Chapter 8 - The AnswerTime stopped in the sunroom.
Marisol stared at the emerald-cut diamond resting in the velvet box. The afternoon light caught the facets of the gem, scattering prisms of light across Diego’s dark suit. This was the ring he had bought for her four years ago. The ring she was supposed to wear before his family tore them apart.
She looked from the ring to Diego’s face. The ruthless, terrifying billionaire who had just legally destroyed his own mother was kneeling before her, looking as vulnerable as a boy. His dark eyes were wide, pleading, waiting for her to dictate his fate.
"Diego," Marisol whispered, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. "Are you sure? Once we do this... there is no going back. The whole world will watch us. They will judge you. They will say you went crazy."
Diego let out a wet, breathless laugh. "Let them. I will buy the networks and shut them down. I will buy the newspapers and burn them. I don't care about the world, Marisol. You are my world. You and Valentina. That is all I need to survive."
Valentina, still clinging to Diego's neck, peeked over his shoulder at the shiny object in the box. "Is that a magic ring, Papa?"
Diego’s smile widened, softening the hard lines of his face. He kissed Valentina’s cheek before looking back at Marisol. "Yes, little one. It’s a magic ring. But I need your mama to say the magic word."
Marisol let out a sob, the last wall around her heart finally crumbling into dust. She didn't want to hide anymore. She didn't want to scrub floors or live in fear. She loved this man. She had always loved this man.
"Yes," Marisol breathed. "Yes, Diego. A thousand times, yes."
Diego let out a shuddering breath, the tension completely draining from his broad shoulders. With shaking hands, he slipped the diamond ring onto Marisol’s left ring finger. It was a perfect fit.
He stood up, still holding Valentina in his left arm, and wrapped his right arm tightly around Marisol's waist. He pulled her flush against his chest and crashed his lips down onto hers.
It was a kiss of absolute desperation and profound relief. It tasted like salt and tears, but it felt like coming home. Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his thick, dark hair. For the first time in four years, she felt entirely safe.
That night, the master suite felt different.
The cold, intimidating vastness of the billionaire's bedroom was gone, replaced by the warmth of a family. Valentina was fast asleep in the center of the massive king-sized bed, clutching Mr. Barnaby, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep, peaceful slumber.
Marisol stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing one of Diego’s oversized dress shirts, watching the city lights of Mexico City glitter in the distance.
She felt strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. Diego rested his chin on the top of her head, pulling her back against his solid chest.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.
"I'm waiting to wake up," Marisol admitted softly. "I keep thinking I'm going to open my eyes and be back in the laundry room, and my alarm is going to ring, and I'll have to go iron Paulina's dresses."
Diego’s grip tightened possessively around her waist at the mention of Paulina's name. "That life is over. You will never lift a finger in this house again unless you want to. Tomorrow, I am transferring the deed of this mansion into your name."
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Marisol turned around in his arms, her eyes wide. "Diego, no! I don't want your money. I just want you."
"I know," Diego smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Which is exactly why you are the only person in the world I trust with it. Everything I have is yours, Marisol. Get used to it. Because in three days, the whole world is going to know exactly who you are."
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