Beatriz
Miguel — the man who's the embodiment of authority and rigidity at the company — disarms completely. The smile he breaks into for his niece and nephews is wide and genuine. He crouches to their height, ignoring the fact that he's wearing light-colored clothes, and messes up both boys' hair.
"I'll play if you promise the first goal goes to Auntie Bia," Miguel teases, drawing giggles from the boys. He straightens up, grabs me by the hand, and steals a quick kiss before jogging lightly after the kids toward the lawn.
I watch the scene from the table, my heart floating. My brothers crack jokes, saying Miguel will tire out before the kids do, but the truth is he handles children with a gorgeous naturalness. He lifts Theo into his arms, pretending the dinosaur is flying, while tapping the ball gently to Leo. Watching the most powerful man in the brewery industry crouched on the ground, laughing out loud with two children, makes my uterus beg for our turn to come soon. He's going to be an amazing father.
The playtime is interrupted by the insistent honking of a festive horn coming from the front of the property. Upbeat music starts echoing, catching everyone's attention at the table.
"What on earth is that?" my mother asks, craning her neck.
Miguel walks back to me, wiping grass from his hands with a mysterious gleam in his eyes. He slings his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his body.
"Shall we go take a look?" he suggests, his voice bright.
The whole family stands and follows him to the front entrance. When the automatic gates swing fully open, my jaw simply drops.
Parked on the street is a transport truck covered in metallic gold and white balloons. Speakers on the sides play a sophisticated instrumental version of our favorite song. But the real showstopper is on the platform: a brand-new Porsche Cayenne, gleaming under the Sao Paulo sun, wrapped in an enormous red ribbon bow.
The women in the family let out gasps of surprise. My brothers whistle, impressed, and my in-laws smile, clearly proud of their son's extravagance.
"Miguel..." My voice barely comes out, my eyes bouncing between the car of my dreams and my husband's face. "You didn't."
"Five years deserve a milestone, Bia," he says, turning to face me and producing a small black velvet box from his pocket. He opens it to reveal the car key on a keychain engraved with our initials. "You spend every week running around handling the company's legal problems — problems I create. I want you going to work with the comfort and safety you deserve. You're the queen of my life, and everything that's mine is yours."
My tears finally spill over. I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. Miguel wraps me against his chest, lifting me slightly off the ground while the music keeps playing and our family applauds.
He holds me just far enough apart to press our foreheads together, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, with extreme care, as if I were made of crystal.
"Do you like it, my love?" he asks, his voice soft, his gaze focused exclusively on me, ignoring the audience around us.
"I love it... But you're completely insane," I laugh through the tears, sealing our lips in a kiss full of gratitude and passion.
"Crazy about you. Always," he vows, placing the key in my hand and walking me to the car so I can open the door.
I feel like the luckiest, most loved, most spoiled woman in the universe. Miguel spares nothing to see me smile — whether it's attention, affection in front of everyone, or extravagant gifts. The world out there can be chaotic and ruthless, but inside this bubble of love we've built, I have the absolute certainty that I'm invincible at my husband's side.
The smell of new leather fills my nose as I steer the Porsche Cayenne carefully through the tree-lined lanes of our gated community. In the passenger seat, Miguel wears a smile of pure satisfaction, one arm resting on the open window, letting the warm late-afternoon breeze mess up his hair. In the back seat, the chaos is guaranteed: Leo, Theo, and Malu are standing up, holding onto the seats, laughing at the top of their lungs.
"Go, Auntie Bia! Floor it! Make the car fly!" Leo shouts, his cheeks red from all the running in the garden.
"Nobody's flying, young man. Auntie Bia just got her new toy — we have to take care of it," Miguel turns around, pointing a stern finger at the nephews with a tone he only uses with family. The boys burst into giggles.
I glance at my husband out of the corner of my eye, taking advantage of a stop at the community's internal intersection. My chest swells with love. Miguel reaches over and rests his warm hand on the back of my neck, gently pulling my face toward him for a quick, smacking kiss on the lips.
"It's perfect on you," he says, his dark, intense gaze fixed on me. "A machine like this for the most brilliant lawyer in Sao Paulo."
"You spoil me way too much, Miguel. I still haven't gotten over the balloon truck at our door," I joke, shifting gears and parking the car back in our garage.
We spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped in the warmth of our family. On the outdoor kitchen terrace, we serve fresh coffee alongside a walnut cake — my father-in-law's favorite recipe. Between conversations about the stock market and silly laughter from my niece and nephews hunting ants in the flowerpots, time flies.
As the sun starts to set, painting the Sao Paulo sky in shades of pink and orange, our relatives begin saying their goodbyes. My brothers smother me with hugs, promising to borrow the car next weekend, and my mother-in-law gives me a tender kiss on the cheek, whispering, "Think about what we talked about — the babies." I smile, but this time I don't feel the knot of anxiety. I look at Miguel, who's helping his brother-in-law buckle the twins into their car, and I feel nothing but hope. On our terms, it'll happen.
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