Chapter Text
“... And that is why, I want to be beside you through every moment of life’s ups and downs. Rafael Barba, will you marry me?”
A pause.
He exhaled, slowly. “How was that?”
Theresa didn’t look up from her folding chair, where she was half-heartedly arranging favours into small paper bags shaped like tuxedos.
“Oh, I was glued to my seat!”
“Really?” Sonny brightened.
“Yeah. Otherwise I would’ve stood up and walked out.”
He stared at her.
“That was romantic,” he insisted. “It was thoughtful. It had lore. I included lore.”
“It sounded like a car advert,” she said. “Like, if you’d ended with ‘starting at $29,999 with zero APR,’ I wouldn’t have blinked.”
He groaned and looked to his mother, who was looping pastel ribbons along the ceiling.
“Ma?”
Serafina offered him a smile, gentle but clearly pained.
“Well…” she hedged. “It was a little stilted, sweetheart. I'm sure Rafael is reliable and makes you feel safe. But I'm also curious how many cupholders he has.” She paused to wind another length of ribbon around a beam, then added with a sigh, “Still. It was sweet. Very sweet. I can tell you mean every word.”
The community centre was rapidly transforming into a pink fever dream under her careful hand. Decorations curled from wall to wall. Glitter had somehow made its way onto every horizontal surface. Someone, probably Theresa, had taped up a massive banner that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VITO (WINK)" in huge, gold font. The word “birthday” had three question marks and one heart.
Sonny stood at the middle of it all, his hands damp and clammy, the page of his speech curled slightly from the sweat of his fingers. His hair was frizzing. His chest felt tight.
God. He was so nervous. The kind of nervous that made your stomach threaten rebellion and your knees feel traitorous. He kept shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the shaking, but that only made them sweat more, and just crumpled his pages.
This was happening. It was really happening.
His heart thundered. The scent of strawberry bubbles made him feel nauseous.
Okay. What was missing? Why didn’t it feel right?
“You could try and deliver it a little less like there’s a gun to your head,” Theresa said, waving a paper bag in his direction, “that would be a big help.” She squinted at her own handiwork. “You made me lose my place. Did I already add the dick-shaped confetti to this one?”
“The what? ” Sonny asked, horrified.
“Uh-- heart-shaped confetti. Obviously. Heart-shaped.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
From her perch on the ladder, Serafina called down, “Forget the script, sweetheart. Speak from the heart. Stop trying to workshop what you feel into the perfect phrase.”
She paused, taking in the room with a soft, awed smile.
“Look at this,” she said warmly, gesturing to the explosion of pink and gold. “It’s wonderful. Like someone set off a bomb inside a pastry shop, and I love it.”
Then, more wistfully, “When your father, God rest his soul, proposed to me, there was none of this. No decorations, no guests, no candles. Just one morning, over coffee, he looked at me and said, ‘Sera, we’re not getting any younger.'” She let out a fond sigh. “And that was it. But that was all I needed. Things are different for you kids these days.”
Sonny looked toward Theresa, confusion etched across his face. “Ma… you know what ‘God rest his soul’ means, right?”
Serafina shrugged. “That I want him well rested? You know how bad his sleep apnea is.”
“Are you sure he proposed?” Theresa asked. “That sounds more like he was pointing out a leak in the ceiling.”
Serafina frowned down at them. “It was the way he said it.” She sniffed. “Anyway, Rafael is going to love this.”
Yes, he was.
Of course he was.
He had to, right?
Sonny felt the beginnings of panic start to rise in his throat.
Oh God. What if he hated it? What if he laughed? What if he laughed hysterically and left with a hot waiter? What if--
Theresa turned to look at him, eyes widening.
“…Are you going to be sick?” she asked. “Because if you are, can you do it far away from me? I’m a sympathetic puker.”
“No,” he said weakly. “I just need-- I don’t know… a minute.”
Serafina came down the ladder and patted his cheek gently.
