Benecio
There is a specific kind of agony that comes with watching a guy flirt with your boyfriend while you are sitting directly across the dinner table, totally helpless, because your own big brother doesn't even know you're dating.
It was pure, unadulterated torture.
The outdoor dining area of the villa was built for long, lazy Brazilian dinners. The wooden table was massive, lit up by soft hanging lanterns overhead that swayed with the warm ocean breeze coming off the beach. The air smelled like salt, charcoal, and the feast the villa's staff had laid out: silver platters stacked with juicy picanha [top sirloin cap], steaming black beans, fried bananas, bowl after bowl of farofa [toasted cassava flour mix], and a basket of hot, fluffy pão de queijo [cheese bread] that was still steaming.
Under normal circumstances, I would have eaten half the table. I was twenty, I had been in the pool half the day, and I had the appetite of a runaway horse.
