My hands go to my chest, as if to keep in my own heart.
I didn’t know.
How could I have known?
“Luciano,” I whisper, my words broken and bare. I try to reach for him, but he shrugs out of my grasp.
“This was a mistake,” he says, hands going into his hair. “Meeting with you was a mistake. I knew it. I knew I was setting myself up for a big dose of mindfuckery, or however you say it.”
I stare at him, numb.
“I didn’t know you loved me,” I say softly, my heart making leaps and bounds inside my chest. It wants to soar. It wants to soar so high.
“What difference would that have made, huh?” he says, turning his back to me.
Maybe it would have. Maybe I would have made the right choice, knowing I had his love. But I can’t say that. I can’t put the blame on him, as if his admittance would have changed our fate.
I clear my throat. Take the plunge. “What if I told you that I loved you?”
He stops moving. His hands come off from his head. Slowly looks over his shoulder to look at me, his expression torn. “Why would you even tell me that now?” he cries out softly.
“Because you deserve to know the truth.”
He looks up at the sky, shaking his head. “So much talk of the truth, such little truth to be seen.”
“I loved you,” I whisper. “That’s my truth.”
He whips around, his face crumbling. “How could that be true when you left me?!” he booms, words breaking into shards as he slams his fist into his chest. “You left me! How could you say you were in love with me and do that?! Tell me how! Tell me why!”
“He made me!” I scream, the truth ripping right out of me before I have a chance to put it back. “Your stepfather made me!”
Luciano’s face pales like I’ve just slapped him.
His mouth opens. He blinks.
“What?” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.
I close my eyes, breathing in deep.
It’s time. Now it’s time. Let this burden go.
When I open my eyes again, Luciano looks a little unsteady on his feet, his gaze locked to mine, holding me in place.
“Your stepfather made me leave you,” I say through a ragged breath. “He was at the game. I ran into him. I…I did something really fucking stupid. Really stupid.” I press my fingers at my temple as if that will rewind it all. “I fucked up. I saw him and I was so mad, I was so goddamn mad over what he said to you, how he treated you, that he called me a whore I…”
I trail off, swallow the tears in my throat. My heart is thumping so hard I can feel it in my eyes.
“Ruby,” he whispers. “What did you do?”
I moan, my face in my hands. This is the part where I realize it was all my fault all along.
“I threw a beer in his face.”
“What!?”
My hands fall away. I stare at the bewildered expression on his face, the line between his brows becoming a chasm. “I threw two beers in his face and told him what an asshole he was. I couldn’t help it. I hated him so so much. Then I ran away. I ran back up into the stands to be with Elena and then we left early. We left the game early hoping to get out, just in case he was waiting for me, just in case he called the police or something.”
Luciano looks absolutely wild. I watch him swallow, eyes wide. “And?”
“There was a security guard waiting for me. Your stepfather was there too. I guess I made a bigger impression than I thought.” I glance at him. He is glued to my words, breathing hard. “I guess I forgot to tell you what else I told him. I told him I was in love with you.”
His eyes fall closed. “Ruby…”
“I told him I was in love with you and that you were the bigger, better man.” Tears are starting to pool in my eyes again. I sniff. “I told him that because it’s all true. But it was too much for him. I poked the bear. He knew I was there illegally. He threatened to have me deported.”
Luciano shakes his head, just barely. Eyes still closed. “No,” he whispers fervently. “No.”
“He gave me a choice. He said I could leave and never come back to Lisbon. Leave you behind. Never tell you the truth.” I exhale shakily. “Or he would call the authorities and I would be deported back to the US. I had a choice and right there and then I had to make that choice and I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry Luciano, that I made the wrong choice. I should have gone back to the US, I should have told you what happened. I would have seen my mother. I could have kept in contact with you.”
He opens his eyes. They’re glistening with so much anger and agony as he stares right into my goddamn soul.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” he asks softly. He sounds so broken.
“Because I didn’t want to,” I admit. “I wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted to tell you I loved you and I would have never ever left you if I didn’t have to. But if I told you about what your stepfather did…I was so afraid of what would happen to you. I was so afraid it would break your relationship in two, for good. That it would make things worse for you after that. I didn’t want to ruin your life, Luciano. And I have prayed that maybe my leaving was something you would understand and that you’d get over.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth and looks away, a fist flexing at his side.
“I never got over you,” he says roughly.
It hurts. It hurts to know how much I’ve hurt him, and yet there’s something inside me changing, like my heart is swelling and swelling, begging to become whole again.
