Epilogue
Next Year
“How’s the drama program coming along?” Jasmine asked.
“Really well,” Ava replied, shaking the ice in her lemonade. She and Roman had spent the past two months in Europe, and Ava
had a lot to catch up on with her cousins. While away, they’d worked remotely—Roman on Casa Donato, and Ava on building a
nonprofit to pair public schools in the outer boroughs with Broadway actors for in-class drama workshops. “We’re about to
start a four-week summer camp and we’re all set to launch in the new school year.”
“That’s fantastic,” Jasmine said, as Michelle came over to join them. They all winced at Yadiel’s ear-splitting scream as
Gabe tossed him into the pool.
They were gathered in the backyard of Roman’s house in Los Angeles—or rather, Ava’s house. For someone who’d struggled to
feel at home anywhere, it was taking some time for her to get used to the idea that all of Roman’s homes were now hers, too.
Jasmine opened her mouth to speak, then her eyes went round. “Is that a ring ?”
“Oh my god, you did it.” Michelle snatched up Ava’s left hand. “You eloped!”
“While we were in Europe,” Ava said, blushing, as she told her cousins how it happened.
One night, when she and Roman were in Paris, Ava had turned to him as they were walking back to their hotel from dinner, and
said, “I’m ready.”
Roman dropped to one knee then and there, to the delight of the patrons at the sidewalk cafe beside them.
“Is that a yes?” he’d asked.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she’d nodded. “It’s a yes.”
As promised, he finally showed her the ring, but only as he was sliding it on her finger. Except Ava couldn’t look away from
his face, at the open vulnerability that had drawn her in from the moment they’d first met.
“I love you so much,” she whispered as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’ll never be able to say it enough.”
She’d pulled him to his feet and kissed him, and the bystanders broke into applause. Getting engaged on a street in Paris
was horribly cliché and, hopeless romantic that she was, Ava loved every bit.
Alas, it was impossible for them to elope in France, so they’d flown to Italy, where Roman went to the embassy to initiate
the necessary documentation for a civil ceremony. The man’s ability to handle paperwork was a real turn-on.
Their witnesses were the older Italian couple who owned the florist where Ava bought her bouquet. The wife, impressed by Ava’s creative vision and knowledge of flower arranging, had invited them to dinner. Roman hit it off with the husband, who’d grown up on a vineyard.
Ava donned the same white dress she’d worn the night Roman declared his love for her on the patio in Puerto Rico. Roman wore
a plain black suit. He got a haircut and shave for the occasion and looked unbearably dashing.
For the ceremony, they used the typical vows—Ava knew better than anyone that actions were what really mattered, and Roman
showed her every day that he loved and cherished her.
Their wedding had been simple and spontaneous.
In a word, perfect .
“I’m shocked Roman didn’t go for something humongous and flashy.” Michelle turned Ava’s hand side to side and admired the
classically beautiful but ethically sourced brilliant-cut diamond rings.
Ava gave a short laugh. “Believe me, he wanted to.”
“This is much more you,” Jasmine said, smiling.
“Are you upset that you weren’t there?” Once upon a time, Ava would’ve been too scared to voice the question. Now, she just
asked. And god, it was so much easier.
Jasmine shook her head. “Ashton still says we should’ve eloped. And while I loved our wedding—thanks, in large part, to you
and Roman—sometimes I wonder if he was right.”
“This was the only way you could do it on your own terms,” Michelle said. “You know how our family gets about weddings.”
“Do I ever,” Ava muttered. But any bitterness that might have once accompanied the words was gone. She could look back and
recognize how each step she’d taken had led her to this point. Without those experiences, she wouldn’t have the context to
appreciate her life as it currently was.
Perfectly imperfect. Or imperfectly perfect. Whichever one.
Michelle glanced at Ava’s midsection. “Not to be a chismosa, but... any other news you’d like to share with the class?”
Not yet , Ava thought.
All she said was, “We’ll see.”
Next Year
“You did it,” Roman whispered to Ava, leaning down to kiss her forehead where she rested against the pillow.
She beamed at the baby nestled in Roman’s arms, love shining in her eyes. “ We did it.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the superhero.”
“You were here,” she said simply, and the impact of those words sank into his very bones.
Roman gazed down at his daughter’s beautiful, precious, extremely squished little face. Then he looked to his strong, stunning,
and compassionate wife. In his heart, he recited a promise.
I’ll be here. For as much and as long as I’m able, I’ll be here .