“Oh, honey, stop worrying so much,” Serafina said, waving a hand. “Say something from the heart. Like… tell him he’s the last cannoli at the end of a long party. A little squished, a little messy, but still the sweetest thing in the room.”
Sonny stared at her. “Okay… but I feel like the insult might be doing more work than the compliment there.”
Serafina shrugged. “I would’ve loved it if your father had said something like that to me.”
“To be fair, ma,” said Theresa, “the only way was up from ‘what the hell, let’s get it over with.’ ”
Serafina shook her head. “Your father is very romantic in his own way.”
“Hey.” Theresa began repacking a party bag. “Rafael’s a lawyer right? Can he help with my divorce?”
“...You aren’t married?”
“Oh, what? So I can’t be prepared?”
They had only been here thirty-five minutes and he was already exhausted.
“Please don’t My Big Fat Greek Wedding this,” Sonny muttered, running both hands through his hair. “I need Rafael to think he isn’t signing on to-- well, you.”
Theresa cocked her head. “What happens in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?”
“I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never actually seen it. I assume the poor, diligent lead spends the whole thing trying to contain her absolutely lunatic family.”
“John Corbett is in it,” Serafina offered. “You know, the dishy one off of Sex and the City?”
Theresa perked up. “Mr. Big?”
“No, no,” Serafina said with an air of disgust. “Mr. Big was a manipulative man-baby. I’m an Aidan girl.
“Right, so what happens in it?”
“Oh, well. He had that long hair.” She made a sweeping motion that landed somewhere around her collarbone. “It went to here.”
“That doesn’t answer anything,” Theresa said.
“You said you wanted to know what happens!”
“I meant the plot, not the hair length!”
“Oh my God,” Sonny snapped. “Terry, just Google it! Google it and get back to the bags. And stop eating the candy. That's for the favours.”
“I'm not,” she answered through a mouthful of candy. “I brought this… from home.”
“I'm literally watching you take them out and unwrap them.”
She stared at him. Then popped another one in her mouth.
“Sonny!” His cousin Vito called, wandering over, eating from a paper plate and dragging a folding chair behind him. “What’d you get me?” he asked.
Sonny blinked. “What?”
“For my birthday,” Vito said.
Sonny’s expression flattened. “Vito, it’s not your birthday. Your birthday is in June. This entire event is just a ruse so Rafael doesn’t catch on. It’s a fake birthday party. For you. So he’s surprised. Remember?”
Vito blinked. “Yeah, yeah. I remember.” Then, after a beat: “But you did get me something, right?”
Sonny looked skyward, praying for strength. “Ma,” he called out. “I thought you told him!”
“I told him he was the distraction. He interpreted that how he wanted.”
Vito nodded, as if satisfied. “Right, right. Okay. What if-- what if-- you pay my tab for the evening? For my birthday. Aw, that would touch me so much, Sonny, thank you.”
“Vito, I am not paying your tab, getting you a present or having this conversation again. You just need to look birthday-like for about ten minutes after Rafael arrives. That's it.”
“Fine, fine. I'll remember this in September when it's your birthday.”
“March. And it's not--” Sonny stopped, took a deep breath and smiled. “Thanks for doing this, Vito. I'm so glad I didn't ask Aunt Gia.”
“Ah, that reminds me. Quick question. So… if you’re asking Rafael, that means he is the girl, right?”
“Excuse me?”
Vito held up both hands. “Not me asking! That’s Gia’s question. I’m just relaying.”
“Oh my God,” Theresa groaned. “No one’s the girl, Vito. That’s incredibly insulting. And offensive. And homophobic. And wildly heteronormative. You cannot just go around asking people that.” She waved a dismissive hand, then added, “And if it did work like that--” she pointed toward Sonny “--it’d obviously be him.”
Sonny whipped around. “Excuse me? ”
“I’m just saying,” Theresa continued, unbothered, “you’re the one with laminated checklists and a Pinterest board.” She gestured broadly around the room. “And just look at Barbie’s Dreamhouse here.”
