Chapter 3
BIENVENIDOS A BARCELONA
NORA
"Camilla, what the hell?" I call out, but she's already burst into my bedroom, fully dressed and looking like she stepped out of a magazine despite the ungodly hour.
"Rise and shine," she says, throwing open my curtains with dramatic flair. "You're not even packed, are you?"
"I packed last night."
"If that’s what you mean by packed," She points to the small bag on my floor, which is indeed embarrassingly vacant except for an old band tee and a pair of Converse shoes I’d thrown in there yesterday.
"I don’t know if this is a good idea Camilla."
“Nor, you’re not going to run into him if that’s what you’re so worried about.
Spain’s a fairly big country And there are like 1.
7 million people that live in Barcelona alone.
I googled it. So the chances of you running into Nate are like a million to one.
So let’s move it because I’m not going without you. "
She claps her hands twice like she's directing a photo shoot.
"Coffee's brewing, the town car is on its way, and if you're not ready in thirty minutes, I'm dragging you to Spain in your pajamas."
I sit up, rubbing my eyes.
"There’s no way out of this is there?"
"Nope." She holds up a perfectly manicured hand. Something about the way she says it—so confident, so absolute—makes my stomach clench.
“Ugh fine. I know I’m being ridiculous.”
"I can see you spiraling," Camilla says, perching on the edge of my bed. "Stop it. This trip is about celebrating. Nothing more, nothing less."
I swing my legs out of bed.
“You’re absolutely right. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be packed and ready to go.”
“Just get ready, I already packed your suitcase, it’s waiting downstairs.”
She winks at me and I can’t help but smile at her thoughtfulness.
Twenty-nine minutes later, I'm dressed, caffeinated, and somehow excited for the trip now.
"This is going to be the trip of a lifetime, just you wait," she says smugly, wheeling both our cases toward the door towards the blacked out Mercedes parked out front.
"You’re right."
"I know," She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she slides in the back seat, me following. "Jay says it’s both a blessing and a curse."
"How is Jay doing?"
"He's doing really well, actually. Nick gave him the manager position at Sonder.” Her face lights up when she speaks about Jay and it warms my heart. "He deserves something good happening in his life. Especially after everything with his mom."
“You’re something good in his life too Cam.”
Camilla's expression shifts slightly, becoming more serious.
"Honestly, I'm so proud of him for finally cutting her off. That woman was pure poison."
There's something in her voice—a recognition that goes deeper than just sympathy for Jay.
“Oh God, who am I? When did I become such a love sick teenager?"
"It suits you.” I smirk
“Anyway, enough boy talk. The next few days are about the girls.”
“Have you told your parents about this whole campaign?”
“Like they’d give a shit even if I did. Not that I care anymore anyway,” she shrugs.
I knew Camilla hadn’t spoken to her parents since she decided to opt out of law school. She knew it wasn’t for her but taking this job in the UK at a leading marketing firm was.
She’d grown up with a father who wanted a son and a mother who’d throw money, cars and designer hand bags at her instead of actual attention or affection.
"Okay no parent talk either this week," I say quietly.
“Fucking yes to that.” She adds.
The flight to Barcelona is blissfully uneventful, mostly because Camilla spends the entire two hours planning our itinerary with the precision of a military operation.
"So tonight's the pre-launch event," she explains, spreading papers across both our tray tables.
"Dinner first at this gorgeous little tapas place I found, then the launch party at Club Marina.
Elena specifically requested somewhere 'authentically Spanish but elevated,' which is just marketing speak for 'ridiculously expensive but still fucking cool. '"
"What exactly am I supposed to do at this thing?"
"Look stunning, take photos, charm everyone you meet, which isn’t hard for you." She grins. "Also, try the sangria. I've heard it's life-changing."
"You realize I don't speak Spanish, right?"
"It’s fine, just smile and nod your head a couple of times."
