I watch her from across the VIP suite as she fusses with Valeria’s hair, our youngest princess who’s perched contentedly on Carmen’s lap. Even after twenty-five years, Casandra still takes my breath away. The way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, how she unconsciously touches her wedding ring when she’s deep in thought – just like she’s doing now as she watches the practice laps on the massive screen before us.
“Papa, you’re staring again,” Carina teases, sliding into the seat beside me with a tray of drinks. Our eldest has her mother’s grace and my inability to let a moment pass without commentary.
“When you’ve been married to the most beautiful woman in Hollywood for twenty-five years, mi amor, you earn the right to stare,” I reply, accepting the coffee she offers.
The Suzuka Circuit buzzes with energy below us. Somewhere down there, our Diego is preparing for the biggest race of his career. Who would have thought that the little boy who used to race his Hot Wheels across my scripts would now be fighting for a podium position in Formula 1?
“Remember when Diego first told us he wanted to be a race car driver?” I lean over to Casandra, who’s now settled beside me. “You nearly had a heart attack.”
She laughs, intertwining her fingers with mine. “And you immediately bought him a go-kart. You’ve always been the softie, Pedro.”
“Says the woman who agreed to have another baby at fifty through IVF,” I tease back, watching Valeria now attempting to braid Carmen’s hair with the determination only a four-year-old can muster.
“Best decision we ever made,” Casandra whispers, and I have to agree.
Rafael appears with Soraya, both carrying enough snacks to feed an army. “Mom, Dad, Diego’s about to start his qualifying lap,” Rafael announces, his actor-in-training voice carrying across the suite.
We all gather near the window, a family portrait of success and love that sometimes feels surreal even to me. Soraya, fresh from her golf tournament in Dubai, stands next to Carina, who’s already sketching something in her ever-present design notebook. Rafael, with his father’s dramatic flair and his mother’s timing, narrates every turn Diego takes as if he’s performing Shakespeare.
“I still can’t believe we made all this,” I murmur to Casandra.
She squeezes my hand. “We didn’t just make it, mi amor. We’re still making it.”
The moment is interrupted by Valeria’s excited squeal as Diego’s car appears on the straight. “Go Diego go!” she shouts, bouncing in Carmen’s arms. Carmen, who’s become as much a part of our family as anyone, joins in the cheering.
“You know,” I say to Casandra as we watch our son navigate the challenging Japanese circuit, “I’ve played everything from space warriors to post-apocalyptic survivors, but nothing prepared me for this role.”
“Which role is that?” she asks, though the sparkle in her eyes tells me she already knows.
“Being your husband. Being their father. Being… happy.” I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Twenty-five years ago, when you agreed to marry this old romantic fool-”
“You weren’t old then,” she interrupts with a laugh.
“When you agreed to marry this young romantic fool,” I correct myself, “I thought I knew what love was. But watching our family grow, seeing our children become these incredible people, watching you be this amazing mother and still the most talented actress I know… that’s when I really learned about love.”
Below us, Diego qualifies in second position, and our suite erupts in cheers. Carmen jumps up and down, careful not to jostle Valeria. Carina and Soraya hug each other while Rafael dramatically reenacts the final turn that secured Diego’s position.
“We did good, didn’t we?” Casandra says, her eyes misty as she surveys our beautiful chaos.
“No, mi amor,” I reply, turning her face toward mine. “We did perfect.”
And as I lean in to kiss my wife of twenty-five years, surrounded by the family we’ve built together, I know that this – this moment, this life, this love – is better than any script Hollywood could ever write.