“This was Ma!”
“I had a few ideas,” Serafina said cheerfully, unfazed. She folded a napkin into an elaborate heart as she spoke. “Wait until you see the biscuits. They’re little gingerbread men holding hands. With bow ties!”
Vito chimed back in, helpfully. “But Rafael’s shorter, right? So, physics-wise…”
“What physics?”
“Well,” Vito reasoned, “if you were the uh, receiving party and he tried to … you know, he’d be bumping his forehead on your shoulder through the whole thing. That’s bad alignment.”
Theresa nodded, thoughtful. “He’s right. It’d throw his whole back out.”
“Sonny could bend over stuff?”
“Ma!”
“That’s not good for your spine either,” Theresa said seriously, contorting her arms into some kind of interpretive geometry. “It’s all core strain.”
Sonny closed his eyes and tried to will a normal family into existence.
He opened them.
Damian casually walked by holding a fire extinguisher. No one stopped him.
Fuck.
“Sonny, sweetheart.” He was midway through smoothing a tablecloth when a solemn hand landed on his shoulder. Alicia tilted her head, eyes full of grim compassion.
Behind her, Selene was tearing around the room after three pink balloons. Gina followed at a distance, scanning the room with the focused gaze of a battlefield medic.
“I’m so sorry, Sonny,” she said, voice low and pained. “But there are plenty more fish in the sea. And at least the next one might be able to play tennis with you. Or, you know, shake hands when you introduce him to people.”
Sonny closed his eyes again. Inhaled. Exhaled.
“Hi, Aunt Alicia.”
“I do need to ask,” she said, moving closer. “You got insurance on the ring, right? You see, they never retrieve the hands.”
He turned to Serafina with a silent, desperate plea in his eyes.
She nodded and stepped in, looping her arm through Alicia’s and steering her gently but firmly toward the kitchen.
“Come on, Leese,” she said brightly. “Let’s check if the cake’s ready.”
Alicia sighed, allowing herself to be led. “It’s not,” she said. “It hasn’t risen in the middle, and they’ve used too much honey.”
“…Oh.”
As they drifted away, a pink balloon bounced gently off Sonny’s shoulder.
Selene zipped past him in a blur, shrieking with laughter as she chased it down, arms outstretched.
A moment later, Gina followed, her phone in one hand. “Okay,” she said, coming to a stop and catching her breath. “About the soundtrack--”
Sonny held up a hand. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I know Selene only listens to women. I made a playlist. Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, Florence, Stevie, the Indigo Girls. It’s fine. Except for the proposal part. That’s You’re My Home. Did you--?”
“No, I did not gaslight my daughter into thinking Billy Joel is a woman,” Gina said sharply. “Although if you put your voice on a CD, I could probably convince her you are.”
Theresa, passing by with a bowl of potato chips, high-fived Gina without stopping. Gina stared after her, confused.
“I-- okay. Anyway,” Gina continued, shaking it off. “We have a new problem.”
Sonny groaned. “I’m sure it can be sorted. What is it?”
Gina winced. “So. Selene was getting frustrated in the car because we’d run out of women vocalists, and she was, you know, chanting lady, lady, lady and kicking the seat. And I panicked. I said the first thing that came to mind.”
“What did you do?”
“I thought of a lady,” she said, holding up her hands. “Five, actually. In my defence, I didn’t think it would land like this.”
Sonny stared at her, suspicious. “Five? …Oh God, no.”
“She loved them.”
“Gina.”
“She’s been listening to it on repeat for two weeks. It’s activated something. I can’t stop her.”
Sonny dragged a hand down his face.
“So,” Gina said delicately, “how likely are you to propose to Rafael… while Wannabe is playing in the background?”
He stared.
“Fine,” Gina muttered, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. “Fine.”
“Hey, darling, you here,” said Nicky, weaving through the streamers with a clipboard in one hand and a beer in the other. “We’re almost there,” he announced. “Food’s prepped and ready to go out once everyone arrives. DJ’s setting up by the window--”
“I need to talk to him.”
