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“So…of course, one of them has to be Georgia,” she says, then brushes a soft kiss against the downy hair of the brunette twin. “I’m gettingGeorgiafrom our little raven-haired beauty.”
My heart swells until I’m afraid it’ll burst.
“Completely agree,” I say. It’s the name we already decided on—her mother’sreal name, the woman who raised Peaches to be strong under even the worst circumstances. “But what about our other twin?”
She smiles. “Isabela,” she says. “After your mom’s hometown in Puerto Rico. It’s a beautiful name…”
I squeeze her thigh, emotions racing through me. I can’t look at her for a second, and I have to avert my eyes to the floor.
“Javi?” she whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I just…”
I reach up to rub my eyes and find them wet with tears. I can’t even remember the last time I cried—not since I was a child, I think—and I feel a strange sense of shame as I hide my face from Peaches. It just makes things worse, and I’m shocked when my shoulders shake and a sob wrenches itself free.
I’m so tired.
I’m so happy.
I can’t believethis is my life.
“Javi,” she says again, concern strangling her voice. “Look at me, please…I’m worried.”
I finally get up the courage to meet her eyes and my gaze hovers over the girls.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been an emotional day.”
She laughs softly, her own eyes tearing up. “You know you apologize an awful lot. You should stop that.”
I reach up to touch her face and she leans into my palm.
“For you?” I say. “Anything.”
She presses a kiss to my palm. The babies stir, but they don’t wake—they just nestle closer to their mom, little mouths open and eyes closed as they dream.
“You like the name?” she asks.
“I love it,” I say. “And I love you…and I love that you remembered that about my mom.”
“I’ve been writing down your stories,” she says. “You’ve had quite the life. It’s worth recording.”
It almost makes me start weeping again.
“I have so many more to tell you,” I say. “Would you like to hear one now?”
She nods. “But maybe tone it down for the girls.”
I huff out a laugh.
“I can do that,” I say.
I consider what I’ll tell, sifting through all the strange things I’ve been through. What I settle on is my favorite story of all—a story about two people who fate tossed together in a hurricane, a woman who never let her light go out, and a man with enough darkness for the two of them.
“Once upon a time,” I start, “there was a princess and a pirate.”
And the story begins again.
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