(JAMES)

Tonight’s meeting with Alexandra is different from the others. If I were to compare, I’d say she was much more composed and polite than most. Elegant, refined, and not at all intrusive, Alexandra took tiny sips from her champagne glass, making small talk when waiters passed by us but skillfully changing the subject when it was safe to do so. As for me, I merely had to play the role that had been demanded of me for so long that it no longer felt like an act: a friendly coworker, interested in hearing the ideas of his other pleasant colleague.

After twenty minutes of chatting and a few overt flirtations, I say to her:

— We’re close to securing the second act of our conquest — I play with the champagne in my own glass before sipping its contents. — Do you have anything to add?

Alexandra’s voice is soft and rhythmic, neither concerned nor sharp.

— No. You said we have the right timing to do things, and I trust your vision.

— It’s an honor for me, without a doubt.

— Is it really? Or are you trying to find out something without asking directly?

I smile. I take a bite of the salmon and, after chewing, respond:

— I would never do that.

— Why lie at this stage, dear? — Despite her biting words, her tone remains the same. — Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll answer. We’re allies.

As long as it was convenient, yes. But if something convoluted happened in her mind and for whatever reason, it seemed more feasible to her, I would be mercilessly kicked out of her plans and life. Alexandra was very naive in that respect, believing that I didn’t know exactly who I was dealing with and where I was getting involved.

A bit of truth then, to placate her suspicions. I soften my slightly arrogant demeanor and replace it with a sincere mask of concern.

— You’re still thinking about that girl, aren’t you? The one your friend photographed.

Her silence carries no surprise, only strategy. Obviously, she knew this would be my question.

Hell’s demon.

Alexandra fiddles with one of her favorite earrings as she responds:

— Yes, it’s true.

— And why worry about something so... insignificant?

A chuckle escapes her throat.

— I don’t easily dismiss things as insignificant — her eyes turn cold for a few seconds, as if amidst all the theater we were performing, this was the most genuine and raw message she could convey. I perceive the message and wisely do not retreat. She then completes the sentence: — Every thing, person, or circumstance is a small piece that can or cannot be useful. And only time and selective planning can tell us with certainty what we should use and how.

— Don’t you trust my plan?

— I’ve already said I trust.

— But if you haven’t dismissed this unknown as something that could be used...

— That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you, James. Just that I don’t discard a plan B.

— If we follow everything to the letter, Alexandra, we won’t need a plan B.

— We always need a plan B. We’re not dealing with amateurs, nor with unstable companies that have recently entered the niche. Underestimating them could be our fatal mistake.

I nod in agreement and then ask:

— So, do you have a plan B?

Her face contorts into something like agony and disdain, one of the most malignant expressions I’ve seen so far.

— No.

— Want to create one?

— I think it would be... prudent.

— To plan something, you need more than superficial information, my dear.

— My dear, why do you insist on this idea every time we touch on the subject? I’ve already told you I won’t do anything.

— ... If it concerns you so much, why don’t you delve deeper?

Alexandra tilts her head and offers me a smile that could mean anything but happiness.

— Don’t you worry about something going wrong in our path? Don’t you even consider the possibility of us failing?

I ponder what she says, taking another sip of my champagne. Then I respond:

— If something goes wrong in our path, I just take a shortcut. One way or another, I always get what I want. But...

I place my hand over hers. Her eyes glimmer in the light of one of the many chandeliers scattered across the restaurant’s ceiling.

— If you want to share any plan or idea, whatever it is, talk to me. I won’t alter the original plan, but if there’s something we can do about it... I won’t be foolish enough not to seize the opportunity.

I sense the cold calculation beneath her seemingly warm gaze. Her full lips, always smeared with red, offer me a triumphant smile.

— Fair enough.

Then our conversation shifts back to what really matters: our next move, our public reaction, the care we need to take from now on, and how delightful it would be to see that, after all, the precious Urus empire, which has always been at the top, begins to slowly crumble.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

(GAVIN)

Being in Amanda’s room without her present gives me strange feelings.

One of them is the strangeness, the emptiness that fills the place due to her absence. Even though I was responsible for the decor, it was obvious that everything in here exuded her personality; the way she organized her books, the arrangement of clothes in the wardrobe, the marks and wrinkles on the mattress and pillows, as well as her scent on the pillowcases and bedspread... This was the sanctuary of the woman who made my heart waver.

Being here while she was away made me reflect on everything that was happening. I contemplate each thought and reasoning and realize I’m getting nowhere. They are just random scenes that, although connected, don’t bring me any answers. I take a deep breath to contain my frustration.

When I found her on the beach, ready to destroy herself in the waves of Botafogo Beach, all I wanted was for her not to do that; for her to wake up the next day and tell us who she was and what we could do to help her. It was never my plan to feel this way about Amanda, and a part of me genuinely felt guilty for being in love with someone with so many problems and traumas.

The issue wasn’t exactly the problems that tormented her, but the fact that many of them were so severe that they directly affected her natural behavior. I think I would never know the whole story, not if every time she tried to tell us, she got lost in the sea of misfortunes and torments that she struggled not to drown in. The loss of her child was one of the pillars that led her there, but not the only one. And Donovan’s suspicion about her aversion to touch seemed truly coherent.

Just imagining that, walking under the same world I lived in, there were men who hurt and abused Amanda... I clench my fist, imagining how it would be to end each of them. I would take my time, without a doubt. Her suffering was slow and painful, and theirs would be too.

Amanda was in love with me. She didn’t just say it with words but also with actions. When we were in the bathroom, and I touched her to massage her neck and back, I noticed something I hadn’t paid attention to before.

