They pulled into their driveway, he in his truck, she in her Mazda, and met on the front steps. Joaquin unlocked the door, then scooped Mia into his arms, laughing at her surprised shriek as he carried her across the threshold.
“Welcome home, mi amor.” He kissed her on that luscious mouth, then glanced at his watch. “José-Luis will be here in about thirty minutes with the moving van.”
That didn’t give him much time.
They went off together to explore, peeking into all of the rooms, their voices echoing through the empty space, mid-day sunlight spilling through the windows onto golden wood floors, graceful arched entryways, and gray granite countertops.
“It’s beautiful, Joaquin. I love it. It’s so bright and cheery and peaceful.”
Best of all for both of them, it came without bullet holes and bad memories.
She’d gained some peace and healing from going public with her story, which had made international headlines. She’d received many requests for interviews and had also gotten a phone call from a three-star general who had apologized to her on behalf of the Army—and promised they would do better on sexual harassment.
She seemed so much happier now, more confident, more outgoing in bed and out. She believed in more than her intellectual abilities now. She believed in herself as a red-blooded woman. And, yeah, that hadn’t hurt their sex life.
Santa María Madre de Dios, she amazed him.
No woman could do to him what Mia did.
His family and friends adored her. Now Joaquin wanted to make it official. He was pretty sure she’d say yes, but, shit, what if she surprised him?
Mia made her way toward the sliding glass door that led to the big concrete patio in back. She was impatient to look at the mud and the weeds, of course. He’d known she’d head in that direction sooner rather than later. In fact, he’d worked it into his plans.
They stepped outside into the warm spring air.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
Joaquin could only see her face. “Yes.”
She started telling him about the trees she wanted to plant. “I think a bigtooth maple over there for fall color. I really want some pines in the front yard and back here so we can decorate them with Christmas lights. Won’t that be pretty?”
“Yeah. That sounds good.” He wondered when she would notice it, some part of him excited and some part of him scared out of his mind.
“I’m torn between mugo pines and some kind of Swiss stone pine. Mugos do really well in Colorado because they’re well adapted for our climate and fairly xeric, but the stone pines do well, too. I want to avoid arborvitae. They just don’t thrive here.”
Trees, trees, trees.
It was adorable, really, but he needed her to see before José-Luis and his crew arrived and started lugging boxes everywhere.
“What about over there?” Joaquin pointed.
She turned her head—and gave a little gasp. “Bouteloua gracilis.”
She walked over to the little pot, picked it up, lovingly ran her fingers over the grass blades. “You got me my favorite grass. You know me so well.”
This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. She still hadn’t seen.
“Are you sure this is the kind of grass you want?” ¡Carajo! What would he do if she flat-out didn’t notice?
She gave him a look. “I know my grasses.”
Desperate now, he took the pot of Bouteloua grassy stuff, and dropped to one knee, hoping this would make his intentions obvious. “Look at it, mi amor.”
“Why are you on your knee?” She gaped at him as if he were a lunatic—which maybe he was—then peeked down among the grass blades. “What am I supposed—oh, my God! Oh, Joaquin!”
Her eyes went wide, and she reached inside the clump of grass with careful fingers and pulled out the ring—a single oval-cut diamond encircled by diamonds and set in an antique band of white gold. “It’s beautiful!”
“Mia Rose, my love, my soul, will you marry me?” The words were out now, his heart beating naked on his sleeve.
She didn’t make him wait for an answer. “Are you kidding? Yes! ¡Sí!”
He got to his feet, took the ring from her, and slid it onto her finger, relieved to see that it fit.
She sniffed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I love it.”
“You’re crying. I’ve never seen you cry when you were happy.”
She laughed, sniffed, smiled up at him. “I’ve never been this happy before.”
He drew her close, held her, kissed the top of her head. “This is just the beginning, Mia.”
There would be so many happy days to come.
Epilogue
June 2
Mia looked into the mirror, her heart swelling. Her reflection smiled back at her, excitement on her face, long red curls hanging around her shoulders. “Wow.”
“You look stunning.” Holly stood beside her, beaming, makeup brushes in hand.
“You look beautiful—like a bride.” Isabel adjusted the lace veil attached to the barrette that held Mia’s curls back from her face. “My son is a lucky man.”
“Oh, Mia.” Elena, Mia’s maid of honor, blinked back tears. “I knew you and Quino would be right for each other.”
Mia reached out, took Elena’s hand. “I will always love you for that.”
Mia glanced around the room. “Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have pulled this together so quickly without you.”
Elena had worked with the Cousin Mafia—that’s what Mia called them now—to help Mia order flowers, print and mail invitations, and pull together a reception.
Isabel had loaned Mia her veil—the same antique lace veil she had worn at her own wedding and her mother before her.
Holly, who had become Mia’s closest friend, had done Mia’s hair and makeup. She had also helped Mia choose her dress—a white sleeveless gown with an illusion neckline and sweetheart bust that made the most of Mia’s chest, and a full skirt of silk taffeta that emphasized her narrow waist. The delicate lace details on the neckline were a close match for the lace in Isabel’s veil. But the best part about the gown was the skirt.
