Later that evening – the garden at Mendes residence, the air is cooler now, perfumed with night jasmine and the faintest hint of smoke from the citronella candles flickering along the veranda. Crickets chirp in the hedges. A stone path winds past the manicured flower beds toward a shaded corner of the garden, where Andrea and Álvaro walk side by side, the sounds of clinking dishes and murmuring voices fading behind them.
Andrea kicks off her heels, letting the grass cool her bare feet. "God," she mutters, "if I had to listen to one more nostalgic comment about my love life, I would've screamed."
Álvaro chuckles. He's holding a glass of whiskey, swirling it slowly. "I tried to warn you."
"Warn me?" She scoffs. "You ambushed me."
They settle onto a weathered stone bench beneath a frangipani tree. Moonlight glints off Álvaro's cufflinks as he leans back, exhaling.
"You want to know something funny?" he says, glancing at her. "My mom and Dandara's mom set us up."
