Dove
The shift from being terrified out of my mind on a mountain peak to sitting at a sun-drenched, five-star resort in Barra da Tijuca was astonishingly fast.
The beach club was breathtaking—a sprawling, open-air terrace of bleached oak wood, flowing white canvas, and sparkling crystal, set right on the edge of the golden sand with the turquoise Atlantic crashing fifty yards away. The air smelled like grilled lobster, sea salt, and citrus.
We occupied a massive, circular lounge table right in the center of the VIP section.
Because we were back in public—and more importantly, surrounded by Mr. Billie, Mr. Benedito, Yasmin and Caua, and Daniel—Benecio and I had quietly switched back into our default mode: protective, banter-filled best friends.
