“If on Monday I’ll notice signs of mistreatment, I will take the price of the deck chair out of the deposit. It cost me a lot of money to find that piece of furniture.”
“But—”
“Are you leaving in four days, right?” Alejandra confirmed, her eyes trained on the ocean.
“Yes.”
“Good. When I’m there at 11 a.m. on Monday, I don’t want to see you. I’ll count the damage that has been made to the rental—as per contract—and I’ll make you pay the difference if the deposit doesn’t cover it. I think I’ve been too good to you during these three months, and you’ve just annoyed my neighbors, broken furniture, and mistreated the house. So, Cayetana, either you fix these problems, or you won’t see the deposit, and you will probably find a surcharge by the end of the following month from my lawyer. Understood?”
“I—”
“No more excuses. If you could afford the house for three months, you can afford to fix it or pay the damages. I hope you’ll have a nice weekend. I won’t be available until Monday,” and without saying goodbye, she hung up the call.
Being an adult was horrible. Owning a house. Having tenants, that was even worse. She had to behave like someone she wasn’t, someone who loved rules, when in reality she used to break them. Her day job was to ride waves and earn trophies for it, well far off what people consider normal, and yet, adult life had been creeping on her.
Who was she when she wasn’t a surfer winning medals? Who was she when she wasn’t traveling the world chasing waves for a job? But most importantly, how would life be when inevitably she would have to leave that lifestyle, like Ilias was going to do, and just think about Cayetana from Madrid not being able to educate her son and having to deal with tenants?
“Are you alright?” Ilias appeared by her side, a foamy board under his armpit and disheveled hair. Carlos followed with both Francesca and Ginevra on a piggyback ride.
“How can you be okay with retiring?” she blurted out.
“Retiring doesn’t mean not surfing anymore, Ale. It just means recalibrating everything in a way that you can still surf, but it’s not your full-time job.”
“What if I want it to be my full-time job forever?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
“Then you’ll have to find a way to make a living out of it even when your body won’t cooperate anymore.” Ilias clapped her shoulder and squeezed it. “You still have many years of career in front of you, Ale. Don’t sulk in thoughts that drag you down.”
“I was just overthinking. I’m fine.”
Ilias studied her, not convinced at all. “Let’s go back home,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Apparently you’vebeen granted the possibility of fucking a very hot nerd by our bride. You should prepare accordingly.”
“I don’t need fancy dresses to get to him,” she smirked.
“There she is!” he laughed. “Keep that confidence, Ale, that’s always been your strength.”
Confidence. But what was confidence when she couldn’t control the future looming over her? At least, she could control that night. She could control that wedding. She could control that season. And even though surfing should have taught her to let control go, she never did. In the water, she never lost confidence, not even in the face of a big wave looming over her. Ilias was right, confidence was her strength, she had to keep that going.
6
CALLUM
SUPERESTRELLA - Aitana
The night before the wedding,everyone was invited to a beautiful dinner in the garden of the villa. It was the first proper social gathering where the mixing of families and friends became unavoidable.
Sofia’s mother opened the door. She looked like an older version of her daughter—same cheekbones, same elegant but intimidating energy.
They hadn’t expected to become friends with Sofia when they ambushed her in Ericeira two years ago, but now she was one of the trio’s go-to people anytime they needed scientific insight or brutal honesty. A very valuable ally.
“Nice to meet you,” Sofia’s mother said in broken English, motioning for them to go through.
Callum had let Asma style him, which was probably the only reason he looked semi-decent. A crisp white linen shirt—like half the men there—andmatching pants.
Everyone had been asked to wear white for the pre-wedding ceremony. It was one of the Moroccan traditions Ilias insisted on keeping: the guests in white, the bride in vivid colors so all eyes would naturally find her. If he understood one thing about Sofia in those two years, is that being perceived ranked somewhere between public speaking and death on her list of fears. She would rather melt into the garden shadows than stand at the center of the celebration. Every time Callum had watched Sofia speak in public, she had been flawless—calm voice, sharp answers, effortless confidence. People always left those conferences convinced she enjoyed the spotlight. But she had admitted to him once that she hated every second of it. She preferred the quiet certainty of the lab, the controlled chaos of her office, or small tours from the boat where she could explain things without a hundred strangers staring at her.
As Callum looked around to find the groom and the bride, he noticed the garden bathed in the warm glow of string lights and lanterns in rich Moroccan colors. A quartet played soft classical music in the corner, their melodies weaving through the night air. The smell of grilled meat and spices lingered in the air like a promise.
It was tasteful and modern, in that effortless way Sofia always managed to pull off. Callum grabbed a flute of sparkling wine, trying not to look too stiff as he looked around for Alejandra.
