“What does this have to do with Ruby?”
“I’m going to take her with me. As my date.”
“Out of spite?”
He shrugs. “We’ll see.”
“Maybe you should let her know that.”
His head jerks back and he lets out a sharp laugh. “Let her know that the only reason I’m taking her is to annoy my father? Brother, you’ve got a cruel streak I didn’t know existed.”
I’m starting to get a headache. The beer was a bad idea.
I walk over to the sink and pour the rest of it down the drain.
“So, you’re not going to tell her you cheated on her, and you’re not going to tell her that you’re stringing her along until the gala.”
“I’m not stringing her along, Luciano. My god, you make me sound like such an ass.”
I’m glad my back is to him and he can’t see my expression.
“Anyway,” he goes on, “I can see you’re no fun, so I’m going to let you be and I’m going to go find Ruby. Make up for the lost time, if you know what I mean.”
“I always know what you mean,” I tell him, my voice stiff.
“Oh, and Luciano,” he says, pausing by the door. “You dropped Ruby off at the hostel last night, right?”
Is this a trick question?
“Yes,” I nod.
I don’t know why I’m lying, I know if I tell him she slept on the couch here he probably wouldn’t care, and he’d believe me that nothing happened.
And still, I lie.
“Thanks for taking care of her,” he says. “I mean it.”
And then he’s gone.
The moment the door closes I lean back against the fridge and put my head in my hands, taking in a deep breath. If he asks Ruby where she slept last night and she tells him the truth, this is going to look really bad.
This shouldn’t be so fucking complicated.
I shouldn’t feel like I’ve done something wrong when I haven’t.
But I do.
Eight
Ruby
“Ruby?” Marco knocks on the door. “You ready?”
I stare at myself in the mirror, turning around in the dress so I can see it again from all angles. It’s a strapless red dress, floor-length and extremely flattering to my curves. My breasts are getting quite the lift from it, like, almost up to my chin, but hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, and I’m going to need all the flaunting I can get tonight.
We’re going to this Primeira Liga awards ceremony tonight, and I’m stoked to say the least. First, I was shocked that Marco invited me, even though it was rather last minute. Then I was even more taken aback when he said he’d take me dress shopping. From looking at the pictures online of last year’s gala, I knew I didn’t have anything that would suffice, so Marco insisted he buy me a dress.
It was just as well. My bank account is creeping down with every day. I’ve started applying for jobs in Lisbon, like at touristy places and the internet cafes where I spend my time checking emails from Julie and Elena. Julie knows about my situation and says she’ll lend me some money, but I know she’s working incredibly hard at her internship in NYC, and I don’t want to feel like charity.
So far I’ve had no luck even getting an interview, but I haven’t given up yet. Sonia, who works the front desk at the hostel, says she might be able to get me a job at a hostel in Barcelona. Which would be perfect if I had any intention of going there soon. I know it was part of my original plan, but now that Marco is in the picture, I think I’m going to stay here in Lisbon until I absolutely have to go. It’s just a matter of what comes first—me running out of time on the visa, or me running out of money.
At least I made a bit when I was working for Luciano. It was a complete nonsense job and created for my benefit, I know that, and it made things so fucking weird between Luciano and I, but at least it helped keep me afloat for a little bit.
I haven’t seen Luciano for three weeks, but I’ll be seeing him tonight. The thought makes my stomach fizz with nerves. I take in a deep breath and open the bathroom door.
“Wow,” Marco says as I step out, his eyes glued to my chest. “I mean, wow.”
I just out my hips, hands in the air. “You like?”
“Very much so,” he says, coming over and wrapping his hands around my waist, putting his mouth at my neck. “In fact, I think perhaps we should call the whole thing off and stay here.”
I giggle. “No chance. You bought me this gorgeous dress, the least I can do is show it off.” He pulls back, eyes still locked on my cleavage. “You think it’s too much?”
He gives me a salacious grin. “Not even a little.”
I pull my hair up off my head, holding it into a top knot.
“Should I do my hair up or down?”
“Up,” he says. “No, down.”
I laugh “Okay, how about I compromise.”
I go back into the bathroom and pile half my hair on top of my head, leaving loose waves down, then do one more slick of red lipstick, and then we’re ready to go.
It’s not lost on me that Marco’s father said I looked like a whore in red lipstick. I don’t think he’s going to be there, but even so, cameras will be and I want to smile at each one while hanging onto Marco’s arm, a real fuck you to Tomás Ribeiro.
“Our ride is here,” Marco tells me as he glances at his phone, and we head down the stairs of his luxurious apartment building. He’s hired a driver for the event, and we’re picked up in a sleek black car, the driver stone-faced and silent.
“Where is the ceremony?” I ask Marco, as we pull away from his condo on the river.
“It’s being held in a former queen’s palace,” he says. “But first we have to pick up Luciano.”
I still. “What? Why?”
“Because he’s my ticket inside. Which means he’s your ticket inside.”
