“Well, sure, but I started hearing from other people how good the studio was, so I gave it a try and I was hooked. Anyway, Gianluca is pretty easily distracted by shiny new things, so we’re friends now. I got to know Edward, and then Gemma when she came here a few months back, and yeah. It’s been a blast, actually.”

“So have you heard this story then, about how he and Edward know one another?”

She laughs. “I’ve heard about eighteen different versions of it. I’m sure none of them are true. Something about a countess on a yacht and a jealous husband. In some versions the countess is young and beautiful, in others she’s old and rich. In all of them, the husband ends up dead.” She laughs at the alarm on my face. “Like I said, I’m sure it’s not true. I’ve also heard that Gianluca is a disgraced matador and the illegitimate son of General Pinochet.”

“I heard it was Perón.”

“Well, there you have it. And what about you?” she asks. “What brought you here?”

“Also a long story. But part of it was a really bad breakup.” I guess if Cali hasn’t recognized me yet, she isn’t going to.

“Buenos Aires Lonely Hearts Society.” She smiles.

“Hey.” I smile and take another sip of my drink, which is going down fast. “That’s Gemma’s joke.”

“Busted. She’s right, though.”

A memory of Blair comes back to me as Cali goes off for a moment to tend to a new set of customers. He and I walking down a wide street, near the Plaza Serrano maybe?

“I love it here,” I said to him. “Wouldn’t this be a fun place to live?”

He nodded, smiling at me in a way I hope I remember forever as clearly as I do now. I was so happy that night, all the sweeter because it felt like I hadn’t been happy in a while. I hadn’t spoken to Penny in over a year by then, and the worry over her and Ava felt like a stone lodged permanently under my heel. It was unimaginable then that the worst was yet to come, that a reconciliation would never happen. But a new season was about to start, and I was healthier than I’d been in a while. Our country was on a hopeful precipice of history: poised to elect an inspiring young senator from Illinois.

“We could,” Blair said. “It’s close to the Andes.”

“We could be tango dancers!” I said to him, grabbing his hand and marching him down the street singing “Dum, dum, duhhh dum,” dramatically.

“All that, Katie, all that,” he said, laughing. “Whatever you want.”

Would it have been better or worse to know then that it was all about to end?