Once a year, I used to go back to Brazil to spend Christmas with my family and New Year’s Eve with my friends. The holidays were energizing but the most difficult part of it was to say goodbye to my parents and come back to London in January.
At the Guarulhos airport, in São Paulo, my father had the same speech.
“Don’t go back. You're wasting your time. Stay here with your family,” he asked me.
My mother supported me but I knew she was sad seeing me leaving. After the traditional hugs and tears, I walked into the departure lounge and stood in the queue of the Brazilians for the Federal Police passport control. Absorbed in thought, I watched the foreigner’s queue as I saw a tall, blond, handsome man. He was tanned, dressed in a navy blue jacket and light blue scarf, matching the color of his eyes. To me, he looked like a mirage, and without realizing, I was staring at him from head to toe. A few seconds passed until I snapped out of my reverie and realized he had noticed my interest. He also looked at me as if to say, ‘So, are you enjoying the view?'
I smiled and looked away. Our queues were at the same speed and we were getting closer and closer.
I was called to show my passport, the process was fast and I left before him. As I was ashamed for staring at him blatantly, I hid behind a Duty Free Shop shelf. I saw him walking around looking for me. I felt better to let him go and I went to a café near the departure lounge.
At that moment, instead of thinking about my parents sadness, I could only think about that man. He was so handsome that I wondered what his voice would be like, his hug, anyway, I went mad. My flight was announced and I followed to the boarding gate, isolated downstairs. As I went down the escalators, I froze. He was there and would take the same flight. Once again, I hid behind some people so he wouldn’t see me. I watched him in an obsessive voyeurism, without the courage to approach.
The boarding gate opened, he got on the plane first and I followed him on the right. I was surprised with myself, after all I was petrified by a stranger. His seat was a little further ahead than mine. From where I was, I could see his head and noticed the lightness of his hair, perfect for a shampoo TV commercial. When I put the suitcase in the luggage compartment and sat down, he got up to hang his jacket and our eyes met again. I smiled and he waved at me. At that moment a woman nudged me.
“Can you change seats with me?”
I was next to two children and the mother wanted my seat. I nodded in agreement and try new seat gave me a strategic vision of the Greek God who was talking to one of the stewardesses. Instantly he got up and changed seats. Now he was in the same row as mine with a free seat next to him.
The plane closed the doors and he looked at me.
“Would you like to sit next to me?”
With my heart pounding, I unplugged my seat belt and changed seats. Now, I would spend 10 hours next to the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life.
“Hi, I’m Alan. What’s your name?”
“Marcelli,” I replied looking like a pre-teen.
“I saw you looking at me in queue,” he shot.
I smiled and he laughed at my shyness.
“I looked for you, but you were gone.”
“What were you doing in Brazil?” I wanted to know.
“Holidays, I spent the New Year in Rio de Janeiro and went to Natal, Salvador and Fortaleza,” he said.
Alan was an architect, born in Sweden and living in London. Sitting side by side on the plane, he treated me like a princess. He ordered my dinner and drink from the flight attendant.
Then he poured the wine and we cheersed. I never thought that such a thing could happen in real life. The stewardess picked up the trays, me and him looked at each other and he kissed me.
“Shall we watch a film together?” He said and we hugged each other, sharing the headphones.
A very strong energy flowed between us. It looked like fate to me. We were in a night flight so after the film, we felt asleep hugging each other. Breakfast was served and after an hour and a half the plane landed in London. As soon as we left the airport, he carried my 32kg suitcase while I was carrying only my handbag. He bought two train tickets to Paddington station and we went to the platform. For the first time, I was with a real man, you know that man your grandmother would say, 'He is the one.'
On the train, another man got closer me but Alan hugged me so I wouldn’t exchange glances with the guy. To be honest, he didn’t have to worry about it, I was already his. We talked and kissed a lot. My life had turned into a love story. Before we said goodbye, we exchanged numbers and more passionate kisses.