When the concept had first been introduced to him, it had seemed too simple and not enough . Now he knew better. His own father hadn’t done it, but he’d learned from others, like Keith and Ashton, that nothing was
certain, and being there for your family, in all senses of the word, was more valuable than gold.
Once, he’d been driven by the urge for more more more . And while he didn’t regret it, he was so fucking glad he’d gotten his priorities in order before it was too late.
When the baby shifted in her blanket, Roman settled her back on her mother’s chest and marveled at the way his entire world
sat right here in front of him. He stroked his wife’s curls away from her face and joined her in staring at this perfect little
being they’d created. His ribs felt like they would burst, unable to contain all the love and happiness welling up inside.
“Welcome to the world, Isabella Benita Vázquez,” Ava whispered. “We love you so much.”
Next Year
“It’s a good script,” Roman said. These days he held meetings in his living room instead of a boardroom, but he still got
right to the point.
“Yeah?” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He looked pleased, but also slightly embarrassed. “I mean, I took a couple classes,
but screenplays are a whole different—”
“You’re a writer, Gabe. Get used to it.” Ashton set down their drinks and moved a stuffed rabbit off the armchair before he
sat.
“Still feels weird,” Gabe muttered, grabbing his seltzer and settling back on the sofa.
“Not just a writer.” Roman flashed Gabe a teasing grin. “The New York Times bestselling author of Destiny’s Downfall .”
Gabe dipped his fingertips into his glass and flicked the droplets at Roman.
“We’re really doing this?” Ashton directed the question to Roman.
“It’s a bit late to be asking that now.”
Ashton snorted. “I’ve been in this industry long enough to know nothing is set in stone.”
“Look, I didn’t create a whole ass production company for you to treat this like some rich man’s whim.”
Ashton smirked. “Isn’t it?”
Roman sighed. His friend had him there. After stepping back from the hotels, Roman had thrown himself into expanding Casa
Donato’s profile while maintaining the small business vibe that made it special. Easier said than done, but it was now one
of the premiere rums in the world, with a number of lucrative partnerships and distribution deals. The company’s worth had
skyrocketed from where it was when he’d bought it. But instead of getting caught up in the minutiae like he had with the hotels,
he’d promoted a strong team to manage the continued growth and devoted all his attention to fatherhood.
He fucking loved being a dad. Even the hard parts. And he absolutely adored watching Ava be a mom. She was incredible, as
he’d known she would be, and he did everything he could to make his girls’ lives as effortless as possible.
But Isa was a year old now and she had five grandparent figures—Dulce, Ignacio, Patricia, Miguel, and Olympia—who all wanted
to spend time with her. Ava was expanding her theater program to more schools, and as much as she told him to relax, Roman
didn’t like sitting still.
Then Ashton and Gabe had come to him with a business proposition, and Roman’s instincts for a good deal had sparked. Now the three of them were the owners of Los Primos production company. Ashton had proven his worth as a celebrity spokesperson for Casa Donato—especially after his Oscar win. And without Gabe, Roman never would have finished writ ing his own book— Building an Empire: Roman’s Rules for Success . Roman secretly hated the title, but the book had been an instant nonfiction bestseller, so what the hell did he know. Gabe’s
fantasy series was the first project optioned by Los Primos, and Michelle, whose marketing and consulting company was highly
sought after by film studios, had already agreed to help craft the pitch—for a fee, of course.
Bottom line, the production company wasn’t a whim to Roman. He loved these guys like they were his brothers, and what was
more, he liked working with them.
“Let’s make it happen,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Who do I need to schmooze?”
Next Year
The Primas held their annual holiday celebration a week before Christmas at Ava and Roman’s house in the Hamptons. Snow glittered
over the lawn, and inside, a gas fire flickered in the baby-proofed fireplace. The aromas of coconut, cinnamon, and Casa Donato
rum competed with the scents of pine and gingerbread. Ava watched the proceedings as she made coquito at the kitchen counter.
Ashton sat on the rug with Isabella, building what looked like a gothic cathedral with her colorful magnetic tiles. Sinvergüenza
the stuffed dog sat beside them, never far from Isa. Michelle, Gabe, and Yadiel were playing Super Smash Bros., which seemed
to involve a lot of trash talking. Roman was cuddling Renee Rodriguez Suarez against his chest and singing a Spanish nursery
rhyme. Jasmine and Ashton’s infant daughter rewarded him with a sweet, gummy smile.
Jasmine joined Ava at the counter and snagged a gingerbread cookie from the festive plate.
