19.
OLíVIA SAMPAIO
A marriage proposal becomes less absurd when it takes up twenty-seven pages.
That should probably worry me.
The contract covers everything.
Twelve months.
Separate residences.
Sole custody remaining with me during the initial period, with Leonardo’s parenting time increasing according to Manuela’s adjustment.
Asset protections.
Medical confidentiality.
No commercial or public use of Manuela’s image.
Transfer of Recome?o’s building into an independent foundation.
Her medical treatment guaranteed regardless of whether the marriage lasts.
No intimate obligations.
Mutual divorce at the end.
The lawyer I hired, Dr. Felipe Nogueira, has read the document three times.
“It’s unusual,” he says from the chair across from me in the apartment. “But it isn’t abusive.”
“Leonardo doesn’t usually need abusive clauses. He gets what he wants in other ways.”
Felipe adjusts his glasses.
“The therapy requirement was yours?”
“Yes.”
“And he accepted without much argument?”
“He objected for approximately ten seconds.”
“That may be the most surprising part.”
I look at Leonardo’s signature at the bottom of the draft.
Firm.
Precise.
He signed before I did.
“Do you think I should agree?”
“Legally, the contract protects you. Personally, I can’t answer that.”
“And the provision in the will?”
“I verified it. It exists. Marriage does remove administration of the relevant assets from the family trust and places Manuela’s interest under joint parental management with specific safeguards.”
“Joint.”
“Neither of you can move shares or restructure her holdings without the other’s consent.”
“So Leonardo gives up control too.”
“Over her portion, yes.”
That matters.
He isn’t only gaining something.
He is agreeing to share power.
“Can Catarina challenge it?”
“She can argue sham marriage.”
“Because it is one.”
“Not exactly. It would be a legal marriage entered into for declared family and financial purposes. Lack of romance does not make it invalid.”
“How charming.”
Felipe closes the folder.
“There’s another issue. The press is already speculating about the girl. A sudden marriage will confirm a great deal.”
“I don’t want a ceremony.”
“You don’t need one. But the marriage record will be public.”
“Can Leonardo stop that?”
“He can delay access. Not hide it forever.”
I think of Manuela.
Her surgery is nine days away.
I don’t want her spending the week before it listening to adults argue about photographs, shares, or marriage.
“Can we sign without telling her?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that. Children notice changes. And her surname may change after recognition.”
“I don’t want to remove Sampaio.”
“You can add Villar.”
Manuela Sampaio Villar.
The name feels like it belongs to another child.
A child born into wealth and photographers and decisions made by dead men.
My daughter is simply Manuela Sampaio.
“We’re not changing her surname now.”
“Recognition can be registered without an immediate change if there is justification.”
“Then it stays.”
Felipe nods.
After he leaves, I find Leonardo in the hallway.
I have no idea how long he has been waiting.
“You could have come in.”
“You didn’t authorize it.”
I look at him.
“You’re taking everything literally?”
“It’s safer.”
“You’re going to become unbearable.”
“You already think I am.”
“True.”
He almost smiles.
“Did the lawyer approve?”
“He says the contract protects me.”
“I told Daniel to accept any reasonable changes.”
“Who decides what’s reasonable?”
“You and your lawyer.”
Another concession.
“We need to tell Manuela.”
“I agree.”
“No talk about shares.”
“Of course.”
“And no telling her we’re becoming a real family.”
His expression shifts.
“We are really her parents.”
“We are not a couple.”
“I didn’t say we were.”
“She may interpret it that way.”
“Then we explain.”
“Today?”
“The sooner the better.”
Manuela is in the living room working on a puzzle.
I sit beside her.
Leonardo takes the armchair across from us, not too close.
“We need to talk.”
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Is it surgery?”
“No.”
She places another puzzle piece.
“Then talk.”
“Leonardo and I decided to make an agreement.”
“Like work?”
“Sort of.”
“We’re getting married,” he says.
I turn sharply.
“Leonardo.”
“She deserves clarity.”
Manuela drops the puzzle piece.
“Like a princess?”
“No,” I answer immediately.
“Like two adults who want to protect their daughter,” Leonardo says.
“Me?”
“You.”
She looks at me.
“But you don’t like him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said you don’t know him anymore.”
“That’s different.”
“Are you going to kiss?”
“No.”
Leonardo coughs.
“Then it isn’t marriage.”
“There are different kinds of marriage,” I explain. “Ours will be a temporary arrangement.”
“What’s temporary?”
“It lasts for a while and then ends.”
“How long?”
“One year.”
“And then you separate?”
“Yes.”
Manuela’s forehead wrinkles.
“Why get married if you already know you’re separating?”
Neither of us answers immediately.
“Because there is an old Villar family rule,” Leonardo says, “and it could allow some bad people to get too close to things that belong to you.”
“My things?”
“Some shares in hospitals.”
“I don’t have a hospital.”
“You’ll own a small part when you’re older.”
“I don’t want one.”
“I didn’t either when I was a child.”
“Then give it to somebody else.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
Manuela sighs.
“Adults make things complicated.”
“Very,” I agree.
“If you get married, does the bad lady go away?”
“She loses an excuse to interfere,” Leonardo says.
“Catarina?”
I stare.
“How do you know that name?”
“Grandma said it on the phone.”
“What else did you hear?”
“That she’s a snake.”
Leonardo puts a hand over his mouth.
“Do not laugh,” I say.
“I’m not.”
He is.
“So you’re getting married because of me,” Manuela says.
“To protect you,” I answer.
“I don’t want you to.”
My heart tightens.
“Why?”
“Because then you’ll separate and you’ll cry.”
The observation dismantles me.
“I won’t cry.”