Our hotel is ridiculous. It’s the kind of place that has infinity pools, marble everything and complimentary champagne just for existing. Camilla takes one look at our suite and immediately starts taking photos of every single detail.
Probably sending it to Jay and Marcus.
"This is insane," I say, dropping my bag by the door.
"Can you believe they're paying for this?”
She spins around with her arms outstretched.
"Like, actually paying me to be here and have experiences that most people only dream about?"
There's something infectious about her joy, the way she embraces every moment without apologizing for it.
It's one of the things I love most about Camilla—she never makes herself smaller to make other people comfortable.
"You earned this," I remind her.
"We earned this. I couldn't have done half of what I've accomplished without having you listening to all my mental breakdowns along the way."
She pulls me in for a hug before pulling me towards the huge king sized bed. Camilla flops onto the bed dramatically. We’re both staring at the ceiling when she asks without looking at me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
She squeezes my hand.
"Love you Nor. For real.”
“Love you too Cam, for real.”
The tapas place Camilla chose is exactly the kind of spot that looks unassuming from the outside but turns out to be a hidden gem. The owner, a woman named Carmen with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen, greets Camilla like they're old friends.
Dinner is perfect—plates of patatas bravas with something called jamón ibérico and the best olives I've ever tasted. Camilla orders a bottle of rosé and insists we toast to the future and the both of us chasing our dreams, together.
"To you, Camilla," I say, raising my glass, "for being the kind of friend who literally drags people out of their comfort zones and somehow makes it feel like the best decision they've ever made."
“And to you, Nora," she counters, "for letting me inject myself into her life and claiming her as my best friend a year ago now."
We clink glasses as the sun sets over the Mediterranean, painting everything in shades of gold and pink.
By the time we're walking through the old town toward the launch venue, I'm feeling relaxed and happy in a way I haven't in months. The glass of rosé probably helped, but mostly it's just being here with Camilla, away from London and work and all the complicated feelings I've been carrying.
"So the launch is at this gorgeous gallery space," Camilla explains as we navigate the narrow cobblestone streets.
"Elena Vázquez—is kinda a big deal then?"
"She's basically Spanish fashion royalty. Started with nothing, built an empire, and somehow manages to be both incredibly successful and genuinely lovely."
Camilla adjusts her clutch.
"I still can't believe she approved my campaign concept. Like what?"
We're passing a small bar when I notice the crowd spilling out onto the street. The energy is electric, with people pressed against the windows trying to see inside.
"What's going on here?" I ask one of the women waiting near the entrance.
"Luiza Garcia is playing tonight," she explains in English with a thick Spanish accent, eyes bright with excitement. "She's Spain's golden girl—you know her music, no?"
I shake my head, and the woman looks at me like I've just admitted to never hearing of the Beatles.
"Ah! She's incredible. A proper singer-songwriter, not just another pop star. This is her last show in Spain before she goes big."
"Come on," Camilla says, tugging my arm. "We need to get to the launch. Elena's expecting us."
But as we start to move past the crowd, music drifts out through the open doors—a haunting guitar melody that makes something in my chest tighten.
Through the press of bodies, I catch a glimpse of the stage inside, where a woman with dark hair introduces herself and her band then starts singing into a microphone.
Her voice is angelic but that’s not what catches my attention.
It’s the person behind her, slightly in shadow, a guitarist whose silhouette makes my heart stop.
From this distance, with the dim bar lighting and the crowd blocking my view, it could be anyone.
It could be no one.
But something in the way he holds his shoulders, the way he leans into his guitar, makes every nerve in my body scream recognition.
"Nora?" Camilla's voice seems to come from very far away. "You okay?"
A group of women near the bar's entrance starts pushing forward, calling out to the guitarist, and for a split second, he looks up from his guitar.
The light catches his face, and I swear—
"Nora, seriously, we need to go."
Camilla follows my gaze toward the bar.
"What's wrong?"
Fate couldn't be that cruel, could it?