Love Game

The midday sun scorched the terrace at the Club de Campo, bleaching everything white — the umbrellas, the tableclothes, Elena's linen dress. Martin sat across from her, idly stirring his sparkling water with a swizzle stick. The ice had melted hours ago.

"You're not even listening," she said, her voice flat.

"I am. You're unhappy. Again."

"That padel match this morning — did you see me at all?"

Martin sighed. "We lost, Elena. That's what happens when you overthink every shot."

She watched a bead of condensation slide down her glass, pooling on the table. It was the same argument, different day. Their relationship had become a long rally — him driving everything hard to the corners, her scrambling to return, always on the defensive.

"I found something on your phone," she said quietly.

Martin's hand stilled. The water glass trembled.

"It was a betting pool," she continued. "Your office. About when you'd leave me."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Behind them, laughter erupted from the swimming pool area — someone had pushed a friend into the water. The sound was jarring, incongruous.

"It was just —"

"Don't." She stood up. "Don't tell me it was just a joke."

Martin reached for her hand across the table. "Elena. The money was on 'never.' I put everything on 'never.'"

She paused. The glass walls of the restaurant reflected them back — an attractive couple in their thirties, well-dressed, well-off, perfectly miserable. Somewhere in the distance, another padel game began. The rhythmic thwack of the ball against the glass walls echoed like a heartbeat.

"You put money on us?" she said. "That's your grand gesture?"

"It's not —"

"I'm going for a swim." She walked toward the pool area, shedding her linen dress as she went. Underneath, she wore a black bikini.

Martin watched her dive into the crystal-blue water. She surfaced smoothly, shaking droplets from her hair like a dog that had found something worth hunting. She didn't look back.

He signaled the waiter for the check. The betting pool had closed months ago. He'd won then, but somehow, standing there as she swam lap after relentless lap, he felt like he was the one drowning.

The water was beautiful, though. That much was true.