The residents of the complex had started preparing by mid-morning. Noud and Bernard were setting up Carlos’s grill near the pool.
"Should we put it on the grass or the stone?" Noud pondered.
"On the stone. The lawn wouldn’t take it well."
The world was spinning wildly, and flashes of light danced around the pale woman’s eyes. She felt the scorching sun on her skin and, at the same time, a cold shiver rising from within. Beads of sweat appeared on the nape of her neck, while her hands turned ice cold.
Perla was happily running around the poolside in circles. Meanwhile, María José was struggling with yet another crying fit on her terrace. A half-eaten macaron she found under the outdoor table reminded her of the terrible breakup and how much she missed Carlos.
Ludmilla was good at many things, but heartbreak wasn’t one of them. And now, there sat María José in her living room, face flushed, wailing miserably.
“I only wanted what was best for you!” she sobbed, over and over again.
Forgiveness had never been one of Carlos’s strengths. Especially not when a woman was involved. One way or another. And what María José had done—he could only see it as a grave betrayal. His lover had played him, made a fool of him.
"I brought you some macarons," María José purred into Carlos’s ear.
That could only mean one thing: the retired pastry chef was in the mood for a little mischief. The elderly woman was far too shy to openly express her desires.
"Hey, my friend." Dajana tapped on the glass tabletop of the German family’s garden table. "Are you home?"
But it wasn’t Viktoria who appeared in the open terrace door—it was Günter.
"Can I help you?" the man asked curtly.
"I came to see Viktoria," Dajana smiled.
The girls’ shrieking was getting on Pauline’s nerves, too. She lay on the sun lounger with her eyes closed. The low rattan footstool had been serving as a garden nightstand since morning, where the lady of the house had placed bottled water and painkillers.
Viktoria couldn’t wait to tell Günter what she had learned about the Slovaks. He could finally relax, and she could make friends. A married couple running an accounting business—her husband wouldn’t object to that, even though she understood his concerns.
Ludmilla and María José observed the hardworking cleaning women from the upstairs bedroom of the elderly German lady.
“Why are they doing this?” the pastry chef asked in confusion.
“Because you overreacted,” Ludmilla replied indifferently.