tightening. “Trust me.”

I handed Rebecca over to Mama, who stepped forward silently, taking the baby like we’d practiced. Then I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out the velvet box, the one that had lived in my Hermes Birkin for weeks, ever since the day I found it in Makati after visiting Peterson in rehab.

Rani’s hand flew to her mouth.

Her eyes widened.

“No…” she whispered, already shaking her head, like she couldn’t believe it. “Lamia, what are you…”

I got down on one knee.

Her hands trembled.

“I never got to do this properly,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, but with my eyes only on her. “Our marriage started as an arrangement. We didn’t know each other. We didn’t like each other. Honestly, we didn’t even try to fall in love.”

A few soft chuckles scattered through the courtyard.

“But somehow,” I continued, “between all the cold nights and silent breakfasts, between the misunderstandings and slammed doors… we built something. A home. A family. You gave me Faisal. You gave me Rebecca. And without even meaning to… you gave me you.”

Rani’s breath hitched.

“And now,” I said, opening the box, revealing the diamond ring that had taken me weeks to find, “I want to give you everything. A real choice. A real proposal. Habibti… will you marry me?”

The world held still.

Not a bird moved.

Not a breath was released.

Then her lips parted, trembling, and her voice broke when she spoke.

But I didn’t hear it yet.

Because I was still kneeling…

Still waiting…

Still suspended in the moment before forever.

Her lips were parted. Her chest was rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes shimmered, wide and wet, catching the soft sunlight as if she were made of something half-mortal, half-light.

And then… quietly, almost like a whisper…

“Of course.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

But it hit me harder than anything else ever had.

A swell rose in my chest like a wave, so full, so crushing, so big it pushed the air out of my lungs. My knees felt like they were sinking into the stone tiles beneath me. And for a second, I didn’t even move. I just looked at her.

Because I needed to remember that face.

That exact expression.

That exact tone when she said it.

Because this was the first time she was saying “yes” to me, not to her parents, not to a contract, not to a deal between powerful families.

But me.

Rani Hidalgo was choosing me.

Tears spilled down her cheeks without warning, and she laughed one of those little embarrassed laughs she made when her feelings got too big to contain. Her hands fluttered near her face like she didn’t know what to do with them.

I stood slowly, ring box still open in one hand, and I reached for her left hand with the other.

“Give it here,” I whispered, unable to stop the grin that was stretching my face.

She bit her lip, sniffling, then gave me her trembling hand.

I slid the ring onto her finger, the diamond catching the light like a promise you could wear. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. I had memorized her size, just like I had memorized the way her fingers always curled slightly when she was nervous. Or how her thumb always tapped her palm when she was overthinking.

When I looked up again, she was staring at the ring like she didn’t quite believe it was real.

Then she looked at me.

And it was like no one else existed.

Like there weren’t two giant families around us, watching and clapping and probably crying.

Like it was just her and me.

“You sure about this?” she whispered, half-teasing but mostly breathless.

I reached up, gently brushing away the tear on her cheek with the back of my finger. “Rani, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She surged forward, her arms wrapping around my neck, and I caught her mid-motion, lifting her slightly off the ground as her lips found mine.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It was messy. Desperate. Wet with tears and full of everything we had never said in all those years of pretending we weren’t meant for each other.

But it was ours.

When we finally pulled back, I heard the cheers. The clapping. The soft gasp from Tita Margaret. The sniffle from Rawid. The camera clicks from the photographer Mama had secretly hired to capture this exact moment.

And in my arms, Rani looked at me with that gaze again, that one that used to burn with hatred, then turned into indifference, then softened into care.

But now?

Now it was full of love.

Pure. Undeniable. Unshakable.

“I love you,” I whispered, almost to myself.

She nodded, her forehead resting against mine. “I know.”

And the world came back into motion.

Faisal came rushing toward us with Latif trying to hold him back, but he broke free, throwing his arms around both our legs, yelling, “Mama! Mama! What’s happening?”

