Chapter 13
Lizzie
We start along the path, and it leads us into a palm tree forest. And it looks endless, at that.
Rows and rows of tall coconut palms stretching so far ahead it almost feels like they’ll never stop.
It’s absolutely stunning. The smell of salt water floats in the air, making everything feel incredibly tropical, like we’ve driven straight into a postcard.
Nate turns to me with a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Are you ready to go a little off-road?”
I smile back. “I have a feeling that any answer but yes is wrong.”
He laughs and shifts the buggy into gear. We take off, and the sand scattered over the gravel kicks up behind us in a hazy cloud.
I can’t resist—I throw my hands in the air.
It’s one of those perfect moments: sun shining, sunglasses on, and the air hinting that summer is just around the corner.
The wind whips my curly hair in every direction and I immediately reach up to tame it, laughing at the hopeless effort, a huge smile planted on my face anyway.
The buggy can only go about sixty miles per hour, but because it’s small it feels so much faster, like we’re flying instead of driving.
Nate suddenly pulls up the handbrake and turns slightly, fully committing us to the off-road experience.
I throw my head back and laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that bubbles up before you can stop it—the kind that makes you feel like a kid again and completely free for a second.
After a little while, he glances over at me.
“That path looks like it leads to the water. You want to go have a look?”
I pretend to think about it for a dramatic second. “Yes… and yes with a side of please.”
We take the turn, and as we pass more palm trees, the water begins to peek through in flashes of blue. The closer we get, the more it opens up, until we reach the end of the forest where it spills out onto soft sand. He finds a place to park.
“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 deaf world.’ 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.
“You mentioned working before,” he says. “I know you talked about being an au pair in Belgium, but you wanted to explore something else.”
“I actually studied to be a secretary. I learned about politics, administration, languages, psychology… a bit of everything, really.” I laugh lightly.
“But when my dad suggested Belgium, it was like a lightbulb went off. I loved the idea of getting to know my family and exploring a place filled with history. Seeing where people walked hundreds of years ago, how they built their lives, and how what they did still shapes us today. Even the architecture alone leaves me in awe.”
“And how was it—the experience of meeting and spending time with your family?”
The wind whips at my hair, like the memories that are swirling around in my brain. My grin comes out.
“I loved it. My uncle developed a sort of tradition of taking me out every Tuesday night for dinner with his friends. It was so special to be a part of that—that he wanted to include me. We had great laughs.”
“I stumbled my way around for a bit,” I continue, “because there were just some cultural things I didn’t understand, part of the language that I didn’t know. But the joy was there because I was just getting to know my family.”
He grins at me, and it’s a grin I’m starting to realize I can’t get enough of. My brain seems to be short-circuiting far more often than I’d like to admit. It’s like my body is reacting faster than my logic can catch up.
But right now… I kind of want to lean into it.
We keep talking for the next hour about everything and nothing, wandering along the shoreline and then slowly circling back.
He’s interested in me in a way that actually means something. He wants to understand me, to know the stories that made me who I am. The family that shaped me—for better or worse.
Just another item to check off the list.
My list is getting checked off much faster than I expected.
But I’ll leave the questions my brain desperately wants to dissect for later tonight. Right now, I just want to enjoy this… and soak it in.
We slowly make our way back toward the buggy.
“Wait,” I say suddenly. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked this yet.” I pause. “You’re from S?o Paulo, obviously. How did you end up in Recife?”
We reach the buggy, and he pulls a small towel from the back.
“Wow, you’re prepared,” I say, amused.
He chuckles. “I knew I wanted to take you to the beach today so I had to be.”
He starts brushing the sand off his feet with the towel.
“In answer to your question—yes, I’m from S?o Paulo. I actually moved around a lot. I lived in Rio de Janeiro for a while, and then eventually ended up in Recife for work because of my ex-wife’s family. That’s how I went into business with my father-in-law.”
“Do you miss S?o Paulo?” I ask.
“I do. Mostly my family.” He pauses, then exhales.
“After the divorce, I don’t think I’d ever felt lonelier in my life.
They’re only a flight away, but I wanted to stay as close to my kids as possible.
We’ve settled into a routine now, though.
If I ever moved back, I’d probably fly up every couple of weeks…
or have them come down to spend time with their grandparents—my parents. ” He sighs quietly.
“I just wish I could have more time with them,” he continues. “I know I threw myself into work after the divorce, but that was mostly because of the loneliness… and missing them. Still, I’m grateful. God taught me so much through that experience.”
We’ve both finished cleaning the sand off, so we climb back into the buggy.
Now that we’ve talked so much about interests and stories, it feels like we’re standing at the edge of something deeper.
“Is it something you want to talk about?” I ask gently.
He glances at me, then smiles a little.
“How about we pause here and pick it back up at dinner? I do want to talk about it with you, but with the wind—and where I’m taking you next—I have a feeling this is a conversation better had while we’re sitting down.”
The curious part of me wants to dive in immediately. But I nod.
The past few hours with him have already shown me so much about the kind of man he is.
And apparently… I can’t seem to get enough.