What nobody at that table knows is that Álvaro’s whole life is built the same way cheap hotel lobbies are built: polished in the front, hollow behind the walls, and held together by the hope that no one leans too hard in the wrong place.
You see it all in one glance.
The expensive watch. The rehearsed confidence. The expensive wine on a table where the mortgage is three weeks late. The way Lucía’s shoulders stay slightly raised all through dinner, as if her body learned months ago that peace in this house is only a costume people wear until dessert.