“No, you don’t. Sorry, pa, go on.”
“So, listen. You want the lights dimmed when it happens, or full drama blackout? Because if this were TV, they’d cut to black, cue a single spotlight, and then boom, slow pan, swelling strings, close-up on your trembling lip. Honestly, we could make it Oscar-worthy if you let me cue it right.”
“Let’s just… dim the lights, Dad.”
Nicky looked genuinely disappointed. He gave a resigned sigh and marked something on his clipboard.
“Oh, and Bella’s running late,” he added, as if that could be considered surprising.“I think she’s running late,” he amended, shifting the beer can into the crook of his arm as he fished out his phone. He squinted down at the screen, then cursed softly. “Hang on. Can’t read--where are my-- forget it.” He held the phone out slightly farther, eyes narrowing, lips moving silently as he parsed it. “Okay. Her text says: ‘ The train sang to me in a minor key. I followed a pigeon instead of the schedule. I am not late. I am on whim time.’”
Sonny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who showed her Amélie again?”
Gina raised a hand. “I did. How was I supposed to know it would make her worse.” She sighed. A real, bone-deep one. “I do need to have a word with her when she gets here. About Selene’s birthday present.”
“Oh, don’t give her a hard time,” Sonny said, with a shake of his head. The last thing he needed was them attempting to swirlie each other in the toilets. Again. “You know how bad she is at birthdays.”
“No,” Gina said, leveling him with a look. “She remembered. It’s what she got that’s the problem.”
She nodded toward the far end of the room, where Selene was gleefully kicking a balloon with concentrated precision, using the tiny, rigid foot of a doll.
Sonny squinted.
“…Is that--”
“Chucky,” Gina confirmed grimly. “Wearing a Union Jack dress. Apparently the Geri Halliwell Barbie was ‘too expensive. I just… I would’ve taken a voucher, Sonny.”
They both turned back to Selene, who was now cradling the doll like a baby and methodically stomping on a balloon with her other foot.
Sonny sighed, shaky. “Okay. Okay. We’re nearly there. We are, right? We’re so... nearly there.”
Nicky gave him a sidelong look, concerned. “You don’t look so good, kid.”
“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere else,” Gina said. “I’m a sympathetic vomiter.”
“No, no. I’m great. I’m-- so pumped. This is… this is all so great.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Nicky kept watching him, clipboard lowered. “You sure, son?”
Sonny nodded a little too slowly, a tight, hopeful motion. The lump in his throat felt halfway to becoming a full-body event.
Across the room, the bubble machine gurgled cheerfully again, releasing another slow stream of strawberry-scented mist into the air.
He was going to propose the love of his life tonight. If he didn’t pass out first.
The party was in full swing.
The room throbbed with conversation, laughter. Pink light glowed softly from fairy lights twisted around ceiling beams, and the bubble machine was working overtime.
And Rafael still wasn’t here.
Sonny hovered near the drinks table, nursing a beer he didn’t remember opening. He was just buzzed enough to feel his limbs tingle but not enough to drown out the static of nerves in his chest. He kept glancing at the door like it might apologise for staying shut.
God. What if Rafael had figured it out?
What if he’d guessed the whole thing, called ahead, asked questions, deduced the setup, and then what? What if he’d found out which hot waiter was working tonight and was currently on a sun-drenched lovemaking marathon in the Cayman Islands?
“Sonny,” came Gina’s voice beside him. “Godot just arrived. He’s wondering when Rafael’s getting here.”
“Hilarious,” Sonny muttered, taking another nervous sip. “Have you seen Vito? Damian keeps putting Red Bull on the tab. One, there is no tab. Two, that is not a child who should be let loose on stimulants.”
“I’ll let him know,” Gina said. But she didn’t leave. She stood by him for a second, watching him. “You’re doing great,” she said more gently. “Seriously. Everything looks good. You don’t need it to be perfect. You just need it to be you.”
