And yet he has been with me.
The wine comes then, distracting me. The waiter pours us all a glass and we cheers. It’s then that I steal a look at Luciano and his eyes hold mine for what feels like forever.
My stomach fizzles and flips. Shit. What is up with me?
I quickly look to Marco and say, “Thank you again for getting me out of that hostel.”
“Thank you for coming,” Marco says. He has a sip of his wine and looks to Luciano. “I don’t want to get in the way of the interview though, so ask away. Perhaps my brother will get drunk and open up a little. He is like a molusco sometimes. A clam.”
I glance at Luciano and flash him a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
A brow raises. The corner of his mouth ticks up, creating a dimple. “You weren’t so gentle yesterday, but I think I can handle it. Though, tell me, Ruby Turner, you say that you’re here as long as you can be. Did you mean Portugal or Europe? You know that with the Schengen Visa, you can only be in Europe for three months.”
I give him a pointed look. “I’m aware. I didn’t just show up here with no plan.”
The way I say it makes him look reproached, though the truth is I’m lying because there really is no plan. I’ll just have to fake it.
“So what is your plan?” Marco asks.
“Interview Luciano. Write it up. I would love to see a game if possible.” I’m nearly batting my eyelashes at Marco, hoping he’ll get me tickets. “Then I thought I would go explore Porto. Do the same, then head to Barcelona.”
“You’re leaving Portugal so soon?” Marco asks.
“I didn’t say when,” I tell him. “It’s all up in the air.”
“I think you should stay,” Luciano says. “For at least a few weeks.”
I look at him in surprise. “You do?”
He gnaws on his lip for a moment and then jerks his chin at Marco. “I think he’d like it if you stayed.”
Oh. I see.
“Sounds like you’re trying to set me up with him,” I say, never one to keep my mouth shut.
He shrugs lazily. “Maybe. Marco is always playing matchmaker with me. Says it’s his duty as my agent. I figure I should try and return the favor to him.”
I don’t know why I feel so disappointed, but I do.
Meanwhile Marco is laughing. “If I didn’t set you up, brother, you would be single for the rest of your life.” He looks to me as he jabs his thumb at him. “I bet you wouldn’t believe it if I told you that, despite my brother’s growing career, he rarely dates anyone.”
Actually I can believe it, because when I was researching the crap out of Luciano, I couldn’t find anything about the women he dated. Sure, there were rumors of him being seen with this model or that local actress, but there were no pictures and no one blabbed.
“I don’t have the time, brother,” Luciano says to him.
“You’ve had plenty of time since you were injured.”
Luciano ignores him and has a gulp of wine. “So, Ruby. I hope you like seafood.”
I actually love seafood and consider myself to be an adventurous eater, so I’m open to anything, even when Luciano tells me I should order the bacalhau.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Salted cod.”
I pause and then nod. “Okay,” I tell him, closing the menu with aplomb. “If you think I should order the bacalhau, then I will.”
“It’s famous in Portugal,” Marco explains. “And every restaurant thinks they do the best one. This one is okay.”
“The bacalhau here is the best,” Luciano chides him.
Now, obviously this is my first time trying it, so I can’t say it’s the best, but when it comes it’s not what I expected. It’s very tasty, salted cod mixed with olives, shredded potatoes, eggs and green onion. I eat it all and I think Luciano looks impressed.
I take advantage of that and launch into the interview, which takes us past dessert and into the three of us sharing a bottle of white port. I’m feeling buzzy and happy, loving how relaxed everyone in Portugal is after a meal, with no rush to pay the bill and take off.
Luciano is a little more relaxed too. He answers my questions (though it helps that I keep them strictly about the game) and by the time we’re finishing up, he tells me that I can email him any time if I want to know more. He writes it down on the back of the restaurant’s matchbook and tosses it across the table at me. I catch it with one hand.
It’s then that a family comes into my line of sight, a little boy shuffling towards the table from the encouragement of his parents, his mother’s hands on his shoulders, guiding him. He stops in front of Luciano, who was just about to get up, and Luciano changes before my very eyes.
While he’s been nothing but kind to me, there’s been this underlying tension coming from him this whole time, making him much more serious than I had thought he’d be. But the minute he sees the little boy and crouches down to his level, talking to him in quick Portuguese, I see the Luciano everyone talks about. Charming, loose, affable.
He signs the boy’s notepad and then poses for a photo with him, then shakes the parents’ hands, happily talking to them for a few minutes before they go back to their dinner table.
After that, the three of us leave the restaurant, stepping into the cool night air.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Ruby,” Luciano says to me, rather abruptly.
“Going so soon?” Marco asks. “I thought perhaps we could go to a bar.”
“I’m tired. I think I’ll go home,” Luciano says.
“At least let me drop you off.”
Luciano waves him a way. “I’ve got a car waiting.”
He meets my eyes for a moment and gives me a faint smile before he turns and walks away.
And that’s when it hits me, why I’m so strangely drawn to him.
He wears a mask.
And so do I.
I just don’t know yet which part of his personality he tries to hide.
