The next instant, shock flashes over his face. “Are you…are we…”
“Yes, we are, and yes, I do,” I answer.
Enzo lifts his hands to frame my face, and as intense happiness ripples over his handsome features, he says, “I do. A million times in a million lifetimes, I take you as my wife and the mother of my children. There will never be another for me.”
“Oh my God,” Cassia exclaims. “You’re pregnant!”
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” Santiago suddenly says. “Now kiss your wife.”
A wide smile spreads over my face, and when Enzo gathers me in his arms, kissing me like I’m the air he breathes, fireworks shoot into the sky above us.
ENZO
Ten years later…
“Daddy, Tristao won’t give me back my teddy,” Milena, our youngest, complains.
“Tristao,” I snap.
My eldest son comes out of his bedroom, giving me a look that all pre-teens seem to master for the sole purpose of testing a parent's patience, then he asks, “What?”
My eyes narrow on him, and he instantly schools his expression, then innocently says, “Yes, Dad?”
“Stop messing with Milena,” I warn him.
“I didn’t do anything. She threw her teddy on my bed and won’t stay out of my room.”
My eyes flick to my little girl, who’s the spitting image of her mother, and when I see the sneaky smile on her face, I shake my head before looking at Tristao. “Sorry, son. Will you get Eduardo? It’s almost time.”
“Okay.” Right where he’s standing, he shouts, “Eduardo! Dad says you have to come to the living room. It’s almost time.”
“I could’ve done that myself,” I mutter as I pick up Milena. Giving her a stern look, I say, “Stop getting your brother in trouble.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and presses a kiss to my cheeks, then asks, “Are you angry with me, Daddy?”
“Of course not.” My four-year-old can do no wrong in my eyes.
Just as Eduardo and Jenna come out of the bedrooms, Santiago’s voice sounds over a loudspeaker. “Time for family wars.” He lets out a dark chuckle. “May the best family win, which is mine, of course. But we’ll give everyone a head start. You all have ten minutes to get out of your houses.”
Jenna lets out a snort. “He’s always the first person to get shot.”
She picks up the water guns and hands them out, then says, “Go for the Varga’s first and watch out for Aunt Evinka.”
When we started playing these games eight years ago, Jenna always hid behind me, but since Milena was born, she takes the lead with our sons, while I bring up the rear with our daughter.
“Stay close to me,” she orders before she opens the front door, and we all file out of the house.
Every year during the festive season, we come to the island for our family vacation. The kids spend most of their time on the beach, and we get to relax while catching up with the other four couples.
As we sprint past the main building where the restaurant is, so we can get to the other side that has more shrubs and trees to hide behind, you just see adults and children running as if an evacuation order has been given.
Laughter fills the air as we run past all the barrels of water that have been placed out so we can easily refill our guns during the game.
Milena starts bouncing in my arms while patting my chest and shouting, “Faster, Daddy. Faster! Look there’s Olympia.”
Milena worships the ground Olympia, Cassia’s ten-year-old daughter, walks on.
“Right now, Olympia is not on our team, baby. You can play with her later.”