Sonny gave a shaky laugh. “I know. I know. I just need this to go right.”
Theresa appeared behind Gina with two glasses of prosecco and handed one over.
“Is this TLC?” she asked, squinting at the speaker above them.
“It’s Destiny’s Child, you heathen,” Gina replied, then turned to Theresa. “Hey, reassure your brother before he starts pacing a hole into the floor.”
Theresa sighed and turned to Sonny. “You look good,” she said, with minimal sarcasm. “The room’s nice. The guests are all mostly sober. That’s a win.”
Sonny gave a half-hearted nod, his knee bouncing. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
Then, thank God, he saw him.
Rafael stepped through the door in a pastel blue suit, paired with a matching tie. His dark navy pocket square was crisply folded, and his polished shoes matched in the same deep shade. Sonny’s heart did a somersault, the kind that had become annoyingly routine every time Rafael walked into a room. He was holding two presents, one wrapped in pink unicorn paper, the other in crumpled sage green. Both were so catastrophically wrapped Sonny knew, instantly and fondly, Rafael did it himself.
Rafael spotted him and smiled, that crooked half-smile that made Sonny want to propose ten times a day.
“Hi, Rafael,” Gina called, already grinning. “Where’s the rest of the Blue Man Group?”
Rafael looked down at himself. “Too much?”
Theresa stepped forward, prosecco in hand. “You look like a southern lawyer who doesn’t understand these city folks and their city rules, but you sure do love apple pie and you’re deeply convinced the accused couldn’t possibly have done it because she’s left-handed.”
“You look like you’re about to sell me a timeshare,” Gina added, eyeing him up and down. “In Florida.”
“You look like a door-to-door preacher,” Theresa said. “But the kind where the cheques are made out to” -- she wiggled her fingers in exaggerated air quotes-- “‘God.’”
“You look like the sample chart an interior designer carries around in his briefcase.”
“You look like you’re required to introduce yourself to the neighbourhood by law.”
“You look like you want to take us on a magical tour of a chocolate factory.”
“Stop Big Fat Greeking!”
Gina blinked. “Stop what?”
Theresea shrugged “It’s still unclear. I think it means ‘stop having mid length hair.”
Rafael rolled his eyes affectionately and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Sonny’s mouth. “Sorry I’m late. I was picking something up for Selene and asked Carmen if she could wrap it. She then made me look up the definition of ‘paralegal’ in the dictionary. Anyway--” He held out the pink tape-covered art piece and the sage-green mystery lump. “I think I did okay.”
They looked like they had been rolled down a gravel path and into a recycling bin, and Sonny’s heart jumped again.
“It’s great, babe,” he said. “But you didn’t have to get Selene anything. It’s Vito’s birthday.”
“God, aren’t you a nice uncle?” Gina said. “What did you get her, Rafael?”
Rafael lit up. “Well. Fin told me about a drug bust from back when he was still in narcotics--”
“I’m intrigued and mildly horrified at what this could mean for my five year old,” Gina cut in, “but please continue.”
“Part of the haul,” Rafael said, shaking the box slightly, “was a large collection of Barbie dolls.”
They went quiet.
“Oh God,” he added quickly. “Not creepy. They were just used to transfer large quantities of cocaine.”
“Ah,” said Theresa, sipping her drink. “What a relief.”
“They’ve just been sitting in the evidence locker. Fin knew a guy who knew a guy, and-- guess who now owns a Spice Girl Barbie.”
Gina gasped. “Oh my God, Rafael! You’re the best!”
“And don’t worry,” he said, holding up a finger. “It’s totally clean. I checked.”
Theresa raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty wired. Did you check with your nostrils?”
Sonny blinked. “Wait-- did you seriously remove evidence from a sealed case?”
Gina smacked his arm without looking. “Shut up, narc.” Then, cupping a hand around her mouth, she called across the room, “Selene! Come here, sweetheart!”
