“Anyway,” he goes on, after he swallows down a sip of beer, “I don’t know what to say but…I think she’s the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”
My brows go to the sky. “It’s been a week, Marco.”
“So? I’ve been around. Sometimes you find the right person and you know. Has that really never happened to you?”
I can barely shake my head.
“That’s sad, Luciano. It really is.”
I give him a fake smile. “I’m okay with it.” I gulp my beer.
“I think I’m in love with her.”
I nearly spit out my drink.
“The fuck?” I cry out. “You’re not in love with her.”
“How do you know?”
“You just met her.”
He can’t be serious.
“I just met her again. She’s an ex. This is our second chance. Maybe I was in love with her back in the day and I didn’t know it.”
“No.” I push my finger into the table, leaning forward. “You knew you weren’t. You dumped her and bought her a fucking plane ticket to Barcelona!”
He frowns at me. “How did you know that?”
Well, fuck. “You told me,” I lie.
He shrugs, as if he figures he must have. “I know what I did, but I was young and stupid. Look, I’ve been fucked around a lot lately, Penelope’s divorce really did a number on me. You should be happy for me. As a brother, as a friend.”
I breathe in sharply, my hands clenching and unclenching under the table.
“I am happy,” I say carefully. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t be serious already…”
He sighs. “We’re not.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “She won’t even sleep with me.”
That makes me feel relieved, but… “It’s only been a week.”
“The girl I remember wouldn’t have waited.”
Oh. I want to punch him in the face, so fucking bad.
“Maybe she’s matured,” I say carefully. “Maybe she remembers what you did to her.”
He leans back in his chair and starts fiddling with the cufflinks on his suit jacket, a move that reminds me of my stepfather. “Maybe. But it’s been a long time. She should be over it.” Something comes over his eyes and he looks at me. “We should go on a date, like old times.”
“No.”
“Come on. I think you liked her, didn’t you?”
God, he has no idea.
“I’m not going to be your third wheel. Again.”
“Fine. Fine, but she’s at least going to interview you.”
“Marco,” I say sharply. “Stop with the interview bullshit. Why do you keep harping on that?”
“She’s doing really well now. She does sports reporting for a Finnish channel or something. She finally got to where she wanted to be.”
I have to admit, that piece of information warms me, just a little, like a lit match in a cold, dark room. “Good for her.”
“I just think it would be fun. It would bookend this whole thing. Like, this is how it started, and this is how it will end.”
“What’s ending?”
He shrugs. “Maybe my second wave of bachelorhood.”
I swallow, feeling like I have something in my throat. “And have you told her any of this, what you feel about her?”
“No. Absolutely not. Hey, I know I’m coming on strong. It’s a secret. Which means don’t tell her during your interview either.” He points his beer at me. “I’m watching you.”
I haven’t agreed to this interview yet.
But something tells me I’m not going to escape her now, no matter what I do.
She’s back in my life.
Except it’s not my life this time.
It’s my brother’s.
And if God has the wicked sense of humor that I think he does, he’s going to make sure she stays.
Twenty
Ruby
He hates me.
I mean, he really fucking hates me.
I always used to tell myself that indifference was worse than hate, because it meant that they didn’t care at all.
Turns out that’s not true at all. Hate is worse than indifference. I’d rather Luciano not care about me at all then to have his heart so bitter and angry. It just reminds me of what I did to him, even though he has no idea why I had to do it, and how hard it was on me.
The last seven years have been a whirlwind. The last place I thought I’d end up was Madrid.
But when it looked like Real Madrid was headed to the finals, and this was the first year of me doing my on-camera work for Ruutu+ Urheilu 2, the Finnish sports channel I sometimes work for, I told them I could get some interviews with the players. I hoped that if I could do this, maybe they’d try and get me on camera even more.
This was a big fucking deal and a big chance to cement myself. I mean, I had been doing everything I could over the years to try and get back into journalism, and when you have to work illegally, that’s an uphill battle. I started with my own YouTube channel, did as much freelance writing as I could. Because I had stayed in Helsinki for so long, became fluent in Finnish (now that’s a language) and spoke perfect English, and I guess have the looks for it, I slowly got my foot in the door.
Plus, I know what I’m talking about. I’m not just a pretty face on camera, in fact I get very emotional and angry when I’m watching the games or doing interviews, but I think the Finns like that for a change of pace from their usually straight-faced reporters.
I am only part-time, and I live in fear that they’ll change their mind. They’re paying me as a contractor, but I’m scared they’ll discover I’m not permitted to work for them. That’s why this trip was so important, a chance for me to prove myself and possibly have it so that they won’t ever let go of me.
So I came down, taking the ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm, driving down across the bridge to Denmark, then all the way down to Madrid. I told them I wanted to combine it with a vacation, and somehow I made the drive in two crazy days.
I got in touch with Marco and…
Well, history repeats itself, I guess.