It came with a surprise, and only Mia and Holly knew what that was.
Mia turned so that her mother, who stood near the bedroom door, could see, too. “What do you think?”
Her mother gave her a tight smile, her puffy eyes proof that she’d been crying. “You look very pretty.”
Mia knew her mother believed that the lack of sleeves was immodest, but Mia’s choice of gown was the least of her objections. What troubled her parents far more was the fact that Joaquin had been raised Catholic—and that he had brown skin. They’d never come right out and said it, but she knew it was true.
“Forget them,” Holly had said after the rehearsal dinner yesterday. “You enjoy your day.”
Mia’s parents had offered to drive her to the dinner, but had taken the scenic route to Mateo’s restaurant, making Mia late. They’d spent the entire drive trying to talk her into calling off the wedding. She’d thought they had warmed up to Joaquin. After all, he had almost died trying to save her life. But what they’d said on that drive had proved to Mia that they’d been pretending to care about him.
“This is your last chance, Mia,” her father had said as they’d pulled into Aztlán’s parking lot. “End this before it becomes another regret.”
“I don’t have any regrets, Dad. I’m proud of the choices I’ve made. This is your last chance. Either accept that I love Joaquin and that I’m going to marry him, or go home and stay out of my life.”
Mia had been furious.
Determined not to let her parents steal her joy, she took her bouquet—a confection of pink cabbage roses—from Elena, while Holly and Isabel adjusted her skirt and veil.
“The limo’s here,” Mia’s father called from downstairs.
“Let Elena carry your bouquet so you can hold your skirt,” Isabel said.
Mia’s mother stepped away from the doo
r. “I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”
Isabel and Holly looked at Mia, who nodded.
Mia’s mother waited until the door had closed. “I wanted to give you this. It used to belong to my mother.”
She handed Mia a rectangular box. Inside lay a sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet set in white gold. “Oh, Mom. It’s beautiful. Can you help me put it on?”
Her mother lifted the bracelet from the box and clipped it onto her wrist. “I want you to keep it. You remind me of your grandmother. You have her passion for life.”
“Thank you.”
A troubled expression came over her mother’s face. “I’m sorry for the way we behaved the other night. I have nothing against Joaquin. I just worry about your soul.”
“You should have a long talk with Joaquin’s grandmother. She’s worried, too, because I’m not converting and we’re not getting married in the Catholic Church.”
Her mother stared at Mia—then smiled. “I suppose she and I do have something in common there.”
“Don’t you think it was God who brought Joaquin into my life?” Mia wasn’t a religious person, but the words felt true to her. “He saved me, Mom. He literally put himself between me and a bullet, and then he crawled across my condo, close to dying, to kill the man who was trying to murder me.”
Did her mother not understand?
“He is very brave—and so are you.”
“Apology accepted. I don’t suppose Dad knows about this little talk.”
“You just enjoy your day. I will deal with your father.” Her mother smoothed a hand over Mia’s curls. “You are a beautiful bride. Let’s not keep Joaquin waiting.”
Joaquin stood with Matt in the Rose Pavilion at the Botanic Gardens, which had been closed off to all but members of the wedding party and their guests. The roses were in full bloom, their scent filling the air. No wonder Mia loved it.
Chairs had been set up, and most of the seats were filled, family and friends mixing on both sides, some coming up to congratulate Joaquin. The string quartet they had hired sat in the shade, tuning their instruments.
It was all coming together.
“Did the judge get his payment?” Joaquin had found a Spanish-speaking judge who was willing to marry them outside of his courtroom—for an extra fee.
“Yes.” Matt, Joaquin’s best man, fidgeted with Joaquin’s rosebud boutonniere. “Would you relax?”
“Weren’t you nervous at your wedding?”
Matt shook his head. “I was drunk. That’s why there was a wedding.”
That explained a few things—such as why Matt was now divorced.
Matt glanced around. “You saved a fortune on flowers by having the wedding here, man. Look at this place.”
“This is Mia’s favorite part of the gardens.”
“It’s strange that she works here and she’s getting married here. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get married in the newsroom.”
Joaquin laughed. “She loves roses.”
Most of the guests had arrived, his relatives mingling with their I-Team friends and Mia’s co-workers, talking and laughing with one another. Jack and Nate made their way through the crowd with Janet and Megan, Jack in an Army dress uniform and Nate in his Marine dress blues. Zach, too, had come in dress uniform, complete with his Medal of Honor. They’d worn their uniforms to honor Mia.
Everyone was smiling—including his long-suffering abuelita. She sat up front with his parents, holding the lazo in her lap. It was the only element of a traditional Mexican wedding that he and Mia had preserved. Padrinos—godparents or mentors—draped it around the bride and groom in a figure eight before they made their vows as an added blessing and a sign of the unity of marriage. If they’d had a church wedding, the lazo would have been an extra-long rosary, but Joaquin and Mia had opted for orange blossoms, which were also traditional.
The judge made his way up the aisle, dressed in black robes. He shook Joaquin’s and Matt’s hands. “The big day is finally here. This place is lovely.”