I know I’d like to find out.
Four
Luciano
“Motherfucker,” I swear.
“Sorry,” Damien says to me. “It’s a good pain, though.”
“Don’t tell me what good pain is,” I say through grinding teeth, wincing as he pushes at my shoulder blade. “Pain is pain.”
“As your physical therapist, that’s my job,” he says. “Good pain doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable, it means that some good will come out of it, yes?”
He pushes at my muscles again and I close my eyes, trying to breathe. Even though I know these sessions have been helping me, and that I’m close to being able to start full-on practice again, my appointments with Damien are the worst parts of the week. The man gets paid to hurt me while smiling about it. Sadistic fuck.
“There, done,” he says, and I slowly sit up on the table in the complex’s physio room. Sporting didn’t make it to the Primeira Liga finals, nor did we qualify for the Champions League, so everyone’s vacation has officially started. Of course, the entire team is depressed and the Sporting fans are angry since things have been going downhill for us for a while, but there are some people out there pinning the whole thing on me and my fucking shoulder.
To put it mildly, I can’t wait to get back in the game and see if they’re right.
And for this smiling asshole to stop causing me pain on purpose.
That said, I leave the physio session feeling better than I have in ages, and I get in my BMW, heading back into Lisbon. Perhaps Damien is right and all the pain is starting to be worth it. All I know is I can’t wait to get my life back on track. Being injured has really fucked with my head, more so than my body. I haven’t felt like myself in a really long time, which makes me realize how much of my identity and who I am as a person is wrapped up in this sport. It’s obvious now that without it, I’m not sure who I am.
I’m just pulling onto Avenida da Liberdade, the street where my apartment is located, when Marco ca
lls my cell. I answer it, putting him on speakerphone.
“Brother,” I greet him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane to Paris?”
“I’m at the airport,” he says, muffled noises in the background. “Listen, I was wondering if I could do you a favor.”
That’s a way of putting things. “You want to do me a favor?”
“Yes. Look. It’s about Ruby.”
I frown. Marco and Ruby have been dating for about a month now. After the interview she did, I guess she and Marco really hit it off. I suppose that was partly my fault since I suggested she stay in Lisbon longer on Marco’s behalf, but really I can’t take the credit. They went on a lot of dates, and suddenly it was more serious than I thought it would be.
See, Marco doesn’t have a lot of long-term girlfriends. Players like him usually don’t. But with Ruby, he seems to have slowed down just a little.
Can’t say I blame him, even though she’s not his usual type. While she’s absolutely gorgeous, deeply sexy, and fun to be around (okay, perhaps I need to rein it in a bit), she’s also living in a hostel and seems a bit lost in her life, like she went out with the tide and isn’t sure how to swim back in. Marco is usually attracted to those who already have a lot of success, models and the like. He likes people who are either going places, or have already arrived.
I suppose he sees that in Ruby, her potential to go places. I read the interview she did about me and she’s very good at what she does. I know Marco has told me a few times that her hopes and dreams are beyond her sports blog, that she wants to get in front of the camera. I think he thinks he can take her there. I’m sure he can, if that’s what they want.
That said, I’ve been around the two of them quite a bit. For whatever reason, Marco likes to invite me along on their dates. Personally, I think he likes the fact that it makes me feel like a third wheel, and he’s just showing off to me, because that’s what Marco does. There’s been a one-upmanship between us for as long he’s been in my life, among other things that makes our relationship complicated.
“What about Ruby?” I ask as I stop at a light, throngs of tourists crossing the road.
“She needs a job.”
I laugh. “Yeah. And?”
“You need a personal assistant.”
“I do not,” I tell him. He can’t be serious. “You’re my personal assistant, if anything.”
“I’m your agent. And your brother. But I am not your assistant. You need someone to help you get back on your feet. Hate to say it, Luciano, but you’re kind of a mess.”
He’s right, but even so it stings to hear him say it. My pride bristles.
“I’m fine. I just got back from physio. Even he thinks I’ll be back in no time. I feel better than I have in a long time.”
“I don’t mean you need help because you’re an invalid,” he says.
The light goes green and I almost gun the car too hard. I take in a deep breath. “I’m fine,” I repeat. “I do not need any help, and not from her.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
I skirt the issue. “Why are you trying to get her a job?”
He sighs. “I don’t think she has a lot of money.”
“Well, who comes to Europe indefinitely without a lot of money?”
“Young people.”
“You’re only a few years older than her.”
“Young people who want to travel and escape their lives,” he says. “But she belongs here, I know she does. And she’s running out of money, I know that too.”
“Then pay for her.”
“I do but…”
“She’s stubborn.” That much I gathered. I’ve watched many times as Marco tried to pay for her and she’s brushed the offer away. She’s got her pride, as much as I have mine.
“Yes. She’s stubborn.”
“She’s also bright and has a degree, I am sure she’ll get a job here as a waitress or whatever in no time.”
“She doesn’t speak any Portuguese and she doesn’t have a working visa.”