And I already looked back on Marco as the safe bet. I knew I could again. Just to have someone I knew here, not to mention that he was my in when it came to Real Madrid.
I had fallen in love with someone who was the opposite of safe.
There’s no way I would go through that again.
And yet, here I am.
Walking through the streets of Madrid, about to meet Luciano for an interview.
I have no idea how Marco managed to swindle this. I mean, I looked deep into Luciano’s eyes the other night and I saw a man who only held coals inside his chest. And the worst thing about it is, I can’t blame him.
I can only blame myself.
Because I made that choice for myself back then.
I made the selfish choice.
And I’ve regretted it every single fucking day.
I should have told his stepfather to fuck off and get me deported.
Everything would have been better in the end.
I wouldn’t have had to carry so much goddamn guilt with me all these years.
I round the corner and glance down at my Google maps, trying to find the bar. It’s supposed to be at the edge of a plaza, but there are so many plazas in Madrid, it gets confusing.
It’s hot too. Summer is in full swing and I’ve got sweaty hands and chafing thighs and I’m wishing I’d worn shorts under my sundress.
I nervously pat my crossbody bag, the pad and paper in there because I’m weird and like to take notes old school, writing it down on my Nokia doesn’t cut it.
You can do this, Ruby. You’ve interviewed a lot of stars and big names by now.
I want to laugh at myself.
As if Luciano is just a big name.
He used to be the biggest and brightest star in my fucking sky.
I find the bar. It’s fairly empty, an old place with lots of wood and big tro
pical fans whirring on the ceiling. Totally a bar Luciano would pick.
And there he is, in the back in a small booth.
He’s staring at the menu, hasn’t seen me yet.
I take this moment to ground myself.
To give myself courage.
Patience.
To hold onto my own heart before it tries to make the leap.
Because it wants to.
We’re turning back our history, and suddenly I feel like I’m just walking into a bar back in Lisbon, that I’m going to go kiss his face, see his beautiful smile, feel the tenderness and fire in his gaze.
He looks like that man I knew.
Older, sure, but not much has changed except he has grey in his hair, and he’s rocking a beard.
That’s it.
He looks the same.
Maybe that’s what is throwing me off so much.
He’s changed so little on the outside and so much on the inside.
I take in a deep breath, bracing myself. I walk toward him.
He lowers the menu, glancing up at me over it, those gorgeous brown eyes glinting with risk.
I can’t get a read on him.
I just want him to smile at me.
I just wish he was happy to see me, that he wanted to see me.
“Hey,” I say to him. I try to sound light and breezy.
He immediately tenses, his fingers gripping the edge of the menu.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I tell him, sitting down and placing my purse next to me. I pick up the menu, my hands shaking just slightly, trying to busy myself.
But when I glance at him, he’s staring at my hands. He meets my eyes, brows lowered, gaze hard.
I force a smile. “This looks like a nice place.”
Okay, that’s three things I’ve said in a row, and he hasn’t said anything yet. This is probably going to go worse than I thought.
“Hey,” I tell him, placing my menu back down, staring him right in his dark brown eyes.
Fuck. I can’t even believe I’m looking at him.
“You don’t want to do this,” I tell him. “I know. Marco talked you into it. You couldn’t object too much, could you? You couldn’t because he’d wonder why the fuck you hate me so much.”
Luciano frowns. “I don’t hate you,” he says quietly.
I blink at him. “You don’t? Then what is this?” I gesture rapidly between us.
He raises a brow, a look I knew so well. “You have to ask?”
I close my eyes, trying to gather up my nerves before they scatter. “Look, Luciano.”
I’d forgotten how much I loved saying his name.
I breathe in deep, staring down at the menu without seeing it. Wondering how to navigate this. “We don’t have to do this interview. I can leave. I can go back to Helsinki.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Another swipe.
God, I want to tell him.
I want to tell him what his stepfather did.
I want to tell him that I had to make an impossible choice, and that I chose wrong.
I want to tell him everything.
Just then the waiter comes by and takes our drink order. Luciano gets a beer, I get a glass of sangria.
“I deserve that,” I say quietly, after the waiter leaves.
“You didn’t even contact me,” he says, his voice sounding broken, the pieces sharp and cutting. “Seven years and you didn’t even…”
“I should have. I know I should have. I wanted to so much, you don’t understand. But I couldn’t.”
He gives me an exasperated look, shaking his head. “You couldn’t? Really? You couldn’t? That’s all you’ve got?”
“All I have is the truth.”
“The truth? I know your truth, Ruby. That you got scared. I came on too strong and you got scared and you ran away like you said you always did.”
“All wrong.”
“How the fuck is that wrong?”
“I wasn’t scared of you.”
He stares at me, his eyes searching mine, and I know if I’m not careful it’s all going to come out and it’s going to change everything.