Rebecca stirred in Mama’s arms and let out a soft, sleepy whimper.

Faisal’s little arms wrapped tightly around my leg, clinging like he was afraid something might sweep us all away if he let go.

His curls were slightly damp from running under the sun, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he looked up at me, curious, expectant, confused in the sweetest way.

“Mama…” he blinked up at me, tilting his head. “What’s happening? Why is everyone clapping?”

Rani crouched down first, brushing her fingers through his hair, but she was still crying. So I took over for her.

I crouched too, still shaky from everything, the ring box now forgotten on the ground somewhere near our feet. I cupped Faisal’s round face between my hands and kissed his forehead, breathing him in, his sun-warmed skin, the faint smell of baby shampoo and grass, and a trace of the frosting he snuck from the table earlier.

“Do you remember,” I said gently, “when you asked me if Mama Rani was going to stay forever?”

He nodded slowly, brows furrowing like he was trying to remember something very serious.

“Well…” I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. “Mama Rani said yes.”

His mouth dropped open slightly, his face lighting up with that very specific kind of magic only kids could summon, pure joy, unfiltered and loud.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice high with wonder.

“She said yes to marrying me,” I said, pulling him into a hug, tighter than I probably should’ve. “She said yes to being my forever. Your forever. All of ours.”

He gasped, then suddenly pulled back and looked at Rani. “Mama Rani marry?”

Rani giggled through her tears, crouching beside me now, nodding. “Yes, baby. Again. But this time, for real. This time, we choose it.”

Faisal looked between us, then stomped his foot like he just remembered something very important. “Cake Mama! superheroes and rainbows! sheep from Beka’s cartoon!”

I burst out laughing. Rani did too, shaking her head as she wiped her tears. “Baba, this isn’t the wedding yet.”

“But?” he insisted, now fully hyped. “Flowers everywhere?!”

I hugged him again, pressing a kiss into his curls. “It’s a good kind of trick, anak. A happy surprise.”

He thought about it, nodding slowly like he was negotiating peace between two nations. “Faisal ring bearer!”

“You’ll be more than that,” Rani whispered, kissing the top of his head. “You’ll be the reason we got here.”

I looked at her, and she looked at me, and for one split second, it was like everything, everything… had led to this.

——

The long table under the courtyard pergola was finally filled. The woven canopy of vines above filtered the harsh midday sun into dappled gold patterns on the cream linen tablecloths. Plates clinked, glasses sparkled, and the air was perfumed with rosemary, saffron, and the faint trace of lemon from the roasted lamb being passed down one end.

Rani sat beside me, cheeks still pink from the proposal. Faisal was on her lap, munching quietly on a piece of pita dipped in hummus, and Rebecca slept soundly in her vintage-style pram parked right behind us, shaded with a white parasol. She had no idea the world had shifted under her tiny feet today.

I had barely sliced into my grilled seabass when it started.

“So…” Tita Margaret said, setting her wine glass down with a tiny clink, “when’s the wedding?”

All heads turned.

Rani choked softly on her water. I reached over and rubbed her back, already biting back a laugh.

Mama Victoria leaned in with her trademark elegance, her smile that of someone who had already sketched half the vision board in her mind. “Yes, hija. That’s what we all want to know.”

Rani glanced at me helplessly, and I smirked. “We haven’t discussed it yet, Ma. I just proposed twenty minutes ago.”

“But you’ve thought about it,” said Rabina, tilting her head with the precision of someone who lived for soft drama. “Right? Right, Rani?”

Rawid grinned, stabbing her fork into a fig. “She’s definitely thought about it. Look at her ears… red!”

“I vote autumn wedding,” said Mama, already setting her napkin aside. “The lighting is divine, and we can avoid the rains.”

“Autumn in Dubai?” Tito Ramil said, raising a brow. “You mean not sweating through my undershirt for once? I’ll take it.”

“No, no,” Babba Jazed interjected smoothly, folding his napkin with precision. “Let them decide. But if you ask me, I say a wedding in Spain. Casa Hidalgo there is still untouched and near the vineyards.”

