Page 110 of Every Version of You

She turns her head to look at the room again. It’s half the size of the ballroom we were just in, but the entire floor is covered in electric candles. The overhead lights are turned off, but everything glows and sparkles thanks to the large windows overlooking the city and the mirrored ceiling.

There’s a string quartet playing near the corner, and I give them a wave.

Angie, however, is stuck in one spot as her jaw hangs open, taking everything in. Gripping her hands in mine, I walk backwards, pulling her through the straight path between the candles to the center of the room.

“What is happening?” she trembles as we reach the small circle in the middle.

“I’m proposing to you,” I smile, trying my best to appear confident, but my heart is pounding.

“No, you’re not,” she says, her eyes wild and laser focused on me. “No, you’re not. Oh my god, you are.” I pull the ring box from my pocket and kneel. “Rafael!” she screams, then covers her mouth with both hands, like she didn’t mean to blurt that last part.

“Do you want me to keep going?” I smile, and she nods frantically. “Good.”

I take both of her hands in mine. “I want to start by saying I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. I should have been kneeling before you ten years ago.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers.

“Angel, I’ve wanted to spend every single day with you since the day we met. I’ve been following you like a puppy and I never realized how good I had it—how great I had it. Realizing I loved you was like listening to a favorite song; I already knew the lyrics, the melody, the beat… I just had to remember who was singing beside me the whole time.”

Angie wipes her tears with the back of her hand as she chokes back more. With a shaky but sure hand, I open the box and show her the ring her father gave me—her mother’s ring. “I love you with all of my heart, Angel—you and your wild imagination. Nothing would make me happier than being your husband. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she sobs, and relief washes over me like a tidal wave. I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d say yes, but based on the way I’m shaking like a leaf, you’d think I wasn’t sure at all.

The quartet must have been listening because they crescendo rapidly, filling the room with the notes that will become the soundtrack to our story.

Slipping the ring on her left hand, she gawks at it as her chest heaves, and I quickly stand to kiss another yes from her lips.

And another.

And another.

1. Teenage Dream by Katy Perry

2. Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur

Epilogue

Angie

15 months later

“They’re sleeping, Rafael!” I hiss, trying to shove him away from his moms’ hotel room door.

“Come on,” he pouts. “We’ll be quiet. And if they wake up, that’s their problem.”

It only takes me a second to mull it over before I’m smiling. He knocks softly and a few moments later, Christina answers the door, her eyes adjusting to the bright lights of the hallway.

“Can we see them?” he whispers.

“Of course,” she whispers back, opening the door just enough to let us slip inside. The skirts of my wedding dress wrestle against each other and add to the white noise machine already playing.

We’re staying in a beautiful hotel in Guanajuato, Mexico, and it’s late—or early. When we left, most of our family and friends were still there, dancing to the mariachi band that showed up after the DJ packed his things.

The door shuts quietly behind us and we find our babies sleeping soundly in their travel cribs. Well, they’re not exactly babies anymore because no matter how much I refuse to believe it, Zofia and Dominico Jimenez are toddlers now. Toddlers who stole the show at our wedding ceremony only eight hours ago when they ditched the pillow and flower basket they were carrying halfway down the aisle and hugged each other.

My husband pulls me into his warm chest as we stare at our little cherubs, both sucking their thumbs, faces pressed close to the mesh barrier so they can be as close as possible.

“They passed out so fast,” Ana says, as both her and Christina come up to us.

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