A pink blur came hurtling across the dance floor, Chucky doll tucked under one arm like a football and a slightly deflated balloon under the other. The second she spotted Rafael, her whole face lit up like a sunrise.
“Uncle Rafael! You’re blue! You look wonderful!”
“Ah, finally someone whose opinion matters.”
“I have a pink balloon,” Selene announced seriously, holding it up. “Do you have a blue balloon?”
“Yeah,” said Theresa dryly, glancing at Rafael. “That would really pull the outfit together.”
“I don’t, lovely,” Rafael said, crouching down to her level, “but I do have…” He held out the awkwardly wrapped package. “A present.”
“A present! A pink present! Is it for me?” Her eyes were already gleaming.
“Absolutely.”
She dropped the balloon and Chucky with a thunk, his plastic limbs splayed unnaturally across the floor, dress hoisted and began attacking the wrapping paper with determination. Rafael leaned in to help her, unsurprising, since he had apparently sealed the box with half a roll of packing tape. Sonny watched them both, heart swelling like it was trying to climb out of his chest. He felt the ridiculous, unmistakable urge to cry.
God, he thought. Look at him.
Rafael’s voice was soft, his hands careful, his face completely lit up as he helped Selene peel back layer after layer of mangled paper. And Selene, sweet, loud, unstoppable Selene, trusted him so completely she was already sitting on his foot.
Finally, the paper came off, and Selene inhaled in shock so hard Sonny felt the oxygen leave the room with her.
“This,” Rafael said, lifting the doll from the box with exaggerated reverence, “is Emma Bunton. She’s called Baby Spice. And she’s the best one.”
“Oh,” Theresa said. “I’m sorry, are we living in an alternate dimension where Sporty Spice didn’t exist?”
“She’s pink!” Selene squealed, raising the doll overhead like she’d just pulled it from a stone. “Pink!”
Gina raised her glass toward Rafael. “You’ve officially bought her loyalty forever. Congratulations. That’s a terrifying power to have.”
Rafael smiled, sheepish and proud, as Selene hugged his leg like she planned to live there now.
“Hello,” came Bella’s voice, dreamy and unhurried, as she wheeled Nonna Marchetti toward them. “The train was slow… but beautiful.”
Nonna let out a long, theatrical sigh. “She’s been talking like that ever since she picked me up. I think she’s hit her head.”
She sat primly upright in her chair, one hand gripping a worn leather-bound Bible, the other clutching a yellow highlighter.
“Uh, hey, Nonna,” Sonny said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Doing some light reading?”
“I’m looking for loopholes.”
Rafael smiled. “Loopholes for what?”
Sonny shot a panicked look at his sisters. She’s going to blow it.
“Hey, Nonna!” Theresa cut in quickly. “Tell us again about that time you met Al Pacino?”
Nonna ignored her and highlighted another passage.
Rafael gave Sonny a soft, indulgent smile as Selene made Emma Bunton and Chucky discuss their favourite colours by having them repeatedly headbutt each other.
“And… what are you highlighting?” he asked gently.
“All the parts that sound gay,” Nonna said, still flipping pages.
“Bella,” Gina hissed. “Go make sure Father Donegal doesn’t come over here for a while.”
Bella nodded and vanished at speed.
Nonna looked up, her eyes locking on Rafael. “Handsome boy, my Sonny. Handsome boy and he can cook. Good at DIY. Put together my TV unit all by himself. His job keeps him fit and agile. I also once saw him fit his whole fist in his mouth.”
Rafael blinked. “Oh…”
“Okay!” Sonny clapped his hands. “Bar. Let’s all migrate to the bar.”
“I’m just saying,” Nonna continued firmly, “you’re a very lucky man, Rafael. That Sonny is so good at fisting.”
Theresa rubbed at her mouth. “I didn’t think that sentence could get worse and yet, here we are.”
Gina leaned forward, pressing both hands over Selene’s ears. Selene swatted at her with Emma Bunton’s head.
“But that’s what the young men like,” Nonna insisted. “I saw it in that documentary.”