“Oh, come on!” Yadi exclaimed, his jaw hanging open as he glared at Michelle. “How do you keep winning? You’re old .”
“Not older than Nintendo,” she quipped. Spotting Jasmine and Ava, Michelle got up from the sofa. “I’m out. Have fun kicking
Gabe’s ass for a while.”
Gabe rolled his eyes, but gamely started another round.
“Yadi, Isa, and Renee,” Michelle said, coming to stand next to her cousins. “The next generation of the Primas of Power?”
Ava unplugged the immersion blender. “They’ll have to come up with their own name. That one’s taken.”
Jasmine sighed as she polished off her cookie. “How do you manage the fear?” she asked, her eyes on Roman and Renee.
“Of what?” Ava asked. “Dropping her?”
Jasmine scoffed. “No, I’m over that. Renee’s pretty sturdy by now. I meant the fear of... fucking up?”
“You’re afraid of the kids turning out like us?” Michelle asked wryly.
“Exactly!” Jasmine sounded anguished.
Ava considered the question seriously. “Well, that’s partly why we’re in therapy, right? We’ll probably mess them up in other
ways, but god willing, they won’t make our same mistakes.”
“They’ll make their own.” Michelle’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “And when they do, they’ll tell you about it,
because they know you’ll love them anyway.”
Ava’s heart twisted at Michelle’s astute observation. It had been difficult, but learning to love herself through her own mistakes was the only way Ava could teach her daughter that it was okay to be flawed, to be imperfect, to be human . To show her that letting people in led to growth, and that having healthy boundaries could be empowering.
And most importantly, that opening yourself to love in its myriad forms was worth the risk.
Ava glanced at the framed photos on the living room wall. This past Halloween, she, Jasmine, and Michelle had re-created their
Primas of Power picture. The new photo, matted next to the original, showed the three of them sitting on the steps of the
deck just beyond the kitchen sliding door.
Jasmine stood on the middle step, dressed as Wonder Woman with her fists planted on her hips. Michelle was Supergirl, balanced
on one leg on the top step. And Ava, in a Batgirl costume at the bottom of the steps, had her mouth open in a battle cry and
her leg extended, high-kicking the air. It was what she’d wanted to do when she was five, but “Smile for the camera!” had
already been deeply ingrained, and she hadn’t been able to do otherwise.
Now, she only smiled when she wanted to—which was still a lot, thanks to sheer happiness, but it was genuine. No more Resting
Pleasant Face.
With the coquito done, Ava poured three tumblers and sprinkled freshly ground cinnamon on top. She kept one for herself and
passed the other two to Jasmine and Michelle. They met each other’s eyes as they clinked glasses and whispered, “Primas of
Power forever!” in unison.
After the first sip, Michelle closed her eyes in appreciation. “Sorry, Abuela, but Ava still makes the best coquito in the
Rodriguez family.”
Smiling, Ava inhaled the comforting scents of coconut and holiday spices before taking another sip. “I had a solid foundation to build on.”
Like Isa forming towers with her magnetic tiles, Ava had been given the building blocks of family and tradition, but it had
been up to her to expand on it, crafting a life that was all her own.
She looked to her cousins on either side of her. So much had changed in the last few years, but as they’d navigated the shifts
with open communication, their bond had remained a constant, and was stronger than ever. They were creating their own traditions
now.
On the sofa, Yadi cheered and Gabe grumbled. Michelle strolled over to listen to the teenager gloat. Renee started to fuss,
so Roman passed her to Ashton. Spotting her father, Isa held out her hands and said, “Up, Papi.” Roman scooped her into his
arms and carried her over to Ava while Jasmine went to prep Renee’s bottle.
Ava handed Roman the glass of coquito to try.
He took a sip and grinned. “I knew you’d make a killer coquito.”
She shook her head at him. “You say that every Christmas.”
“It’s a tradition.”
“Me too?” Isa reached for the glass.
“This one is yours, sweetheart.” Ava handed the toddler a sippy cup of milk and Isa sucked it down happily.
Holding their daughter in one arm, Roman slipped the other around Ava’s waist and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. He tasted
like cinnamon and rum.
Here was her other constant. Not just his love, but his patience and his presence. The best kind of happily-ever-after.
“Are you happy, mi amor?” he asked, and she smiled.
“Incandescently.”
He grinned at the reference to their shared comfort movie and kissed her again.
Their life wasn’t perfect. But it didn’t need to be. It was theirs .
And that was more than enough.