She has had lovers, but no long relationship. The first time, she says, "the scars worried me. But I know I'll have a companion someday, someone who's right for me, someone who doesn't concentrate on the details but looks more at what's inside."
She tilts her head, chin grazing her chest. The last bracelet sits with the rest, gleaming. "Now," she says, "whoever loves me is going to love me for myself."
Her fingers and wrists are bare. A sweet wind blows in, high above Havana. Before her, next to a bowl of waxed fruit, she has built a small hill of gold.