“You cried last time.”
Leonardo goes completely still.
“Who told you that?”
“I heard Grandma.”
“Sweetheart, that was a long time ago.”
“But it was marriage too.”
“We never actually got married.”
“Because he did the bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“And is he going to do another bad thing?”
Leonardo gets out of the armchair and kneels in front of her.
“No.”
“Did you promise before?”
The question lands.
“I did.”
“Then you can lie.”
“Manuela,” I say.
“She’s right,” Leonardo answers.
His eyes remain on hers.
“I promised your mother a lot of things and broke those promises. That’s why this time everything will be written down, and she’ll have people making sure I follow the rules.”
“Like school rules?”
“Yes.”
“If you break them, do you get punished?”
“In a way.”
“What way?”
“Your mother can end the marriage immediately and decide I’m not trustworthy enough to be around either of you.”
I look at him.
That clause is not written that way.
Leonardo has just handed me a power his lawyers would never recommend.
“And you don’t want that,” Manuela says.
“No.”
“Because you want to be my dad.”
“More than anything.”
She returns her attention to the puzzle.
“Can I go to the wedding?”
“Obviously,” I say.
“Can I wear a dress?”
“If you want.”
“Will there be cake?”
“There can be.”
“Then okay.”
The ease with which children turn crises into cake-related logistics makes me smile.
“You don’t have to be happy about it,” I explain. “You can feel whatever you feel.”
“I feel like I want chocolate cake.”
“That is a feeling.”
“And I don’t want you to cry.”
“I’ll try.”
“And he has to ask you properly.”
Leonardo raises an eyebrow.
“How?”
“On his knee.”
“He doesn’t have to,” I say.
“Yes, he does. It’s always like that in cartoons.”
“This is not a romantic proposal.”
“But it’s marriage.”
Leonardo stands.
No.
He positions himself in front of me.
“Don’t.”
Manuela claps.
“Do it.”
“Leonardo.”
He kneels.
The world stops.
Five years ago, I imagined countless times what it would look like if this man ever changed his mind.
If he came to Santa Serena.
Kneeled in front of me.
Begged for forgiveness.
I never imagined it happening in a borrowed apartment, in front of our daughter, with a contract sitting on the table.
Leonardo takes my hand.
The reaction is instant.
Heat.
Memory.
Danger.
“Olívia Sampaio,” he begins.
“You don’t need the full name.”
“Yes, he does,” Manuela corrects.
He keeps looking at me.
“I have no right to ask you to trust me. Not after what I did. I probably have no right to ask you to take my surname again either, even under contract.”
My throat closes.
“Leonardo…”
“But I am asking you to marry me for one year so we can protect our daughter. I promise to respect every boundary already written down and every new one you need to create. I promise I will not use this marriage to take away your freedom or demand forgiveness.”
His fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“And when it ends, I promise you’ll walk away with everything you built intact.”
It’s the wrong promise.
Because there is no way to go through this untouched.
Neither of us will.
“Do you accept?” Manuela asks.
I look at my daughter.
Then at the man kneeling in front of me.
“Yes.”
She cheers.
Leonardo closes his eyes for one second.
When he stands, he is still holding my hand.
“You can let go now.”
He releases it immediately.
The heat remains.
The civil ceremony takes place two days later in the apartment.
The judge is a discreet woman recommended by my lawyer. Daniel and Felipe act as witnesses. Marta returns from Santa Serena with a suitcase full of clothes and a chocolate cake Manuela insisted on buying.
I don’t wear white.
I choose a simple blue dress that falls below my knees.
Leonardo arrives in a dark suit.
The moment he enters the room and sees me, he stops.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face always looks angry, according to Manuela.”
My daughter appears in a yellow dress.
“Do I look pretty?”
Leonardo crouches.
“Very.”
“My mommy too.”
He looks at me.
“Very.”
I look away.
The ceremony takes less than fifteen minutes.
Every word still carries weight.
When the judge asks whether I accept Leonardo Villar as my husband, I see another church.
White roses.
Stares.
A ring being pulled from my finger.
I have to breathe before I answer.
“I do.”
Leonardo doesn’t hesitate when it is his turn.
“I do.”
The rings were chosen without me.
Simple bands.
Smooth.
No stones.
Manuela hands us the box.
Leonardo slides mine onto my finger.
His hands are shaking.
Barely.
But they are.
When it’s my turn, I notice a small scar on his hand that wasn’t there five years ago.
I don’t ask.
The judge pronounces us married.
For a second, no one applauds.
Then Manuela starts.
Everyone follows.
“You can kiss,” she announces.
“No,” I say.
“On the forehead,” she negotiates.
I look at Leonardo.
“Only if your mother says yes,” he says.
The decision stays with me.
I step closer.
“Forehead.”
Leonardo lowers his head.
His lips touch my skin.
Light.
Respectful.
Brief.
My entire body recognizes him.
When he pulls away, our eyes meet.
For one dangerous second, there is no contract.
No daughter.
No will.
No deadline.
Only the man I once loved and the part of me that still remembers how.
Manuela wedges herself between us.
“Now cake.”
Reality returns.
We spend the afternoon eating chocolate and pretending the temporary marriage changes nothing.
That night, after everyone leaves and Manuela falls asleep, I stare at the ring on my finger.
I try to remove it.
The band slides as far as my knuckle.
I stop.
I don’t know why.
Maybe Manuela will wake and notice.
Maybe journalists will photograph my hand.
Maybe for a few hours, I want to remember what it felt like to hear Leonardo say yes.
I leave the ring where it is.
In the next room, the man I just married is sleeping on the couch.
And for the first time in five years, there isn’t a locked door between us.