“You’re a sports agent…”
“I’m his agent. Until I get other clients. Which is why a night like tonight is so important for networking. Which reminds me, please do not take it personally if I’m not around much tonight. I have to use this evening to my advantage.”
Great. It’s going to be just like when I went with Luciano to the horse show. At least Marco is warning me ahead of time.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, noting my sour expression. “I’m sure my brother will keep you company.”
So, not only is Luciano going to get in the car with us, cramming me in the middle seat, but I’m supposed to hang around him all night like I need a babysitter? The last time I saw Luciano, things got very weird and awkward. Mainly my fault, but still it resulted in him basically firing me.
Which was probably for the best. I know, I’ve replayed that morning a lot in my head.
What happened.
How it happened.
How my honesty with him took things too far.
Made things too complicated.
The truth is…I don’t trust myself around Luciano. As much as I tell myself that I deserve Marco, that my feelings for Luciano are dangerous, there’s a pull to him that I can’t ignore. I fall into his dark eyes and I can’t seem to climb out. He makes me want to pull the mask off the both of us, let us sink in our flaws, open our wounds and see what good can come out of it.
He makes me feel less of a ghost, like I’m something tangible and real.
That scares me like nothing else.
“Are you okay?” Marco asks me, as the car comes to a stop outside Luciano’s place. His eyes are directed at my arms where I’ve been digging my fingernails in. I hadn’t even noticed.
I quickly rub at my arms and give him a half-smile. “I’m fine. I suppose I’m just nervous about the night.”
“Don’t be,” he says, just as I see Luciano leave his building and come around the car.
He opens the door, meeting my eyes for just a second, before sliding into the seat beside me. If he was surprised to see me here, he doesn’t show it.
The ener
gy in this tight space changes in an instant, the air feeling thick with tension, as I’m literally stuck between the Ribeiro brothers, Marco on one side, Luciano on the other.
I close my eyes briefly, breathing in the salt and pine scent of Luciano, feeling it hit differently this time. It’s intoxicating and saturated with everything I want and I’m not supposed to have.
I’ve missed him.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Luciano says to me, his voice low and smooth, sinking into my bones.
“I know,” I tell him. “Marco tells me you’ve been busy. How is your shoulder?”
I hate how I sound, I hate this fake little conversation.
“Better,” he says, moving it slightly against me. The motion causes my breasts to jiggle, but Luciano’s attention is out the window of the car, like he’s trying his hardest not to look at me at all.
Silence fills the car again. This is so fucking awkward.
“When does your practice start?” I ask feebly, just to say something.
“A couple of weeks.”
“Brother, please, please tell me you’ll have something to drink tonight,” Marco says, looking at Luciano over my head. “Because I can’t handle this moody, grumpy version of yourself.”
Luciano just grunts. I have to wonder how he’d be acting if I wasn’t here.
Fortunately, the palace where the event is held is in Lisbon’s core, not too far from Luciano’s apartment, and it’s not long until we’re pulling up outside, the street filled with cars and looky-loos trying to get a glimpse of what’s happening.
I’m glad as hell I took Marco up on the dress, because as he grabs my hand and helps me out of the car, we find ourselves on a red carpet that leads into the palace. Cameras are everywhere, flashbulbs going off.
Marco grabs me and we pose, even though I think I look like a deer caught in the headlights most of the time, my smile shaky. Of course, the moment Luciano appears, all the attention goes to him, with only a few people still bothering with Marco and me.
I look over my shoulder at Luciano who is working the red carpet like he’s on the pitch, totally comfortable and in control. He’s putting the charm on to the max, smiling widely, that smile that never fails to take my breath away. The transformation is incredible, from the silent brooding man in the car next to me, to this bona fide soccer star. He looks like he lives for these moments, even though I know it’s not true.
Though perhaps I don’t know him at all.
Marco pokes me hard in the side and I turn my attention back to him in surprise. He’s scowling, eyes darting over to Luciano before landing hard on me. “Smile,” he commands, then gives a cheesy grin at the one camera person left.
I paste on a smile and the flash goes off. The camera man then goes down the carpet to Luciano, taking pictures of him along with everyone else.
“Come on,” Marco says, wrapping his hand around mine and tugs me along until we’re walking inside the building. I feel like I’m his property right now from the way he’s handling me. Obviously, the fact that Luciano is getting all the love from the media is rankling him, but what does he expect? His brother is who he is.
“So, there are three bars on this level,” Marco says to me, once we’re in the middle of the room. “And I think there’s some food somewhere.” This room is ornately decorated with statues and pillars, the marble floor filled with stunning women in gowns and soccer players in suits, with beautiful gilded frescoes on the ceiling. Everyone is tanned and smiling and seems to know each other. These people are the elite of the entire country, the biggest celebrities you’ll get in Portugal. Even with my hair done and the expensive designer dress, I feel woefully out of place.
“Anyway, eat and drink as much you like, it’s all included,” he says to me, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “I see some people I need to talk to. I’ll come find you later.”
“Wait, what?” I ask as he starts to walk away. I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.