I finally cleared my throat. “Actually… we’ve talked about two possible places. Both feel meaningful to us.”

That earned everyone’s attention. Even Faisal paused mid-chew.

Rani leaned a little closer to me, her eyes shining as she continued for the both of us. “One is in Spain… the Sagrada Familia.”

A gasp rippled from across the table of admiration, not surprise.

“The basilica?” Mama echoed, brows raised. “The one in Barcelona?”

I nodded. “We saw it once on a trip years ago. Even back then, before we were… well, us, it left an imprint. The stained glass, the sense of time, how Gaudí never even lived to see it finished,there’s something poetic about that. Something eternal.”

Rani added softly, “It just feels sacred. Not just religiously, but emotionally. Like stepping into something bigger than you. Like a promise carved in stone.”

Silence fell for a beat… not heavy, but reverent.

“And the other?” Babba asked gently.

I smiled. “A church in the Philippines.”

Now everyone looked surprised.

“Something simple, maybe somewhere in the highlands. Batangas. Tagaytay. Or even an old colonial chapel by the sea. Somewhere close to family. Somewhere with mango trees outside and carabao horns echoing at dusk. Something rooted in heritage.”

Rani turned to me, the sunlight catching her lashes. “Where our kids can grow up and visit it again and again.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “A place that stays.”

Rabina squealed. “Oh my god, I’m crying. I don’t even care where it is, just make me a bridesmaid.”

“You’re not even Catholic,” Rawid teased.

“That never stopped me from crying in a church!”

Mama Victoria laughed lightly. “Well. Either way… Barcelona or Batangas, Sagrada or a seaside parish, you’ll both be stunning. And we’ll be there.”

“We’ll clear our schedules now,” Tito Ramil joked. “So just say the word.”

Faisal perked up. “Can it be superhero themed?”

Everyone chuckled, and I leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “Maybe for your birthday, habibi.”

“Can I still wear a cape?”

“Yes, Baba,” Rani said, leaning in. “You’ll get a cape.”

Mama raised her glass next. “To the next Al-Gaddafi wedding. Wherever it may be. May it be sacred, beautiful, and full of laughter.”

Everyone echoed the toast.

Glasses clinked.

Even Rebecca stirred softly in her pram, like she felt the celebration in her dreams.

Rani rested her head on my shoulder, her fingers still playing with mine under the table.

“I can’t believe we’re actually planning a wedding,” she whispered.

I leaned my head against hers. “I can. I’ve been dreaming about it for a while.”

She pulled back to look at me. “Really?”

“Since you cried over burnt lasagna and told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the couch,” I teased.

She rolled her eyes, blushing. “You were such a nightmare that week.”

“And yet,” I whispered, brushing her knuckles with my thumb, “you still said yes.”

Rani smiled and in that smile, I saw it.

I had just taken another bite of saffron rice when Rawid, fork halfway to her mouth, leaned dramatically over the table like she couldn’t keep a secret even if her life depended on it.

“Well…” she said, drawing out the syllable with a wicked glint in her eye, “maybe it’s not just Lamia and Rani getting married next year.”

That earned her a full moment of collective blinking from everyone at the table.

My hand paused midair, holding a lemon wedge. “What are you talking about?”

Rawid didn’t answer me directly. Instead, she twisted around… body and all, with theatrical flair toward the far end of the table, zeroing in on Rabina and Lameel, who had been too busy whispering and laughing over some shared inside joke to notice the oncoming ambush.

Until now.

“Right?” Rawid sing-songed, wiggling her brows. “Right, Lameel?”

Rabina’s head popped up immediately. “Wait, what…?”

Lameel froze, a smile still half-formed on her lips, before the color rushed to her face like someone had turned up the heat. She turned a shade that could only be described as pomegranate panic.

“Rawid!” she hissed, straightening in her seat and reaching for her glass like hydration could save her now. She was trying (and failing) to look unbothered.

Rani leaned toward me and whispered behind her hand, “Oh my god. Is this happening?”