“Do you hear me?” he says, taking two steps toward me until he’s right here in front of me and all I see is him, this wall of man, the man I used to know, used to love, the man I could so easily love again. “I never got over you.”
I raise my face to meet his eyes. Eyes brimming with pain, fixated on my mouth.
Kiss me, the thought snakes across my brain in an arc of fire. Please kiss me.
“I never got over you either,” I manage to say.
The intensity in his eyes makes my stomach drop, and I’m doing everything I can not to reach out to him, hold him, touch him, even though his head is inching closer to mine with each breath he takes.
The gap between us closes.
His face, inches from mine, enough that I can see the threads of auburn in his brown eyes, enough that I’m engulfed in his smell, his heat, his presence, his everything.
“Ruby…” he says, his tongue running along his bottom lip, and now I’m staring at his mouth, wishing he would consume me. That livewire of tension crackles between us again, just as it always did, and I want to cut that cord with a kiss, let the sparks fly.
But his eyes pinch closed and he suddenly moves back. “I have to go.”
He turns around and starts walking off across the square, and now I’m having déjà vu.
I quickly run after him. “Where are you going?”
He keeps walking, the look in his eyes is one of pure vengeance. “I have some shit I need to figure out.”
I reach out and grab his arm, trying in vain to pull him to a stop, but the man is such a fucking beast he won’t slow down.
“Luciano, please,” I cry out. “Please stop, please talk to me.”
“We’ve done enough talking.”
I give him one last tug and then I give up.
He walks away.
“Luciano!” I yell after him.
He doesn’t turn around.
Twenty-One
Luciano
“You know there’s such a thing as a vacation, captain,” Alejo calls out as he steps onto the pitch, dropping his bag of gear on the ground.
I give him a half-smile, the most that I can muster. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep our skills up.”
He walks over to me, ball in his hand, looking around him. “It’s just us here?”
We’re at Valdebebas, Real Madrid’s state-of-the-art training ground where we spend most of our days. Except now, everyone is
supposed to be on vacation for the summer until we start regular practices in August. It’s not unusual for any of us to come here to stay in shape in the meantime, but we normally come by ourselves, since most of the team is scattered around.
“Guess I needed someone to talk to,” I tell him.
“I figured as much.”
He tosses the ball toward me and I bump it up with my thigh. We pass the ball back and forth like this for a while, using our legs, heads, shoulders to keep it going. Alejo waits patiently for me to come out with it, but I’m still trying to make sense of things without getting impossibly angry. I figure working with the ball, practicing control, will keep me centered.
Finally, I say, “I saw Ruby the other day.”
“Ah,” he says with a knowing smirk. “I knew it.”
“Not like that,” I tell him. “She met me at a bar, to interview me.”
“And you were okay with that?” he asks, twisting to kick the ball up with his ankle.
“The interview? No. But Marco asked me,” I say, hitting it back with my shin.
“So, are they serious?”
“They’ve been together a week.”
“Ah,” he says, bouncing the ball off the top of his head.
I do the same. “He says he’s in love with her.”
“What?!” Alejo exclaims, and he misses the ball. It bounces away. He goes to pick it up, throwing it at me. “Is she in love with him?”
I shake my head. “No. She hasn’t even slept with him yet. I mean, this time around.”
“How do you know that?”
“They both told me.”
“What a fucked up complicated web you Ribeiros weave.”
“Understatement of the year, Alejo.”
“So, you met her and she told you this. Obviously you guys are speaking, well, intimately.”
I swallow hard, catching the ball with my hands and holding it to my chest, my fingers pressing into it. “She told me why she left me.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
Anger starts swirling through my veins, clouding my thoughts, and I start to spin the ball in my hands, over and over, trying to dissipate it. I stare down at the whirl of black and white, and suddenly it’s like I’m back in that plaza with Ruby, when she told me the truth.
The motherfucking truth.
That she loved me.
Maybe not now but she did.
She did.
She loved me and she never would have left me if it wasn’t for my stepfather.
I’ never wanted to kill someone with my bare hands until that moment.
He ruined both of our lives, kept us apart for no reason other than hate.
“My stepfather found out about us,” I tell him. “Well, first she threw some beer in his face and told him she loved me. Then he found out about us.”
“Holy fuck. She’s got some pretty big balls.”
“Yeah. She does. It doesn’t surprise me, though. She’s always been a bit reckless.” My thoughts go back to her standing on that cliff, her black hair whipping around her. “But I never thought she’d do that.”
“So then what happened?”
“Then he threatened to get her deported. She’s here illegally. Still fucking is. It was either she get kicked out of Europe and sent back to America, or she leave Lisbon and never talk to me again.”
