Not his partner Fernando, with whom he shared thirty years of business history, nor his ex-girlfriend Patricia.
Patricia once told her that she had never felt alone with him, but she had disappeared as soon as reality had taken precedence over luxury.
“Happy birthday, Gustavo,” he thought for himself, with a bitterness that had no specific name.
He walked to the private bar, took a twelve-year-old bottle of Scotch whisky and served himself a large glass.
He was going to drink alone, as he had learned so many times before, sitting in front of the window overlooking the illuminated garden.
He was going to wonder, like every night, what was the purpose of it all, but before he reached the couch, something stopped him.
A light, sweet and impossible smell floated in the air. It was vanilla, a perfume that had nothing to do here.
Gustavo frowned. The mansion had been without cooking staff for three days, as it had given the chef a vacation.
Yet the aroma was undeniable: a genoese, vanilla, and something else that looked like cinnamon.
He followed the smell of a slow and careful step, not understanding what was going on in his own home.
He crossed the marble corridor, passed in front of the gallery where paintings were hanging that he had not even chosen himself.
He had ordered them from a decorator because the millionaires had to own art, and then he gently pushed the door of the kitchen.
What he saw the net stop. The kitchen had been totally transformed by a warm human presence.
On the central granite island was a homemade cake, decorated with a white glaze and blue letters: “Happy birthday, Mr. Gustavo”.
There were small brigadeiro plates, coxinhas on a plateau, and tiny yellow and blue balloons tied.
In the center of the table, a forty-eight-shaped candle was waiting to be lit to celebrate the event.
And in the corner, standing by the bar, wearing a flour-stained apron and a nervous smile, stood Beatriz.
Beatriz was thirty-two years old, dark eyes, hair pulled into an imperfect bun and hands that had been cleaning these floors for two years.
By his side, three children looked at him with the biggest eyes that Gustavo had ever seen in his life.
“Surprise! They all shouted at the same time, wearing small, colorful paper hats on their heads.
Gustavo could not speak. The emotion squeezed his throat in a way he had not felt since childhood.
“Sir, forgive me if I have crossed the line,” said Beatriz immediately, blushing with embarrassment.
“I know it wasn’t for me to do that, but this morning I found the date on your office schedule.
“The kids insisted and I thought… I didn’t want you to spend that special day alone.
“Mom said you were a very good person,” interrupted the youngest, Enzo, who was about four years old.