“I’ll call you to arrange a dinner,” he said.
During the walk to Unit G, I received a text message. 'I've never felt something so strong for anyone. Sleep well. Xx
At that moment, I wasn’t walking, I stepped on clouds. Alan seemed to be the man I so much dreamed to find; older, polite, sweet, elegant and yummy.
For the first time, I didn’t care walking the streets with 2 degrees, that love warmed me. I got home and Gianluca was the first person I saw in the kitchen.
“Hi Giane, I miss you,” I hugged him.
“Wow! You look in love,” he said immediately.
I smiled, sat down at the kitchen table and told the details of my love story.
“Marcelli look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t stop smiling, you are in love.”
He was right, the cupid had hit me. That night, I told me story to all my friends. The next morning I got another text message. 'Good morning, beautiful. I want to meet up with you. Shall we have dinner tomorrow?'
I jumped for joy in my room. In all my relationships, I was always the 'man'. This time, I was the princess and I accepted the invitation. The next step was to dismantle the wardrobe in search of an appropriate outfit for the dinner.
I imagined ourselves at a candlelit dinner, he would bring me flowers... I was dreaming. After an hour of changing clothes, I chose a navy blue dress.
The day after, I literally fasted to slim. I told Gianluca about the dinner invitation and he joked with me.
“I think we'll soon see the first wedding on Unit G.”
I laughed and I could imagine the scene. We would get married in Brazil, live in Sweden and have a beautiful and exotic family. Before the big date, I went to work and everyone realized that I was super happy. My boss wanted to know the reason for such joy and my mistake was telling her the story. My boss was a depressed and envious person. She was single for three years, her only moments with men were when she was drunk and grabbed someone from work. The next day, she usually pretended that nothing had happened. She heard my story with a disdain look.
“Don’t be late tomorrow,” she merely said.
I wasn’t upset by her bad mood and when the clock struck six o'clock, I put on the high heels, put some lipstick and went to see the man of my life. As I left Paddington Station, he was waiting for me.
I think I created a lot of expectation for this dinner because when I saw it, I couldn’t hide the frustration. He was wearing sweatpants, sneakers and an old t-shirt.
“You look beautiful,” he said before kissing me. “If I knew known, I'd have dressed up better.”
As he noticed the difference, I calmed down. Maybe he'd thought it was something more casual. Alan lived nearby and chose a pub for dinner. I found it a bit strange, after all where was the candlelight dinner and the flowers? As soon as we sat down he stared at another girl's ass and desired her.
“This girl is Brazilian. I recognize by her butt.”
I was shocked. He didn’t looked like the man I met on the plane. During that night, Alan didn’t seem interested in me and looked at all the other women in the bar. Since I was desperate to date someone, I persisted thinking that I could change his behaviour with time. He went to the bar, ordered a bottle of wine, a cold starter and the romantic dinner was summed up as appetizers, many glances at other women, and myself dreaming about the Prince Charming. We had superficial talk, he dodged questions about work and spent the evening filling my glass with wine. After paying the bill, he suggested buying another bottle and going to his place.
“I just moved to a new flat and I need to build some furniture that I bought at Ikea. You could stay in the living room drinking, watching TV and keeping me company. What do you think, my love?”
My love? Was it real? Yes! He had called me ‘my love’ and I accepted. In the taxi, he changed the route.
“I have to stop by at my old house to get some letters but it will fast,” he explained.
With a couple of letters on his hand, we headed to the new flat which had bedroom, living room, small kitchen and a beautiful bathroom. I thought of Unit G's bathroom, in my lack of courage to take a shower without flip-flops and decided never invite him to sleep over there.
Alan offered me a glass of wine and I stood on the sofa while he set up a cupboard. Sometimes, he would give me a kiss me and fill my glass with wine. I was frustrated with that date and when he finished setting up a table, I was completely drunk.