“What were you scared of?” he asks. “Yourself?”
I don’t answer.
“You left in the middle of my fucking game, Ruby. I noticed. I looked up and you were gone. What had you so scared that you decided that you just couldn’t deal anymore with me? Was it because I was losing? Was that it?”
I put my elbows on the table, my face in my hands, let my hair fall over me. God, that’s what he thinks? He thinks I left him because he lost? Like he wasn’t good enough anymore?
“Why are you here, Ruby?” he asks. “Why now?”
“Believe it or not, I came to cover Real Madrid for my network. I would have gone to Istanbul to cover the final but…well, if I went, I’d never be allowed back in the EU.”
“Jesus Cristo,” he swears. “You’re still here illegally.”
I look up at him through my hair, giving him a deadly look. “Please don’t announce that.”
“Why the hell haven’t you gone home?”
“You know why.”
“You’ve been gone for nine years.” I hear the disbelief in his voice. He doesn’t understand. I thought he would have.
“I can’t ever go back,” I tell him. “I made my choice. I had my chance.”
“What about your parents? Your mom?”
“She’s dead.”
He stills, eyes soften. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s okay. I…I, uh, I know I couldn’t have done anything. She overdosed again and…yeah, the prison system just doesn’t care. They want you out. You die, you make room.”
Luciano reaches out and puts his hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze.
The feel of his warm skin against mine pulls me back in time. It brings me back to when touching him was second nature, when we used our bodies to communicate.
God, I miss him.
I miss so much.
“I’m really sorry. I know how hard that must have been.” He gives my hand another squeeze and then pulls it away.
I feel hollow already.
I nod. “It was. And it was my fault that I didn’t see her before she died.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. There isn’t anything to say. Because it’s true.
If I had been deported when Tomás threatened me with it, I could have seen my mother before she died. Perhaps I could have prevented it somehow. Seeing her was always so hard, especially when she didn’t look or act like my mother, but sometimes I think that maybe she kept doing drugs because she missed her daughter. Maybe that’s what killed her.
It kills me to think about it.
I take in a ragged breath. “What about you? Marco told me about your mother. That sounded so rough.”
He nods, scratching his beard. “It was.”
“But she beat it. And you and Marco seem so much closer now.”
The waiter comes by and gives us our drinks. Luciano has a sip of his beer before he says, “We are closer.” He pauses, licking his lips, meeting my eyes. “Why are you with him, Ruby?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Shrug. “Safer bet.”
“Than?”
“Than you.”
He stares at me for a moment.
I shouldn’t have said that.
There’s so much torment and frustration in his gaze, it gives off heat. “Do you know how this feels?” he finally asks, his voice breaking. “Do you? Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself, do you ever put yourself in their shoes? Are you even capable of that?”
That does it.
Tears rush to the back of my throat, my lungs growing tight.
I get to my feet, grab my purse and start walking fast out of the restaurant, trying desperately to hold back my tears. I haven’t cried in front of him this time, and I’m not about to start.
&nbs
p; Of course, I don’t know where I’m going. I’m just wandering around in the heat with blurry vision, stumbling across the cobblestones, and I’m reminded of something I said to him once, that if we’re all lost and stumbling, I wanted to be lost and stumbling with him.
Suddenly I feel a hand at my arm, pulling me to a stop with a strong grip.
“What’s happening?” Luciano yells at me, turning me around to face him. “Why are you running again?”
I look around, my hands at my mouth, shaking. We’re in the middle of the small square, some people staring at us as they pass by.
“Ruby,” he repeats.
I just shake my head, the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Shit.
Shit.
I try to turn away, to look away, but now he’s grabbing my other arm, pulling me around so I have to face him. “Ruby. Ruby. I’m sorry. Okay? I didn’t mean to say that.”
I know he meant to say it. The worst part is that I can’t blame him.
“I know how it feels,” I manage to say, my words thick with tears. “I know how it feels.”
“Do you? I spent years wondering what happened to you, years worried about you,” he says, nearly yelling now. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”
“Why does it matter?”
He processes that, eyes blinking hard. “It matters, okay?”
“What do you want from me?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I just wanted an interview,” I say meekly.
He lets go of my arms all at once. “That’s it? Just an interview?”
I shake my head.
Because the lies are wearing me down.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Oh you did? So, you thought dating my brother would be the way to go about that. Again.”
“It’s not serious. I haven’t even slept with him.”
“You’re planning on it.”
I give Luciano a look. “He’s supposed to get me closer to you. I just thought a few dates would be…easy. I need a friend, okay?”
“That safe fucking bet again, huh?” I can tell he wants to say something else, but he swallows it down, his jaw clenched.
“Well I knew you hated me!”
“How can I not?” he yells, arms going out. “You broke my fucking heart, Ruby! I fell in love with you. I was in love with you and you tore it all to pieces!”
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 25
