“The water here is so beautiful, I thought it was worth a stop,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“I don’t remember going this far, but I can’t wait to see it. I love the water.” I hop out of the buggy and shut the door behind me.
“So the beach really does call your name, huh?” he asks, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“It really does. I just love everything about it—the air, the ocean, the sunsets… they’re all so beautiful.” I shrug lightly. “But I wouldn’t say my love for the beach is exclusive. I love exploring in general, so cities get me just as excited. Mostly, I love anything historical when I’m exploring.”
We start walking along the sand, heading straight for the water.
As we draw nearer, I can’t help but gawk at how crystal clear it is out here. It almost looks unreal, like God turned up the saturation just for fun.
Nate notices immediately.
“The water here is really unique. It feels like the Caribbean of Brazil. You can see fish, too, especially if you go snorkelling or sailing.”
“Have you done much of either?” I ask.
“Snorkelling, no. Sailing, a little.” He shrugs casually.
“If I were going to do either, this is definitely the place,” I say, gawking at the water.
I just can’t get over how beautiful it is. Especially with the sun slowly making its way toward golden hour in a couple of hours. I can only imagine the glow spilling over the water, the pastel colors stretching across the sky like a painting.
“So you’re into history when you go exploring?” he asks as we walk along the waterline. My sandals are off, his shoes are dangling from his hand. The waves lap gently at our feet.
Our hands brush for a split second, and at the slightest contact, my fingers tingle.
I force myself to keep talking, even though my brain just short-circuited for a second.
How is that even possible after only two days?
“I just love that everything has a story attached to it,” I say. “Ancient stories, especially. The wild ones are my favorite. People are honestly crazy, and sometimes it feels like I’m watching a centuries-old soap opera.” I laugh softly.
I continue, “I think it comes from my dad. It’s sort of what drove me to go to Belgium in the first place. My dad’s family is aristocratic, so there’s a lot of history that comes with it.”
“I’ve heard a little about that, but I wouldn’t say I know much.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly inviting me to go on.
“My dad was actually born in Belgium, but he’s Italian. Because of his title—technically a prince, but not the reigning kind—his heritage made him Italian. Same with mine.” I glance at the water as we walk. “I actually came back to Brazil to get his help with my Italian passport—I didn’t want to have to keep leaving Belgium every three months.”
“So he’s a prince?” he asks, curious but gentle, like he’s more interested in the story than the title itself.
I laugh. “Yes, he’s a prince. It still feels a little weird to say out loud sometimes. But because I’ve spent so much time with my family in Belgium, it doesn’t feel as weird as it used to. I remember when he first told me, I went around telling everyone at school and they all laughed at me. I learned to keep quiet after that. It’s not like we lived in a palace or anything.”
I hesitate for a moment, then continue more softly.
“For a while, we did have luxuries I probably took for granted growing up. We had a driver, a few different houses, and staff helping out. But when the politics of the country shifted, my dad was running the farm and had so many people depending on him. It reached a point where he had to pour so much of his own savings into keeping it running and making sure everyone was fed. We ended up selling the houses and expensive things, and there was even a season where we basically lived on rice and eggs.”
I pause, then smile faintly. “He’s in a good place now, but those luxuries disappeared. I had to start helping more at home. Honestly, I think it taught all of us a lot. It sounds dramatic when I say it out loud, but at the time it just felt like life changing overnight.”
“I’m sure it did,” Nate says gently. “God uses hardships to shape us in ways comfort and luxury never could. I love what C.S. Lewis once said: ‘Pain is God’s megaphone to rouse a deafworld.’ I’ve found His presence nearer, and grown far more in my pain than in my luxury.”
The water washes over our feet as we walk, cool and rhythmic. I love how naturally his conversations drift toward God. He doesn’t force it; it just flows out of him, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to bring faith into everyday moments.
“How did your dad end up in Brazil in the first place?” he asks.
“It was after the war. I think living that aristocratic life and then serving in the war changed him deeply. He wanted to see what life looked like outside of everything he’d always known. So he went to Argentina, worked on the docks for a while, and then eventually moved to Brazil. He met my mom… and here we are.” I shrug, smiling. “But I guess that also made me want to know the rest of our family more.”
He slips his hands into his pockets as we continue walking.