The scars on her back were completely different from those on her neck and other parts. Some were round; strangely almost perfect circles that were mostly on her sides and ribs. Others were longer, irregular, but not thin like those created by a blade, for example. They were horrible, and trying to imagine where they came from filled me with such rage that I was afraid Amanda would notice.

Undoubtedly, those marks came with another story, another episode of pain and torture that made her soul agonize. The day we intertwined and kissed, it was as if the essence of despair that accompanied her finally came to the surface. No words, no coherent actions, just tears and more tears. Her hands clung to me as if I were a piece of wood in a stormy sea, and the only way to survive while being in the storm.

Sitting on her bed, looking at the clock and imagining what she would be doing at that moment, I could only think that I was a very selfish man.

Because despite knowing that Donovan might offer even more security and protection than I could, I still wanted Amanda for myself. I couldn’t imagine how it would be not to see her face every day, her delicate fingers, the curls that contained her soft curls. The loneliness that would take over my heart would be... unbearable, I’d say. And I knew it wouldn’t be unilateral; I was sure Amanda would also miss me.

The only thing I could do about it, however, was to wait. Wait until she recovered, took a deep breath, and said what she wanted. She could choose me, Donovan... or neither of us. She might just be deeply grateful for all the affection, maintain our friendship for life, and leave to try to build something...

If Amanda really left... She might indeed find a new way to move on. She would probably find a job, working in something she liked, and soon have her own little house. Maybe, one day, one of her colleagues would notice how special she was and how much strength was hidden behind an apparent fragility... Maybe this colleague would approach her and ask her out to dinner. Maybe she would accept.

And maybe the two would end up together, having beautiful and intelligent children, forming a prosperous and happy family.

... And she wouldn’t have any more contact with us. Out of respect for her new husband and marriage, she would find it inappropriate to maintain such a

close relationship with two men who had offered their hearts to her in the past, even if those terms were no longer valid.

More than losing her to Donovan, that would really break me. I could bear him being by her side for the rest of her life, but not the possibility of Amanda simply disappearing from my life as if she had never been a part of it.

I look at the clock again. I desperately need to see her. Even if her news isn’t exactly what I want to hear, even if she doesn’t declare her love for me on any other day, she was still here, and I was still taking care of her with all my affection. I don’t know how long I would enjoy that privilege, and I wouldn’t waste more time worrying about the future and letting the present slip through my fingers.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

(AMANDA)

Donovan decides not to leave me at Gavin’s apartment door but in the elevator instead. Even though we had a great afternoon together, it is already seven in the evening when we finally arrive. I understand his reluctance to see his friend again, after all, they were in a tense situation and didn’t want to confront each other while still heated. Some terrible acts and words could cost a lifetime of friendship, and it was wise for both to keep a respectful distance, at least for now.

Inside the elevator, I realize I’m a little nervous. Should I really tell Gavin that I wanted to spend more time with Donovan? Would that hurt his feelings? I’m sure the blondie wouldn’t try to dissuade me from the idea; on the contrary. As long as he encouraged me to spend more time with his best friend, even suggesting ways those hours could be more productive, he would be tearing himself apart inside.

Once I’m in front of his door, I ring the doorbell twice in quick succession. I think he was in the living room waiting anxiously for my return because barely three seconds pass before the door swings open, and I see his face.

His blue eyes are overflowing, his lips open in a smile that seems to be relief, and before I can say anything, Gavin pulls me into a crushing hug that speaks more than a thousand words.

Startled but happy that he isn’t acting strange or distant, I hug him back. For interminable seconds, we stay like that in the doorway, just holding each other and saying not a single word. Then he finally pulls me inside and locks the door. As I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water, Gavin puts his hands in his pockets and watches me.

— Did everything go well? — were his first words.

I nod as I fill my glass and go to the sofa. He sits next to me. I can’t understand the intensity of his expressions, nor what thoughts are occupying his mind at this very moment.

— Do you want to talk?

I take three quick sips before answering:

— I don’t think so.

And it’s true. I don’t know if I can talk about everything that happened properly, not today, at least. Everything is so fresh, so new, that I don’t even know exactly what and how to say. I also don’t know if I want Gavin to know the full extent of Donovan’s feelings for me. That’s something they both need to sort out between themselves, clarifying with the deserved details. As for me...

I should decide who I would be with in the end. I should choose the one who would take my hand and guide me, finally, to that happiness everyone always talks about.

Gavin looks a bit disappointed with my response, but before he can open his mouth to reply, I simply say:

— I don’t know if I can talk about it right now.

He nods slowly.

— ... And I also... — I stammer, nervous. — I need some time alone.

My host looks at me visibly concerned.

— I don’t know if that’s a good idea — he expresses honestly.

— I managed to stay in the bathtub today without supervision, and nothing happened.

— That’s true, but we can’t push our luck.

I know he’s right, but I can’t contain my frustration. I end up letting slip:

— Yeah, I know. A ticking time bomb about to explode and blow everything to pieces in seconds.

As soon as I finish speaking, I cover my mouth with one hand and set the glass down on the coffee table. I look at Gavin, about to apologize since I wasn’t angry with him, and it was at least unfair to say that to someone who was always willing to help me. But he just places his hands on my shoulders, gently but calmly, and says:

— Let me make you some tea. And I... Can give you a shoulder massage too, if you want.

I blink. He continues:

— You are and will never be a ticking time bomb, Amanda. You are a gift. An invaluable pearl — he quotes a passage from the book *The Tiger’s Curse*, the poetry that the protagonist received from her romantic partner in the story.

Surprised and embarrassed, I nod, smiling in anticipation.

He smiles back.