You would think that being months pregnant would automatically disqualify me from wearing white lace lingerie, but Lorenzo said something along the lines of "You're literally glowing, Atasha, let me worship you"—and well, now here we are.
In a hotel room in US, the same one where we first… you know.
Did the thing.
The mistake.
The one-night stand that apparently kickstarted an entire love story.
Or a soap opera.
Maybe both.
"Doesn't this place feel smaller?" I said, pressing my palm against the old wooden headboard like i was revisiting a crime scene.
"That's because we're no longer enemies pretending it's just sex," Lorenzo replied from behind me, arms looping around my waist as he settled his hands on my belly. "Also because your belly's taking over half the bed."
I elbowed him lightly, but i couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of me.
"We're such a mess," I said, still smiling, even as the air grew softer.
"But we're our mess, Beautiful Mess" he murmured against my neck, and i could feel his smile too.
For a moment, we just stayed like that—me in his arms, him holding not just me but the proof of all the chaos we survived.
Celestine was at home, and this six-day honeymoon was both a delayed wedding celebration and a chance to pretend we weren't responsible adults.
Which leads us to the latest war back home.
Apparently, having a child turns your entire family into possessive, time-obsessed lunatics.
"My granddaughter will not be raised without knowing proper table etiquette!" my mom declared over dinner just a day before our flight.
"That child is already learning how to roll her Rs and bless the elders—what more do you want?" Mother-in-law shot back, slicing through a steak like she was cutting an enemy.
"I'll bless you in a minute," Mom muttered.
Meanwhile, my dad tried to mediate. "We could do a rotation."
"Like joint custody?" I asked, sipping my water.
Lorenzo just looked at me like see what you did?
Eventually, they agreed: three days with my parents, three days with Lorenzo's.
Sunday would be a wildcard—whichever set of grandparents didn't mind losing a coin toss.
"Celestine's going to end up with more luggage than the both of us combined," I sighed, watching her tiny suitcase get filled with her toys and dresses.
"She's two. She literally owns more designer clothes than me."
"That's because she doesn't buy her own yet."
We laughed, because if we didn't, we'd cry from the sheer absurdity of it all.
This honeymoon wasn't just a honeymoon.
It was a reward.
A reminder. A closure.
It was the vacation we never gave ourselves when things were hard.
The moments we didn't take when we were too angry, too prideful, too scared. And yes, too horny to think straight.
So we toured the city.
We went to Disneyland even if i couldn't ride most of the rides.
Lorenzo bought matching Mickey ears, and he didn't even flinch.
He held my hand when my feet swelled and bought me five different kinds of lemonade when i couldn't decide which one i was craving.
We ate at the little taco place down the road from our hotel.
The same one we walked past that night, years ago, when i stormed out after telling him we were just a fubu.
Now he kisses my forehead while waiting for churros.
Funny how things change.
We went to a bookstore, and i found a parenting book I almost threw at him. "How to Survive Parenthood Without Killing Each Other."
"That sounds like us," he said, flipping through the pages.
"I think we already graduated from this," I replied.
"But the sequel's coming," he said, resting a hand on my tummy.
Our son.
Our baby boy.
We didn't even know his name yet. But somehow, he already feels like a promise.
A sign that this love, no matter how chaotic, wasn't a mistake.
Lorenzo made love to me like i wasn't pregnant.
Like i wasn't complicated.
Like i was his favorite thing in the world.
And honestly? I felt the same.
On the fifth night, we returned to that one hotel.
The one where our story started.
The bed was the same.
The lamp still flickered.
And as i sat on the edge, brushing my hair, Lorenzo kneeled in front of me.
"I never thought i'd get to do this right," he said.
I turned to look at him. "Do what?"
He opened a tiny velvet box, revealing a third ring.
One he designed himself.
Elegant. Gold.
A single pearl in the middle. "Marry you again. But this time, Without wondering if we'll fall apart tomorrow."
My heart thudded against my ribs.
"We already married," I whispered, eyes misting. "Back in Manila"
"Well, i want to marry you in different countries, all over again and again" he said, gently taking my hand. "This is a promise. For every tomorrow."
And just like that, I cried.
He said it like he meant it.
Like he wanted to promise forever in every language, under every sky, just so there'd never be a version of this world where i wasn't his wife.
And somehow, that made me fall for him even more.