Page 116 of The Sweet Spot

She’s single these days, but we’re just friends. Even if I was still attracted to her, which I’m not, Wren’s all I can think about.

Heading down the elegant, dark-paneled halls of Veritas we pass several other offices before arriving at the front desk, where Agueda, the secretary, is busily jotting notes while on the phone. Nathalia and I take the elevator down to the lobby and leave the air-conditioned tranquility for the midday bustle of Paulista Avenue. Veritas couldn’t be in a more exclusive location—Avenida Paulista is the economic, financial, and cultural heart of São Paulo.

“You okay?” Nathalia slicks on a coat of deep red lipstick, never breaking stride. I don’t see the point of this, as we’re about to eat. Brooke used to do that, too. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She chuckles. “I think you are either hungover or maybe coração partido.”Heartbroken. When I don’t reply, she glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Maybe both.”

“Maybe,” I agree, stopping at the crosswalk. There’s a Japanese restaurant I like another block up. It feels good to be outside, walking the tree-lined sidewalks. I spend too much time indoors these days.

Another indicator I could never live this life long-term.

“Who is she?” Nathalia presses as we begin walking again. “Come on, Luca. I’ve never seen you so…what’s the word…dramatic before. So sad.”

Now I chuckle, pushing a stray lock of hair back. Pai requested I cut it for the summer, but I wouldn’t, so it stays back in a bun. “Dramatic and sad, huh?”

She smacks my arm. “Stop it; you know what I mean.”

“I didn’t really want to come this summer—”

“Luca, you never want to be here. You’re great at what you do, but you are so miserable doing it…I don’t know why you do this to yourself!” She huffs and charges ahead, black high heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk.

I blink at her in surprise. I’ve always kept it professional during my internships and jobs here, whether working at Veritas or the offices of my father’s colleagues. I thought I’d hidden my feelings well, but perhaps I’ve fooled only myself. Makes me wonder if my father senses my discontent, too.

Nathalia reaches the restaurant ahead of me, so I hurry to open the door for her. Inside, the hostess smiles and seats us at the bar along with dozens of other professionals schmoozing over lunch.

“Her name’s Wren,” I admit, when it seems as though Nathalia has decided to wait me out by staying quiet.

Her bright red lips quirk into a knowing smile. “I knew it. Did she leave you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I sort of left her.”

Nathalia’s smile falls, and she frowns. “What do you mean, ‘sort of’? Please don’t tell me you’re one of these fuckboy types, Luca. That would break my heart.”

I laugh at the disgusted way she saysfuckboy, rubbing my hands over my face. “I’m not. It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well then give it to me fast,” she says crisply as the bartender comes to take our order. “Your father doesn’t like it when we’re late.”

So, I do. I offer up the cliff notes version of how Wren and I met, dated, and ultimately split before going our separate ways this summer. Nathalia listens intently, eating her sushi with gusto, until I get to the end.

“Typical,” she says with a sigh, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“What?” I ask warily, chewing.

“Every time men get hurt, they carry it around for the rest of their lives, like a wound that won’t stop bleeding. I mean, come on, Luca. Your ex-girlfriend cheated on you—so what? Men cheat too, you know. Your father, my ex…” She scoffs. “It sounds like you have a good thing with this new girl, but you are not being fair to her. If you can’t trust her while the two of you are apart, then you can’t trust her when you’re together.”

It’s a different version of what Wren said to me on my last night in Santa Cruz, and while I know in my heart that it’s true, it’s a hard pill to swallow.

“If she doesn’t want to get back together with you when you go home, I don’t blame her,” she continues.

“Okay, okay, Nathalia. Way to kick a man when he’s down.” I glance at my watch. We have to be back at Veritas in ten minutes. Polishing off the restof my sashimi, I slap my card onto the counter and wait for the bartender to pass by again. “Lunch is on me.”

“Oh no. My advice is free.” She puts her own card beside mine, and the bartender snatches the two of them up at the same time.

“You didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know,” I mutter.

Nathalia slicks on some more lipstick. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”

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