Page 232 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

I look at her, surrounded by our families, bathed in light and noise, and one truth becomes impossible to ignore.

I want this life, with her. Always.

I lean close enough that no one else can hear us.

“We’re really going to have to turn them into respectable grandparents.”

She turns toward me, one corner of her mouth lifting.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand.”

I place my hand over hers on the table—my left hand, where my wedding ring has quietly returned weeks ago, without ceremony, without discussion.

Simply there, like it always belonged.

Her gaze drops to my hand, then rises back to me.

“Valeria. My wife… will you marry me again?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“Here?” she asks. “Like this? Between the main course and dessert, in front of everyone?”

“Yes.”

“No ring. No prepared speech. You’re not even on one knee.”

“Yes.”

Something flickers across her face, that expression she gets whenever she doesn’t want to show how deeply she’s affected.

“For me,” I say softly, “you never stopped being my wife.”

I take a slow breath.

“But if you don’t want to marry me again, I’ll stay anyway.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“Because loving you was never conditional on getting what I wanted.”

I swallow.

“So yes, I want to be your husband again. More than anything.”

My voice roughens.

“But if your answer is no, then it’s no.”

I rest my forehead against hers.

“And I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

A pause.

“And the day after that.”