12 - ADAM #2
“You’re the damn president of Amazing View Construtora!”
“Not anymore.”
“All because of a—”
“An incredible woman,” he finishes, cutting me off.
He closes what looks like the last box. “Never refer to her any other way. Bárbara is wonderful. She’s Bárbara”—he laughs softly, almost...
dreamily?—“Her name says it all. I don’t know if I’ll marry her in November, or even if I’ll get married in November, but I won’t carry this guilt. ”
“Guilt?”
“You did what you believe is right, Adam. So did I.” He picks up the box, circles the desk, walks past me. “I’ll have someone come get these things.” At the door, he turns. “Thanks for making my last act at this company...”—his eyes fill with tears—“her dismissal.”
I watch him walk away, disappearing down the corridor. I collapse onto his sofa. No—onto the sofa in the main office of the construction company. I let out a roar before my tears drown me in despair.
I gasp for air.
I stand up, grab the phone, dial.
“Schedule a meeting with the board. We need a CEO for Amazing View Construtora before the Germans notice the hole.”
I want to add: the hole in me, the knife in my back.
I hang up without listening to what David says on the other end.
At my parents’ mansion, I feel like a wrung-out rag.
Dinner passes in absolute silence. I don’t even know where to begin.
I try to say something, but Mom cuts me off.
No work talk during meals. The world is falling apart and she’s still enforcing that rule—I thought the tradition had lapsed. She’s right.
We get up to head to the living room to sip liqueurs.
“I heard the Febrás project in Alagoas ran into some problems,” Dad comments as we walk.
“That’s the least of our problems,” I grumble.
Mom takes my arm, wants me to come with her—she has a gift for me. I object. She insists. Dad says he’ll wait with the drinks ready. Wait, what? The staff does everything.
In the garden, there’s no gift. Just another problem.
Thanks a lot, Mom. Dad is sick. He doesn’t want me to know, she says.
He’s asking me to go easy on company matters, to focus on the wedding because it makes him happy.
She tells me his dream is to expand the family business, the way my grandfather wanted but never could.
I’m barely registering what she’s saying anymore.
Ingratitude? No, just my mind going numb. Probably self-protection.
We settle in with Dad. We sip the blackberry liqueur, which tastes spoiled to me. I try to be brief. This can’t wait. It needs a solution. He’ll stay in financial management—on paper, officially. I’ll take over the actual duties. The day-to-day. Dad resists.
“Archie...”
“Come now, Eleanor, this boy wants me to—”
“Accept, and I’ll go through with the wedding.” I feel their questioning stares on me. Yes, I could back out. I want to. Deep down, I want to give up on everything. I want to have Olavo’s courage. “This way we don’t destroy Grandpa’s legacy, we don’t lose the merger, we don’t admit defeat.”
We reach an agreement.
Lying in bed, tears flow freely, silent in the darkness. My phone beeps with a new message.
Laura: miss you, love.
I rub my face.
Me: miss you too.
I’m lying.
Mr. Günther von Stahlberg arrives with his wife.
My parents receive them with full ceremony and plenty of beer.
They love it. Everyone’s thrilled about the wedding.
The Borbóns are also staying at the mansion.
Mom can barely contain her happiness with a full house.
She hires more staff. She’s overjoyed. Her excitement lifts my spirits, but those moments are fleeting.
David won’t look me in the eye. We don’t talk about Olavo. Paula asks me to be patient and focus on my wedding—it’s going to be magical.
There’s no magic in my life. What there is, is a thick rope around my neck. Laura is beautiful. She’s so happy—I envy her. I try to look like I’m doing better. Impossible. Am I really fooling anyone? I must be, because here I am, alone, caged, cornered.
My uncles laugh, say I’ve got PWS—Pre-Wedding Stress. Women have PMS, men have PWS, according to them. It happens to everyone. Sexist? Please... I laugh, then quietly slip away.
I used to like Laura. This madness inside me makes no sense. I lean against the window frame in the west room of the mansion. The air feels thin. I breathe deeply. Maybe PWS really does exist. I’m suffocating.
The church looks stunning, as Paula says excitedly, while I suffocate more and more.
I'm standing here, my groomsmen behind me. David's with my cousin, and Olavo—yes, he showed up—arm in arm with ágata, David's cousin, who's come out with us a few times. I'd thought he might bring Bárbara. Where's all that courage now? I feel his gaze burning into my back.
On the other side, Laura's twin brothers with their wives, who smile at me.
My parents, imposing, seated in the first pew next to the Germans.
Across the aisle, my bride's mother—and there she is, beautiful at the entrance, with her father.
Each slow step tightens the rope around me. More and more. I'm suffocating.
The first note of the organ echoes through the space.
The choir swells. My heart races. My throat goes dry.
My palms sweat. My knees tremble. I plant my feet on the ground.
I imagine roots. I'm grounded. I visualize the agreement papers.
The signatures. The merger finalized. The trips to ensure the proper changes, adjustments, improvements.
The new hires. The stock market in our favor.
New expansions. Signatures upon signatures.
My father fulfilled. Deep down, my brain screams, suffocated: what about me?
“Sir?”
I blink several times. The priest is calling me. Right, time for the vows. How did we get here?
“There's no point smiling at me, love—everyone wants to hear how much we love each other,” Laura whispers, for my ears only.
Am I smiling?
I recite my vows. I see Louise, her mother, crying, overcome with emotion. I hear other sniffles around me—an echo of my soul? Perhaps. Shit! I barely hear Laura's vows. I smile. Yes, I'm smiling. The rope suffocating me pulls my lips sideways. I smile.
I visualize signing the merger again. The whole process. The exponential expansion of the companies. Success. Then, her. Lara. Devereaux should have offered her treatment. Lara.
Laura's delicate fingers wipe away a tear I didn't even notice.
“This scene will look magnificent in the wedding video,” Paula whispers mischievously. What's her deal with all these fancy words?
I want to respond: true, on screen everything looks beautiful, with whatever meaning people choose to give it. The real depth remains unknown.
I take the ring.
Someone shouts for help among the guests. I'm left wondering if it was me.