He took me to his bedroom, started taking off my clothes and I saw everything spinning. I wanted to through up and he realized that I couldn’t even speak. He grunted something in Swedish, turned his back on me, and felt asleep. I tried to hug him but he push me away.
“Don’t touch me.”
The next day, I woke up with the worse headache ever.
“Feeling better, my dear?” He asked me.
“More or less,” I lied. “Can I take a shower?” I asked and he handed me a towel.
He was wearing Brazilian navy blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt. After the failed night, he walked me to the door.
“I have a meeting with a client. We'll talk later,” and nodded in an embarrassing coldness.
He closed the door of the flat and left me in the street, without any glamor. After each step I took, it seemed that the fairy tale was falling apart and only got worse when I got back to work late and wearing the same dress that I wore the day before. My boss was super grumpy.
“You’re 20 minutes late.”
I wanted to through up in her face but I resisted the frustration and nausea. I apologized and worked with an unforgettable hangover. All day long, I thought about the frustrated night and blamed myself for drinking too much. At times, I would evaluate better the facts and my sixth sense was telling me that something was wrong with that man.
Almost late in the afternoon, when my brain started working better, I remembered that in the taxi I read his name and surname name in the letters he got in the old flat.
Suddenly, I typed his name on Google and found two articles in Swedish with references to his name. One of the articles had a picture of a couple and his picture on the bottom of the page. Those blue eyes were mesmerizing.
I copied and pasted the articles into Google translator and read it in English.
A two-page article was an official Swedish Justice text saying that Alan was being sought by the police. The text said that he pretended to be an architect and real estate agent and he committed crimes there. He offered the house of dreams to newlyweds, on excellent land and for a much lower value. Alan sowed the house project, with photos, 3D images and convinced customers to close deals.
“There are two other couples very interested. If you deposit the full amount now, I'll give you the key tomorrow. This is a unique opportunity,” he would say to some couples.
With a ferocious lip, he manage to convince some people and earned two million euros. The text concluded by saying that the was outlawed but living in London. The Scotland Yard was working on the case but officers went to the old flat and couldn’t find him.
The other article was from a local newspaper in Stockholm, which told more or less the same story but with pictures of two couples who were deceived.
I was shocked and now scared because I had met an outlaw and in my mind I could be arrested as an accomplice, after all, I knew everything.
At that moment, the best thing to do was to forget his beauty and go back to the love hunting game. As soon, I arrived at Unit G I looked for Gianluca.
“Giane, do you think two million euros is a lot of money?” I asked.
“Two million!” He repeated. “Of course it is. Did you win the lottery?” He asked me.
I sighed, shook my head and told him the story. At the end, he laughed at my tragedy.
“This story is amazing. You have go out more with this guy. Go to his house, look for clues,” he asked me. “Will he try to do the same with you?” He wondered. “I know! Make him transfer the money to your bank account. Then, you run away,” he fantasized. “This is your chance to become famous,” he continued.
“Famous? I'm going to be arrested.”
“Relax. Let me explain our plan. He must have a suitcase with money hidden in his flat. Bring it here and we'll buy a ticket for everyone in the house to go to the Caribbean,” he suggested.
“Gianluca, I'm scared.”
“Don’t be silly. That’s the best story of your life,” he said.
“Imagine if I go to jail?”
“Don’t be silly, you'll be helping the police. Please go out with him just one more time. Do it for me,” he pleaded.
“Are you crazy?” I asked and he laughed.
All night long, my flatmates made jokes about my story. Everyone wanted to convince me to go out with Alan again.
“I want to be a writer and not a Sherlock Holmes assistant,” I said.
Throughout the week, Alan sent me three messages saying that he missed me and wanted to see me. He suggested to go to the cinema and then to spend the night at his place. I didn’t reply to any messages. Gianluca even knelt begging me to go out with the lawbreaker but I thought I'd better forget all that and look for a safer love.