“Nonna,” sighed Theresa. “How many times? Oz is not a documentary.”.
“I’m just saying, you could do worse than Sonny. He could do better. But you could do worse.” She stared at Rafael, unblinking. “Just remember that when he asks--”
Sonny clapped his hands. “About that bar?”
Rafael smiled calmly. “I know exactly how lucky I am, I couldn’t be any luckier.” Then, after a beat, he added gently, “ God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. First John 4:16, I think. That’s in there too, isn’t it?”
Nonna squinted at him. “That does sound pretty gay.” She began flipping through her Bible to check.
Selene tugged Rafael’s sleeve. “Come dance now!”
He allowed himself to be dragged to the dancefloor. The music shifted, “Stop” by the Spice Girls thrummed through the speakers, and Selene instantly began a frenzied, rhythmic bounce. Rafael followed gamely, copying her arm swings and adding in a dramatic twirl that made her squeal with joy.
Sonny stood back, watching the two of them move together. The lights caught Rafael’s suit just right, turning the pale blue almost silvery. Selene giggled as he spun her, her pink balloon trailing behind them like a comet.
Sonny’s heart felt full.
He had always imagined having a big, messy family. Kids. Pure chaos. Love in its loudest form. He and Rafael had talked about it, briefly, right at the beginning. Sonny had half-expected him to shut it down immediately, politely, rationally. But Rafael had surprised him. He hadn’t said yes, not exactly. But he hadn’t said no. He’d said maybe. He’d said someday.
And Sonny could see it now, more and more, in moments like this. With Selene. With this family.
He just had to make sure Damian stayed out of Rafael’s line of sight. Indefinitely.
“If he says no,” Nonna said calmly from her chair, “I need one of you to run me over his feet.”
“He’s not going to say no, Nonna…” Theresa said.
Sonny felt a brief wash of relief at her certainty.
“... Sonny’s emotionally manipulating him into saying yes, after all.”
“…What?” Sonny blinked. “What do you mean emotionally manipulating?”
“Oh,” Theresa said, pausing, as if she were surprised he hadn’t figured it out. “Well… you’re putting him in front of all of us. The entire family. And then you’re going to look him in the eye and ask him to either make you the happiest man alive or destroy you in front of a live studio audience that consists solely of people who love you the most. I can only assume your Plan B was to take hostages.”
Oh God.
Oh God.
He was, wasn’t he?
Sonny looked across the room, where Selene was squealing with laughter as Rafael spun her around in a slow circle. Her tiny shoes kicked in the air, and she clung to him like he was the entire world. Rafael was smiling, loose and warm, every inch of him wrapped in joy. It hit Sonny like a punch.
He loved him. With everything. Fully, fiercely, with every crooked edge and every tenderness. Every argument, every reconciliation. But what if Rafael didn’t want more? What if this, this life, these moments, the small and certain things, was all he wanted? To stay as they were.
What if Sonny had misunderstood? What if, in trying to build something bigger, he’d missed the truth, that Rafael was already perfectly happy with the life they had?
What if this forced his hand?
If Rafael said yes because of the crowd, the pressure, the fear of letting Sonny down, what then? What if it cracked later, privately, because Rafael didn’t want the same thing but hadn’t known how to say no?
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
He was spiraling now, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop.
He shoved his half-finished beer into Gina’s hands without a word and turned sharply, pushing past people who called his name, who reached out gently, confused. He didn’t answer. The music faded behind him. The warmth of the room vanished.
He pushed through the door at the back of the community centre, out onto the narrow fire escape. The metal groaned under his weight as he leaned into the railing. He pulled his tie loose, breathing hard, trying to catch air that didn’t feel thick with panic. The night air bit at his cheeks.
He’d gotten swept up in it all. The colour, the speeches, the crowd. He wanted the moment to feel safe. But somewhere along the way, he’d made it feel big instead. Far too big.
Loud and decorated and impossible to say no to.
God.
He had made a huge mistake.