70 #2
The Augusto Duarte Center had opened in Lisbon the year before.
Some of the archives and furniture Gabriela had lent it occupied the old office, now shared with the students’ workbenches.
She headed its technical board but kept her project team in Paraty.
Cris had moved back to Lisbon months earlier and resumed his practice there.
He called his godchildren, visited during vacations, and still left a charger in the guest room.
Beneath the mango tree, simple chairs lined an aisle of yellow petals. There was no press. Just family, friends, guesthouse staff, craftspeople, and those who’d helped us rebuild.
Paola had traveled from Italy. Matteo had arrived without a schedule for the first time in a decade. Dr. Isabel sat near the team who’d cared for Camila. Palazzo workers talked with builders from Paraty in a mixture of gestures, Portuguese, and Italian.
Beatrice hadn’t been invited. She was still answering for what she’d done and had sent a letter Gabriela put away unopened. Lorenzo’s case was also still in court. I would hear from the lawyers the following week. That afternoon, I put my phone away when I saw Noah approaching.
“Camila’s crying.”
I went pale.
“Has something happened?”
“The dress looks pretty.”
“That’s good.”
“She cries about good things too.”
At seven, Noah came to me now without rehearsing what he wanted to ask. The night before, he’d fallen asleep on my lap during a film, then complained when I carried him to bed before the end.
“And your mother?”
“She said to stop asking.”
“Right.”
Heitor came running, one shoe untied and his tie in his pocket.
“I lost the rings.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
He took the box from his inside pocket. I pressed a hand to my chest.
“Don’t do that to your father on his wedding day.”
“Uncle Cris thought it was funny.”
Across the garden, Cris raised his glass in salute. Camila came next, accompanied by Sofia. She wore a yellow dress and a crown of tiny flowers. Her recent test results were good, though her medical follow-up continued.
“Are you nervous, Daddy?”
“Very.”
“Your hair’s sticking up here.”
I lowered my head so she could show me.
Camila smoothed the streak with her palm. “There.”
I thanked her and kissed her forehead. When the music began, the triplets went to Gabriela’s mother. Cris took his place beside me as my best man. He glanced at the sheet I held.
“Is that the short version?”
“Do you want me to cry or answer?”
He gave me a handkerchief and looked toward the front row.
Mariana, the girlfriend he’d introduced to the family the night before, waved to him. She restored books in Lisbon. Over dinner, Noah had wanted to know if she could fix the cover of the book he carried everywhere.
“He’s already set the book aside,” I told him.
“She brought supplies to look at it after the party. Neither of them knows how to take a vacation.”
Cris smiled at Mariana before turning toward the aisle. Gabriela’s mother appeared with the triplets. Then my bride came in alone.
Before walking down the aisle, she stopped beside Augusto’s photograph.
She touched the frame, took a breath, and went on.
Her dress was light, with delicate sleeves, and her bouquet mixed roses from the Palazzo with Brazilian flowers.
Gabriela found my eyes. I started crying before she was halfway to me.
“You’re ruining the photographs,” Cris murmured.
“Shut up.”
Gabriela reached me beneath the mango tree and held out her hand.
“Were you early?”
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“Overkill.”
“I couldn’t wait.”
The celebrant Gabriela had chosen led the ceremony. The marriage paperwork was already in order; that afternoon, we wanted to say our vows before the people who’d been there for us. Before our vows, the children read a short text they’d written together.
“We like living in this house,” Noah began, holding the paper in both hands.
“And the pancakes, when they’re not burned,” Heitor continued.
Camila finished:
“We love you. Both of you.”
Cris lowered his face. Sofia wept without restraint. The children gave us the paper and returned to their seats. I unfolded my vows; one corner had crumpled in my hand.
“Gabriela, I love the life we have. I love hearing your key in the door, looking for my glasses among your plans, finding that you’ve saved me the last piece of cake. I promise to care for this life with you, on the good days and the hard ones. I promise to listen.”
Gabriela drew a breath through her tears.
“Luca, for a long time I thought we would never get here. Today I look at you and want what comes after this party. The house, the work, the children growing up. I want to laugh with you when everything goes wrong and remember to ask for help when I can’t manage alone.”
She took a small copy of the house drawing from her pocket, covered in the children’s notes.
“And I promise to leave some space on the shelves for your books.”
“A whole shelf?” I asked through tears.
“Don’t start negotiating now.”
Heitor sniffed loudly.
“Can you kiss already?”
The guests laughed. After we exchanged rings, the celebrant invited us to seal our vows with a kiss.
I kissed Gabriela beneath the mango tree, near the spot where I’d proposed.
Heitor was the first to run to us. His brother and sister followed, and I had to brace myself when all three threw their arms around us.
At the reception, there was no separate table for “the Bellandi family.” Italians and Brazilians danced together. Seated near the table, Sofia tapped out the beat with her cane while Camila danced in front of her. Matteo lost a bet to Noah. Heitor secretly ate four sweets and blamed two on me.
Mariana danced with Cris near the veranda. Gabriela raised her glass to them, and he returned the toast before spinning his girlfriend again. Later, my wife found me watching the children from the top of the steps.
“Hiding from your own party?”
“Memorizing.”
She stood beside me.
“Heitor’s already taken off his shoes.”
“They lasted longer than I expected.”
She found our son in the garden and laughed.
“Tomorrow I’ll find one under the table and the other in my car,” I said.
Gabriela rested her shoulder against mine.
I took her hand. The bouquet stems had left a mark on her palm.
In the garden, Camila twirled in yellow, Noah argued about the rules of a game, and Heitor tried to persuade Cris to let him climb the tree. Through the window, I could see light falling on the living room bricks. I kissed Gabriela’s wedding ring.
“Mrs. Bellandi?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Mrs. Duarte Bellandi, on certain occasions. Gabriela Duarte on the board and at the office.”
“And Mommy when someone’s lost their backpack,” Camila added, appearing on the veranda.
“And wife when he burns pancakes,” Heitor said behind her.
Noah came last.
“Your shoe was by the table,” he informed his brother, handing it over.
Gabriela opened her arms, and all three fitted between us.
Heitor tried to put his shoe on without leaving the hug. Gabriela had to hold him to keep him from falling.
Before returning to the garden, the children gave us a box my mother-in-law had been keeping. Inside was a copy of the old house drawing, surrounded by new sheets. Camila had filled the garden with yellow roses, and Heitor had added a plane on the roof. Noah had drawn six keys beside the door.
“Whose is the sixth key?” I asked.
“Uncle Cris’s. For emergencies and Sundays.”
Cris appeared behind them and bent to look. On the back, Camila had asked for more flowers in the garden. Heitor had written “pancakes on Saturdays.” Noah had added an arrow to his bedroom window: “This is the library too.” I traced the arrow and smiled.
“Where should we hang it?” Gabriela asked.
Noah looked at his brother and sister before answering.
“In the living room, near the books.”
“We’ll need a big frame,” I observed.
Heitor spread his arms to show how big. He nearly hit Cris’s glass.
“Understood,” I said, taking the box.
Gabriela helped me put the sheets away without bending the corners.
I went to leave them on the living room table. When I returned, she was waiting by the steps.
We went back to the party hand in hand. Before the last guests left, Gabriela put the camera on the table and set the timer.
She ran to me while everyone shouted conflicting instructions.
The picture came out slightly crooked, with Heitor’s eyes shut and Sofia complaining just as the shutter clicked.
It was the photograph we chose for our wall.