I put on the dress Floriano had bought me, sure that it would look dreadful, but as I donned the shoes and stepped before the mirror to take a look, I was surprised by the result. The crossover bodice accentuated my full breasts and my slim waist, and the wrap skirt that fell away in soft folds from my lower thighs gave a glimpse of my legs, their length accentuated by the dainty Cuban heels.

The time in Rio had given my skin some colour, and as I blow-dried my hair and piled it on top of my head, then added some eyeliner, mascara and a deep red lipstick I’d once bought on a whim and had never used, I chuckled at how my sisters would hardly recognise me. Floriano’s teasing comment on my style of dress had stung me, but was not, I realised, far off the mark. Everything I wore was sober, designed to help me melt into a crowd. Here in Rio I knew women celebrated the sensuousness of their bodies and their sexuality, whereas I had spent years hiding mine.

In the half hour I had before I was due to meet Floriano I wrote a burst of emails to my sisters, telling them what a wonderful time I was having and how much better I was feeling. Sipping a glass of wine from the bottle I’d taken from the mini bar, I was amazed at how I meant every word I’d written. It was as if a huge boulder-sized weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and tonight I felt as light as air. Perhaps it had been as simple as my confession to Floriano, but an inner voice told me it was more than that.

It was him too.

His energy, positivity and down-to-earth common sense, not to mention the way he handled his daughter and their domestic arrangements with such dexterity, was a life lesson I’d needed to learn. If nothing else, he had provided me with a role model, one that I realised I desperately wanted to aspire to. Next to him, my own life seemed like a dull grey facsimile and I was aware that Floriano – even if sometimes his comments had been painful – had made me realise I was simply surviving, not living.

And somehow the combination of this city and this man had cracked the invisible protective shell that I’d been hiding in. I chuckled at the analogy, thinking that I did indeed feel like a newly hatched chick.

And yes, I admitted that I probably was a little in love with him. As I looked at my watch and realised it was time to go downstairs, I decided that even if I never saw Floriano again, he’d given me my life back. And tonight I would celebrate my rebirth without fearing for tomorrow.

‘Wow!’ Floriano stared at me in blatant admiration as I appeared in the lobby. ‘Talk about a phoenix emerging from the ashes.’