୧ 𝓟 ＡＵ ＣＵＢＡＲＳＩ

IT WASN’T JUST any wedding. It was the wedding—your cousin Clara’s seaside reception, where the guest list read like a family tree laced with drama, gold jewelry, and too much cologne.

You arrived late, but perfectly so. Pau’s hand in yours, the kind of hold that said I’m here, I’m not letting go. He looked unfairly good—navy suit, curls slightly tamed, that calm confidence that made heads turn without him even trying.

The entrance to the venue was all warm lights and soft violins, the sea humming quietly in the background like it knew what was about to happen. You squeezed Pau’s hand. He didn’t need the warning. He’d met your parents. Your sister loved him. But this? This was everyone.

— Your mom, in her burgundy dress and soft smile, pulled you in first. Your dad gave Pau the handshake-hug combo—quiet approval tucked in between tradition. So far, so good.

Then came the cousins. The younger ones stood frozen for a beat, wide-eyed like they’d just seen their favorite FIFA card walk into real life. A few of the girls giggled behind their hands, already whispering to each other, eyes flicking from Pau to you and back again. The older relatives—uncles in crisp suits and worn dress shoes—watched him with quiet recognition, the kind reserved for those who’d earned their place.

One leaned over to another and muttered with a smirk, “If he plays like he defends, no wonder she brought him home.” A few others chuckled, nodding.

Pau just smiled, that calm, grounded kind of smile that said he was used to this—but still, his hand never let go of yours.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