Martin turned to me abruptly and asked if I’d like to come to his place to try the fish. I stuttered a yes, while I pinched my thigh on Cristóbal’s behalf.

* * *

Martin’s house was not far from the river, just outside my father’s property. It was a two-story construction with a titian roof. As I walked in, I couldn’t help but stare at the ceiling, speechless. Built in an A-shape, it alternated between thick beams and glass, letting in exorbitant amounts of light. Through the skylight, you could see the forest. It was so beautiful—it reminded me of those cabins in the fairy tales I used to read as a child. The stairs were part wood, part gray stones—sporadically covered in moss, like an old castle. It was a house that played with shapes and styles, a house with the power of making you question if you were inside or out.

I leaned on the kitchen counter while Martin chopped pieces of bass, covered them in flour, and sank them in hot oil. We were like two bachelors who’d known each other their entire lives and were completely comfortable with each other. Martin served me a beer called Pilsener while he told me stories about the women he’d had in that very same kitchen. I’d never heard such unrestrained talk before.

“How come there is no Mrs. Sabater?” I asked between blowing on a piece of fish to cool it down and taking cautious bites when I could no longer control my hunger.

“Because I’m not stupid.” He chuckled.

I didn’t get how this was funny or why getting married made you stupid, but I’d heard some of my clients joke about this to each other.

“And the real reason?” I said.

His smile vanished. He removed the rest of the fish from the pan and set it on a plate to cool down.

“I don’t like the way many women treat their husbands,” he said. “I’ve seen many of my friends—brilliant, capable men—being treated like children or like they’re too dumb to know any better. Look at Angélica and Laurent. He can’t make the smallest decisions without her consent. He has absolutely no say in day-to-day activities, much less business decisions, especially now that Don Armand is not around. I remember my mother doing that to my father, too.” He shook his head. “I would hate to lose the ability to come and go as I please, or worse, to lose all confidence in myself.”