“Don’t go too far,” Mateo called out as Stella followed a group of older children around the grounds of Val’s estate.

“Sí, papá ,” she called over her shoulder.

“You know, English is her first language,” I said, sipping my fourth margarita.

Mateo laughed, not taking his eyes off her as she struggled to keep up with the herd of kids. “Not anymore.”

Sixteen weeks ago, Santiago Nash Carrera came into the world upside down and backward. Ironically, Eden found it hilarious while Val continuously threatened the entire hospital with slow and torturous deaths during her C-section.

Eight weeks ago, Eden argued like a seasoned litigator when Val postponed Santi’s traditional baptismal celebration. He’d read an article online about C-section recovery and swore she needed more time to heal. I had to hand it to her; she put up a good fight, but logic didn’t stand a chance against the unshakable trifecta of a cartel boss, overprotective husband, and new father. Eventually, she gave in, and as Santi’s madrina, I helped her plan a new party from scratch.

Speaking of parties...

When Mateo told me that traditional Mexican baptisms were all-night parties, he wasn’t kidding. By midnight, my feet hurt, and I was half-drunk. Even though the crowd had thinned out a little, Val and Mateo’s trusted lieutenants and their families still roamed the grounds of the Carrera estate toasting to Santi, Val, Eden, the cartel, themselves, the decorations, their shoes...hell, a few of them were so drunk they were chugging cups of salsa, swearing it was sangria.

“So, I was thinking,” he said, taking my hand in his, “we’ve been in Mexico for seven months now. Stella seems to love it here, and I think she’s used to the idea that I’m her father.”

I nodded. “Kids are resilient.”

“She’s still young, Leighton. If we did it now, I don’t think she’d remember anything different.”

His statement caught me off guard, and I stared at the determination in his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Her name.” Lifting our joined hands, he motioned to where Stella still played. “She isn’t a Harcourt, and now you aren’t either. It doesn’t make any sense for her to have a different last name.”

“You want to change her name to Estella Cortes?”

“Yes, I do.” He pushed his shoulders back and inhaled, preparing for a fight, but my answer came without hesitation.

“I agree. Let’s do it.”

The shock on his face was priceless. “That’s it? No arguing?”

“Nah.” I grinned. “I’m trying on compromise for size. It’s a tight fit, but I’ll see how it goes.”

We stood in silence as Stella ran around giggling. After a few moments, Mateo wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.

“Do you miss home, Mrs. Cortes?”

Home. It’d been a four-letter word to me for so long—a line in the sand drawn by betrayal, faded with time, and grayed with resentment. Until one man changed everything.

Tilting my head back, I gazed at the thousands of stars blanketing the Mexican sky. “Not anymore.” I smiled. “He came back for me.”