“Then hire her yourself. I’m sure you need the help.”
“I don’t,” he snaps, his turn to be defensive. It can be pretty touchy having your brother as your agent. “And I can’t. That will complicate things from an ethical standpoint.”
I burst out laughing. “Ethical? Since when was Marco Ribeiro ever ethical?”
Silence over the line. He sighs. “Right. I forget that my older brother is so fucking perfect.”
Whoa. Sore spot. “Hey, hey,” I tell him. “You’re an agent after all, don’t forget that. You can’t do your job and have morals, most of the time. Look, isn’t Ruby supposed to be going with you to Paris? Why don’t we discuss this when you get back.”
“She’s not coming.”
“What? Why not?”
“This is a boys trip, Luciano,” he says. “We’ll probably head down to Monaco after. She…wouldn’t fit in.”
Now I see.
“And,” he continues, “she’s standing outside your apartment right now.”
“What?!” I exclaim. My eyes dart ahead to my building and, sure enough, I think I can see the top of her dark hair outside the Versace store.
“Just talk to her, I’m sure you’ll find her something to do. Look, I gotta go Luciano, we’re boarding.”
And then he just hangs up on me and I’m trying not to drive the car into a tree.
Well, shit.
I take the car around the back of the building into the underground parking, then get out and go through the lobby, opening the door to the front entrance.
Ruby is standing there, talking to a homeless guy and handing him a pack of cigarettes.
“Ruby?” I ask.
She glances at me over her shoulder and shoots me a smile that makes me feel tight inside. “Oh hi,” she says. Then she looks back to the homeless man and gives him a wave. He walks off smiling, ripping open the cigarette package.
“What, uh, who was that?” I ask her, eying the man as he walks away.
“Oh I have no idea,” she says brightly.
I fold my arms across my chest. “And since when do you smoke?”
Briefly, her gaze drops to my arms and chest and I feel a strange twinge of pride. She shrugs. “Whenever I feel like it. I had decided maybe I’d take up smoking for a bit but then this guy asked me for a cigarette, so I gave him the whole package.”
I blink at her. Who just takes up smoking on a whim?
“Anyway, I decided that perhaps this was a sign from God that I shouldn’t smoke, so, whatever. I’ll find another vice. I always do.” She gives me a quick, borderline flirty smile.
I swallow, clear my throat.
“So, Marco said you wanted to speak to me,” I say. I want to hear her say it, not put ideas into her head.
“Well actually,” Ruby says, “your brother said you need a personal assistant and thought I would be great for the job.”
“Oh did he?” I sigh internally. How to handle this one. “And is that something you’re interested in?”
“Be around you all day and get paid for it? Of course.” Another wide smile that does something strange to my chest, making it hard to breathe. This is going to be an awful idea, isn’t it? Is this Marco’s plan? Does he know that I’m attracted to his girlfriend and wanted to make my life a living hell for a while?
Because, yeah, it’s no secret that Ruby has an effect on me. It’s nothing major, just that she’s ridiculously beautiful and sexy and intriguing. Anyone with eyes is attracted to her. I’m able to deal with it, I’m able to ignore it, most of the time, but having her in close proximity to me while he’s gone doesn’t exactly help.
That bastard knew what he was doing.
“Why don’t you come upstairs and we can talk about it,” I tell her, opening the door.
“Would love to,” she says, sashaying past me into the lobby. “I’ve never seen your place before.”
“It’s not as flashy as Marco’s,” I war
n her as we walk to the elevator. The building itself is modern, though it matches the surrounding buildings seamlessly. Marco’s place is by the river, all glass and steel, and way too big for him, but that’s the way he rolls. I’m the one with all the money, the one who pays his salary, but he likes to live like it’s the other way around.
“That’s fine with me,” she says as we step inside the elevator. “I always feel like I’m going to break one of his priceless statues. You know, I like a place where you can fuck against the wall and not worry that a million-dollar painting won’t smash to the floor.”
I stare at her, brows raised.
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “I guess it’s weird to hear me talking about sex with your brother.”
“Yes. Just a little.”
Fucking hell.
We get off on the top floor and walk down the hall to my apartment at the end. It may not be as big and flashy as my brother’s, but it still takes over half the floor.
I open the door and she walks in, looking impressed.
“Wow,” she says, going over to the glass doors that open to the balcony, a view that looks down on the leafy trees lining Avenida da Liberdade and the spire of Marquês de Pombal. “I have to say, I might like this view more. You can feel the beat of the city here.”
I close the door and she turns around, pointing at her black t-shirt with white writing on it. I’ve been trying my best not to read it since it would look like I’m staring at her breasts, which is also hard not to do.
“Snacks happen,” I read her shirt out loud.
She grins at me. “You got any?”
I blink. “Snacks?”
“Yup. I’m starving.”
I feel like I’m getting whiplash with our conversations.
I go into the kitchen and open the fridge, wondering what she’d want to eat. I stick to a very strict diet, even more so since I’ve been injured since I don’t want to put on any weight when I can’t work out like a beast like I normally do.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 5