I turned to my sister slowly. “Lameel. What is the meaning of this?”

“I…” she coughed mid-sip, nearly choking, “…it’s not… that’s not what she meant…”

“Oh, but I think it is,” Mama said smoothly, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. Her tone was light, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t deny it, sweetheart. I’ve seen how you look at Rabina.”

Everyone turned toward them now. The mood had shifted instantly, no tension, just that unmistakable buzz of juicy family gossip unfolding. Even Babba raised his brows in interest, while Tita Margaret looked like she was at the edge of her seat in a private soap opera screening.

“Mama!” Lameel groaned, covering her face with both hands.

“I’m just saying,” Mama said with a dramatic shrug. “The last time you giggled like that, it was over that pianist you wouldn’t stop stalking at your recital.”

“I was thirteen!”

“And now you’re in twenties,” Rawid chimed in gleefully. “Still blushing like it’s prom night. Some things never change.”

“I’m not blushing!”

“You’re literally redder than the lamb shank,” I said, nudging her foot under the table. “Just admit it. I want to hear this.”

Rabina gave a small laugh, lifting her hands in surrender. “Look, I’m flattered. But I do have a boyfriend.”

That cracked the rhythm of the moment, just enough to make Lameel’s blush deepen into visible mortification.

“I told you there’s nothing going on!” she muttered quickly.

Then Rani, ever the quiet chaos, leaned forward with a grin. “Don’t worry, Lameel,” she said cheerfully. “They’ll probably break up soon.”

Lameel practically choked on air. “Ate Rani!”

Rawid burst out laughing, slapping the table. “Oh my god, Ate Rani!”

Rabina just shook her head, amused. “I… wow. You people are wild.”

“Oh my god,” I said, staring at my wife. “Did you really just say that?”

“What? I’m just being honest,” Rani said with a shrug, totally unfazed. “Have you met Rabina’s boyfriend? He’s… fine. But come on.”

Rabina laughed again, this time with a slight blush of her own. “Well, I appreciate the support… I think?”

Lameel looked like she wanted to melt into the seat cushions. “You’re all making it worse.”

“But she’s being honest,” I said, tilting my head. “Weren’t you the one who always said you’d never fall for someone boring?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You did,” Rawid said helpfully. “Twice. At that brunch in Spain before.”

Rani pointed at her again. “And you! Queen bee of your school? Lip gloss, curls, and three-inch heels in recess?”

“I still am!” Lameel protested.

“Exactly,” Rabina said, resting her chin on her palm with a slow smile. “Which is probably why you’ve got options.”

“I seriously thought you’d end up with some investment banker named Kareem,” Rawid teased. “Not crushing on my sister in eyeliner and boots.”

“I don’t only like boots…”

“Awww, she’s defending her,” Rani giggled, nudging me.

Mama placed a hand to her chest, visibly delighted. “My daughters and daughters-in-law falling in love left and right. It’s practically poetic.”

“Should I plan two weddings next year?” Babba asked, sipping his wine with a sly grin.

“No one is getting married!” Lameel said quickly, eyes pleading with the universe. “We’re just… just friends.”

Rabina gave her a sideways look. “For now,” she said softly, almost like a challenge.

“I LIVE,” Rawid declared again, already reaching for her phone like she was about to text someone everything.

“Honestly,” Mama said, shaking her head fondly, “if this turns into something, I’d be thrilled. You and Rabina? Lipstick and leather. A dream.”

“I’d let her keep the heels,” Rabina said with a wink.

I glanced around the table, my sister caught in the middle of a meltdown, Rabina calm but amused, everyone else either grinning or pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Wow,” I said, putting down my fork. “I propose to the love of my life, and somehow this becomes about you, Lameel.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she muttered.

“Way too much,” Rani echoed, grinning beside me.

But as I looked between the two of them, Rabina giving Lameel the smallest, almost imperceptible nudge with her foot, and Lameel not even flinching, I felt something quiet and lovely settle in.