“I told you, you’d be alone for most of the night,” he says, sounding a little too annoyed for my liking.
“Yeah I know, but we literally just got here. I thought you’d at least introduce me to someone so I could have someone to talk to before you went off with all of y’all friends.”
“Ruby,” he says, shrugging out of my grasp. He smooths out his suit, giving me a stiff smile. “You talk to everyone and make friends everywhere you go. I’m sure you’ll be fine, so as long as you don’t say things like y’all.”
I blink at him. “What’s wrong with y’all?”
“It makes you sound like a…what do you call it? A redneck.”
“Excuse me?”
I’ve been saying that quite a bit since, you know, being Texan and all, and he’s never tried to correct my language before.
“And like I said, you know Luciano,” he adds. “He’s not up for any awards tonight so I’m sure he’ll be feeling down and out about that. Probably would want the company. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go.”
Then he turns on his heel and beelines it to a couple of guys standing in the corner, deep in conversation. I watch as he barrels on in, not even waiting for a lull in their talking, before he starts introducing himself.
I know that this is part of his job, but so far tonight has definitely highlighted that sleazy rep that agents get.
I sigh and look around. Occasionally someone will look my way, and then eye my cleavage with disdain, but in general people pass by me like I’m not here at all. No one looks friendly enough to approach, definitely no one that would think my use of “y’all” was endearing.
Then there’s Luciano. He’s walking inside now, being trailed by a camera or two, talking to a man that I think might be the owner of Sporting, I can’t tell. All my instincts tell me to go toward him, that even with all the weirdness that has passed between us, that he’s still a safe bet, a shelter in a storm. He’s at least the only person I know here other than Marco, and I know he doesn’t judge me.
But he looks busy, and besides that, I don’t think he wants to speak to me at all.
So I decide to suck up my loneliness and find one of the three bars. I don’t want to get as drunk as I did at the horse show, where I’m flirting with the bartender until he gives me bottles of champagne just to get me to go away, but I definitely need something to help my nerves and make this night bearable.
“Hey y’all,” I say to the two bartenders, really laying my accent on thick. “How’s your night going?”
The bartenders look at each other, brows raised. Then they look back at me, not amused.
I guess y’all is the least of my problems when I don’t speak Portuguese and they don’t speak English.
“Champagne, por favor,” I tell them.
They at least understand that, and I’m handed a flute of it.
I stand there, downing it all in a few long gulps, the bubbles a straight shot to my brain, then I hand them the glass back.
“Por favor,” I say, smiling. “More please.”
The bartender’s eyes go wide, but thankfully he obliges, filling up the glass again.
I decide to take this glass and mosey away, just in case they decide to kick me out or cut me off or something. I head down the corridors of the palace, poking my head in roped-off rooms, smiling politely at all the pretty people, then paying a visit to the other two bars.
Don’t get too drunk, is playing over and over in my head, but you know what else I can’t stop thinking about?
What Marco said to me. That he feared people would think I was a redneck, of all things. Just because I said y’all, I mean what the fuck? And that he didn’t care enough to keep my company. That he was showing me off like a trophy before casting me aside for bigger and better things.
Ever since he got back from his trip, things have been different between us. I thought that maybe it was because I’ve been different. After the way things ended with Luciano, I’ve been
feeling unmoored and lost and alone, like I’ve had no one in my corner. I’ve also been stressed out over money, even though I’ve tried my hardest not to show it around Marco, burying it. I don’t want him to think I’m anything but the person he wants me to be. I don’t want to be anything less than the perfect girlfriend.
I thought maybe he was pulling away because of all that, picking up on what a hot mess I secretly am. Now I’m not sure what it is. All I know is, I don’t like it. The only thing keeping my heart from being crushed right now is reminding myself that this was never meant to go anywhere, never meant to last, and I never got attached to Marco anyway, so why do I care?
But I do care. I care in a way I shouldn’t. I care because it reminds me of who I am and where I came from and what I wanted to leave behind.
I see him now, as I’m walking back into the main room, this time chatting very closely to a gorgeous girl with mile-high legs, stilettos heels and a big, white smile. I stare at him for a moment, hoping to catch his eye, but he doesn’t even look around him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pay me that much attention.
I sigh, straightening my shoulders and then heading toward the tables piled high with canapes and desserts. This feels like high school dances all over again, where people would busy themselves with food or drink so they didn’t feel bad about not having anyone to dance with. Except back then, I was ballsy enough to go after the guys I wanted and drag them onto the dance floor.
I’m not about to do that here.
I’m biting into a bolinhos de bacalhau when I feel a presence beside me. I know who it is before I even turn to look.
“Enjoying yourself?” Luciano asks.
I don’t know what it is about his voice tonight, this low, throaty, rough quality that makes me feel undone. I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself, remembering that I’m somewhat drunk and I need to stay in control this time.
I twist to look at him as he moves beside me, leaning over to grab a croquete. His shiny, wavy black hair is in my face, the back of his tanned neck right there, and I can practically feel the heat radiate off of him.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 10
