CHAPTER 52
GAbrIEL
◆
Helena wanted a wedding with forty people.
The country wanted a public holiday.
We compromised by ignoring the country.
The ceremony would take place at the Costa Clara house four months after the key destruction. The house remained my approved residence, which meant the federal court had to authorize the guest list, the musicians, the caterer, and the exact portion of beach where I could stand.
Sofia found this romantic.
“Nothing says eternal love like Form 18-C,” she said, spreading papers across our kitchen table.
Lucia sat beside her with a spreadsheet. “Forty guests became fifty-three when Henrique added former clerks from Mother’s chambers.”
“Remove anyone who describes themselves as a constitutional thinker,” Helena said.
“That eliminates half the list.”
“Excellent.”
Mara inspected the back garden for ordinary safety concerns and made a visible effort not to report them to me.
Camila had accepted an invitation only after confirming she would attend as a friend, not as federal law enforcement.
Elias requested a chair near the aisle and permission to object if my vows were too long.
I had not yet written them.
Helena stood at the counter mixing pastry dough from her mother’s recipe. Flour marked her cheek. The engagement ring caught light each time she moved.
“We can wait,” I said.
Every person at the table stopped.
Helena looked at me. “For what?”
“Until the monitor is removed. Until the last appeals in my case. Until the press stops calling the wedding a redemption ceremony.”
Sofia slowly gathered the forms away from my reach.
“This is a private conversation,” she announced. “Everyone flee.”
Lucia took her spreadsheet. Mara took two pastries. Camila, who had just entered, turned around without asking.
The kitchen emptied.
Helena wiped her hands on a towel. “Do you want to wait?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because you deserve a wedding that does not require a federal boundary map.”
“I deserve the wedding I choose.”
“The headlines will say you married a convicted man before his sentence ended.”
“True statement.”
“They will say I used you to rehabilitate my name.”
“False statement.”
“They will turn our vows into evidence for whatever they believed before hearing them.”
“Almost certainly.”
I stared at her.
She came closer.
“You are doing it again,” she said.
“What?”
“Offering me a cleaner future because you are ashamed of the current one.”
The old instinct hid well. It wore consideration instead of control.
“I thought I had learned this.”
“You did. Learning is not a vaccine.”
I looked toward the open garden doors.
“I want to marry you now,” I said. “I want the absurd forms, the officer drinking our wine, and the monitor beeping during the first dance. I want our life before I become a version strangers find easier to forgive.”
“Then that is the answer.”
“And if you regret it?”
“I will tell you. Loudly.”
“Comforting.”
She put flour-covered hands on my shirt.
“I am not marrying your innocence,” she said. “I am marrying the man who stopped demanding it.”
The sentence made every prepared vow sound unnecessary.
I kissed her.
She tasted like coffee and butter.
A knock sounded against the open door.
Sofia leaned in. “Are we still fleeing? The dough is becoming a labor issue.”
“Come back,” Helena said.
The room refilled immediately.
We reduced the guest list to forty-six. We chose a local samba trio.
Helena refused white roses because she said they looked like institutional condolences. Lucia ordered bougainvillea and dark red dahlias instead.
I was assigned one task.
Learn the pastry recipe.
The first batch burned.
Helena ate the darkest one.
“Good?” I asked.
“Terrible.”
“You took a second.”
“I support effort.”
The federal court approved the ceremony at four seventeen that afternoon.
The order contained one special condition.
THE RESIDENT’S ELECTRONIC MONITOR SHALL REMAIN ACTIVE THROUGHOUT THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY AND RECEPTION.
Sofia read it aloud.
“Augusto is officially invited,” she said.
Helena looked at my ankle.
“He does not get cake.”