“Just ask.”
“How long were you married?”
I expected that. She hasn’t mentioned Layla’s name so far, although I caught her with the picture frame in her hand.
I do a mental calculation because I’m not sure. “We got married when she found out she was pregnant, about two months after the tests. We remained married until the day she died.”
“Oh!”
I know the reason for the astonishment. Layla was a familiar face in celebrity magazines, and the news of her death alongside her Japanese boyfriend went around the world. Our team of lawyers managed to keep my last name away from the gossip, mainly because our marriage as a whole was very discreet. We only got married on paper, and there was no party, just a dinner for the family. I think aside from a few close friends and the hotel staff, high society didn’t even know I was married for a while.
“We were about to get divorced,” I offer, because I can read on her face what she’s thinking.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“For her death?” I ask carefully.
“That too, but I’m thinking of Valentina. It’s very sad for a little girl to lose her mother so young.”
It’s not the time to tell her that the last thing Layla wanted was to be a mother, so instead, I ask, “Are you done? Can we sit in the living room?”
Chapter 36
“Did you say you married her when you found out she was pregnant?”
“Yes.” I notice Olívia is struggling between the need to know and the embarrassment of feeling like she’s invading my privacy, so I suggest, “Why don’t we take turns asking questions? I’ll ask one about your life, and you ask one about mine.”
“Why is it important to talk about the past?”
“Because what we have won’t end today.”
And it’s true.
In one way or another, the bond between us won’t fade away—whether it’s because of her relationship with my daughter or our own relationship, which I don’t intend to end anytime soon.
She continues to stare at me, but after a silence in which she doesn’t seem willing to yield, she responds, “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know about myself, okay?”
As she narrates her life alongside the woman I know as Heloísa, I immediately realize something: Olívia grew up surrounded by love.
Despite all the financial deprivation they endured, her eyes sparkle every time she recalls Christmases and how she loves another traditional sweet treat at Brazilian Christmas parties calledrabanada. Or how her mother insisted on sewing her Halloween costumes herself, and how she was only allowed to go trick-or-treating between six in the evening and nine at night, so as not to bother people. She smiles as she recounts how Heloísa pretended to let her go alone from house to house for candy, but it didn’t take long for her to discover that her mother was actually hiding, watching her from afar.
“She seems to have been a wonderful person.”
“She was indeed. I’m lucky.” She smiles, and I wish I could pull her into my lap. “Did you also dress up for Halloween and go trick-or-treating?”
“Of course. Although I never had much patience. I didn’t understand the point of going out asking for sweets when you could just go to the store and buy them.”
She laughs so hard she clutches her belly. “God, you were a CEO from birth.”
I’m not sure if that was a compliment, so I ask, “What does that mean?”
“That you never just relaxed, did you? Going after candy isn’t just about the sweets but also the adventure of being able to wear a costume, pretending to be someone else. A witch, a fairy, an astronaut.”
“An astronaut?”
“Yes, at one point I dreamed of visiting the moon. That dream didn’t last long because Mom explained that they were isolated for months, and I couldn’t imagine myself alone for so long or with a small group of people only.”
“You like people.”