Joaquin was in the middle of telling him that this is where Mia worked and that the roses were her favorite part of the gardens when Matt interrupted him.
“Here comes Mia’s mom,” Matt said.
That meant Mia was here—and that the ceremony was about to begin.
A hush fell over the gathering as Mia’s mother took her seat.
“Are you ready for this, man?” Matt asked.
Joaquin was more than ready.
The quartet began to play—Bach’s Air on a G String.
Elena appeared, looking incredible in a mermaid gown of pastel pink, her gaze meeting Joaquin’s, a bright smile on her face. She walked up the center aisle, which was already strewn with rose petals, bouquet in hand.
“Whoa,” Matt whispered. “She’s—”
“My cousin,” Joaquin finished for him.
“Right.”
Mia.
Everyone stood as she stepped into the pavilion on her father’s arm.
It seemed to Joaquin that his heart had stopped. She looked like a dream in her white gown, her hair curling at her shoulders, a big bouquet of roses in her hands. She looked straight at him, her smile bright enough to shame the sunshine.
Joaquin found himself blinking back tears. He had waited a lifetime for this woman, for Mia. So many lonely nights. So many empty days. There were times when he’d wondered whether he’d ever find her—a woman to share his life with, someone special he could cherish for the rest of his life. Now, here she was, walking toward him.
Mia’s father placed her hand in Joaquin’s, but all Joaquin could see was Mia. “You are so beautiful.”
He bent down, kissed her.
Quiet laughter.
The judge welcomed everyone to the ceremony in English and Spanish, his words drifting over Joaquin like a breeze. Then Joaquin’s godparents stood and came to drape the lazo around them, the scent of orange blossoms mingling with roses.
It was time for their vows.
Joaquin looked into Mia’s eyes. “I, Joaquín Cristián, vow to love you, Mia, and to forsake all others for as long as I live. What I possess in this world, I give to you. I will keep and hold you, comfort and care for you, protect and shelter you, in good times and in hard times, for all the days of my life.”
Now there were tears in Mia’s eyes. “I, Mia Rose, vow to love you, Joaquín, and to forsake all others for as long as I live. What I possess in this world, I give to you. I will keep and hold you, comfort and care for you, protect and shelter you, in good times and in hard times, for all the days of my life.”
Matt handed Joaquin Mia’s wedding band, which Joaquin slipped onto her finger. “I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness and commit myself, body and soul, to you.”
Mia repeated those words as she slid a band of white gold onto his finger.
“Te amo, Mia.”
As the judge began to pronounce them husband and wife, Joaquin drew her into his arms and kissed her.
“You may kiss … er… well.”
Cheers.
Mia took a sip of the champagne she and Joaquin had opened in the limo, looking around at the reception hall. The Cousin Mafia had rented the place and decorated it. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but they had come through again. Sheer pink and white fabric panels were draped across the walls. Bouquets of flowers sat on every table. There was a sound system, too, and a long table weighted down with food from the caterers.
Joaquin nuzzled her ear. “It’s almost time for our dance.”
They had been working on this—their first dance—since the day Joaquin had proposed. They’d practiced until Mia had mastered it and felt comfortable on the dance floor. Elena had helped Mia learn some of the sexier elements of salsa—that sensual, undulating motion, all that hip action.
Alejandro, another cousin of Joaquin’s and their DJ for the afternoon, took the stage, welcoming everyone in English and Spanish. “We have a s
urprise for the newest member of the family. Mia, prima, are you watching?”
Joaquin’s male cousins lined up on the floor in front of the stage. To a man, they shed their suit jackets, tossing them to friends, wives, and girlfriends.
“You better not be planning to take anything else off!” Joaquin shouted.
Laughter.
“Mia, we are so grateful to have you in our family,” Alejandro said, as they all began to unbutton their dress shirts. “We are your cousins, too, now. We are your own personal …”
“Cousin Mafia!” they all shouted in unison, shedding their shirts to reveal T-shirts with the words COUSIN MAFIA spelled out in big, red letters across the front.
Cheers. Applause. Laughter.
Mia laughed, too. Never had her life been so full of people who loved her as it was today. She blew them a kiss. “¡Gracias!”
Joaquin kissed her. “See? They love you, too.”
“Now, we’d like to ask Quino and his beautiful bride to take the floor and kick off this party with the traditional first dance.”
“Are you ready for this?” Joaquin took off his tux jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“Are you?” Poor man. Mia was about to blow his mind.
She walked out onto the dance floor with him, people cheering and clapping for them, Holly standing nearby as she and Mia had planned.
Joaquin would have drawn her into his arms, but she gave him a playful push and stepped away from him. Then she reached down, unfastened the clasp, and removed the full skirt, revealing the beaded, white mini-dress beneath.
Whistles. Cheers. Applause.
“¡Ay, carajo!” Joaquin’s jaw dropped, his gaze sliding over her.
Holly came and took the skirt from Mia, a conspiratorial smile on her lips.
“We’ll give the groom a moment to recover,” Alejandro said into the microphone, chuckling. “Quino, are you okay, man? Give us a sign.”