Chapter 2

PROLOGUE

Beatriz

The sound of laughter echoes through the garden of our home in Sao Paulo — the perfect sign that the lunch celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary is an absolute success. I look around, my chest warm with contentment. At the long table beneath the pergola, my family and Miguel's share stories, wine, and the ease of a sunny Sunday.

My parents chat animatedly with my in-laws, a picture of harmony that fills me with pride. My two older brothers — talented lawyers and overprotective types who always try to keep up the tough-guy act — laugh at some inside joke with their wives. On the other side, Miguel's siblings try, without much success, to contain the energy of my three nieces and nephews, who are tearing across the manicured lawn.

I feel two firm, warm hands settle on my waist. A familiar, delicious shiver runs up my spine before his woodsy cologne even hits my senses. Miguel.

"You look beautiful today, my love," he whispers against my ear, his deep voice making me smile instantly. His lips trace a slow path down my neck, leaving a lingering kiss that makes me forget, for a second, that we're surrounded by nearly twenty people.

I turn in his arms, lacing my hands behind his neck. Miguel Matarazzo is the kind of man who commands any room just by walking into it. As CEO of the Grupo Matarazzo, he leads the family's brewery empire with an iron fist. At the company, where I work in the legal department, everyone fears and respects him. He's used to calling the shots, overruling objections, and having absolute control over everything.

But here, looking at me with his eyes half-closed in admiration, he's just my Miguel. The caring, protective, fiercely passionate man who seems to propose to me all over again every day with the smallest gestures.

"Five years, Bia," he says, his thumb caressing my cheek as he looks deep into my eyes. "Five years since the day I made you my wife, and I still feel like the luckiest man in the world. You're my safe harbor."

"I love you so much," I answer, feeling like my heart can barely hold this much happiness. "Happy anniversary, my love."

He pulled me into a deep kiss and the rest of the world disappeared. Miguel has this intensity that sets me on fire and gives me the absolute certainty that in his arms, I'm protected from any harm. It's impossible to imagine my world without him.

"Hey, you two! Stop making out and come eat!" my oldest brother shouts from the table, raising a glass of wine and drawing laughter from everyone.

Miguel laughs against my lips, gives me one more quick kiss, and we walk hand in hand to the main table. He pulls out my chair — a chivalry that never faded with time — and sits beside me, keeping one of his hands firmly pressed against my thigh over my linen dress. It's our constant touch of connection.

The conversation flows beautifully until my mother-in-law, gazing tenderly at the grandchildren playing in the garden, clears her throat and directs her eyes at us.

"Five years married... How time flies," she begins, with a smile I already know exactly where it's heading. "Everything so lovely — a gorgeous home, both your careers established. But tell me, darlings, when am I going to get Matarazzo grandchildren from this union? Your house is far too big to be this quiet on a weekday."

The fork seems to weigh a ton in my hand. I feel my cheeks burn instantly, and a familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my throat. I want to be a mother so badly. I've been dreaming about it intensely these past few months, guarding this wish like a precious and painful secret at the end of every cycle.

Before I can formulate a polite response to disguise how flustered I am, my own mother's voice joins the chorus.

"It's true, Bia. Your brothers have already given me beautiful grandchildren — you're the only one left. Don't wait too long, sweetheart."

I lower my eyes to my plate, forcing a thin smile. The pressure, even when it comes from a place of love, always leaves me feeling exposed.

That's when Miguel's hand on my thigh gives a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and he takes control of the situation with the steady confidence I admire so much.

"Mom, please," Miguel intervenes, his voice firm but playful, shielding me immediately from the pressure. "Bia and I have our plans. We're enjoying our time together, and when it's meant to happen, it'll happen. On our terms. Don't rush what's already going to be perfect."

My mother-in-law raises her hands in surrender, laughing, and the topic quickly shifts to the group's stock performance, prompted by my father.

I breathe with relief and glance sideways at Miguel. He winks at me and leans close to whisper:

"Don't mind them. We're going to have our family, Bia. As many kids as you want. On our terms."

I smile, feeling a wave of pure gratitude and love wash over me. He's perfect. Our marriage is solid as a rock.

Miguel's phone buzzes quietly in his shorts pocket. He pulls it out under the table, reads the screen quickly, and puts it away, turning that devastating smile back on me.

"Some problem at the factory?" I ask softly.

"Nothing that changes the fact that today is entirely ours, my love," he answers, kissing the back of my hand.

I rest my head on his shoulder, completely in love, convinced that I'm the happiest woman in the world and that nothing could possibly shake the perfect life we've built.

I'd barely finished processing the warmth of his gesture when a pair of small hands tugs at the fabric of Miguel's shorts. I look down and see Leo and Theo — the three-year-old twins from his sister's side. They're two miniature balls of energy, with the same brown hair as the Matarazzo family.

"Uncle Miga! Uncle Miga! Kick the ball!" Leo begs, bouncing on his bare little feet in the grass, while Theo clutches a green plastic dinosaur, staring at his uncle with pure expectation and those big Puss in Boots eyes.

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