“Are you serious?”
I nod grimly. “I’ve told you about my stepfather before.”
“I know you have, but you said your relationship was getting better.”
“It was.” I flex my fingers on the ball and throw it at him. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
He catches it. “You have to talk to him about it.”
“Do I? I think I’ll fucking kill him.”
“This is in the past, Luciano. People change.”
“No, he doesn’t change. The only reason why he’s started being nicer to me over the years is…fuck, I don’t know.”
“Because of the scare with your mother. Because that can change people. Why don’t you call him and tell him what you know?”
“I don’t even have to call him,” I say with a sigh. “He’s coming to Madrid tomorrow.”
“What, why?”
“He wanted to talk to Marco about something in person. Some sort of business venture, I don’t know. They’ve got their own shit to work on.”
“So tell him in person.”
I give Alejo a hard look. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to kill him. Alejo, he fucked up my life.”
Alejo gestures to the training complex. “Did he? After Ruby left, you got transferred here. You’re the captain of a team that’s consistently winning. You just won the goddamn cup a week ago. Your life isn’t fucked up. Your life is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”
“I lost the woman I loved.”
“But you didn’t. She’s here right now, Luciano. Don’t you believe in fate?”
I think back to seeing her that first day back in Lisbon for the interview, that immediate connection we had. I think back to when I saw her again two years later, dancing alone on the dance floor, eyes closed. I think back to when she showed up last week on Marco’s arm.
Do I believe in fate?
I don’t know.
But I know fate believes in me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “She’s here and it’s the same old complicated song and dance, except the difference this time is,” I pause, “Marco thinks he’s in love with her.”
“Who cares about Marco. Are you in love with her?” he asks. “Still?”
I give him a sad smile. “Am I still in love with her? Alejo, I want to marry her. I want to have children with her. I know I’ve said before that I wasn’t interested in those things, but I’ve spent seven years trying to figure out what I wanted in life, and I’ve only figured it out in the last few days.”
He grins at me, spinning the ball around on his fingertip. “Then you know what you’ve got to do. You need to tell her, you need to tell your brother, your stepfather.”
I close my eyes, my stomach sinking with dread.
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” I ask quietly.
“Then at least you know,” he says. “At least this time you will know.”
I nod, open my eyes, watching the ball as he bounces it from hand to hand.
“Do you mind if we cut the practice short?” I ask him.
“I’ll let it slide this time,” Alejo says with a wink.
I pat him on the back affectionately and then I’m off.
* * *
I feel like I’m running out of time, like if I don’t act fast, she’ll slip through my fingers again. I change out of my practice gear into jeans and a t-shirt in record time, and then I hurry to my Audi in the parking lot. The first thing I need to do is talk to Ruby. I need to sort this shit out with her and find out where she stands. If she still wants me, let alone still loves me. Then, and only then, do I need to talk to Marco.
The only problem is, I don’t have Ruby’s number now. I would have to call Marco and ask, and I’m afraid it would seem weird after I’ve been so harsh about her.
Then I wonder if maybe she never changed her number after all. Maybe she just ignored all my old calls and texts into infinity.
I sit in my car and start going through my phone, wondering if all my numbers transferred over throughout all the iPhones I’ve had over the years.
And there she is.
Ruby.
I never deleted her.
She’s always been there.
I text the number: Ruby?
I wait, expecting to get someone else, telling me I have the wrong number.
A green message appears.
Yes?
My heart drops.
With shaking hands I text her: It’s Luciano. I need to talk to you. Are you alone?
I imagine she’s using her Finnish Nokia, so I d
on’t see any of the text bubbles while I’m waiting. It’s torturous.
Then it appears.
Come to my AirB&B. 19 Calle de la Aduana. Buzz 4.
I punch it into my phone and it routes to me Puerta del Sol.
I text back: On my way.
I start the car and speed out of the parking lot, past the guards and the gates until I’m on the motorway zipping toward Madrid. I don’t think I’ve ever driven so fast in my life, overtaking everyone, going far above the speed limit. If I were to get caught I would get in big shit, they love to drag celebrities here when they’ve done something wrong. But luck is on my side today.
Once in the city core I have to slow down, but I make it to her building fast enough. I find parking and then I’m running to her door, my finger jabbing the number for her apartment.
“Luciano?” she asks, her voice crackly through the intercom.
I close my eyes at the sound of her voice, try to steady my breathing. “Yes. It’s me.”
The door buzzes.
I step through.
There are only two apartments on the main floor, so I run up the steps two at a time until I’m on the second floor, heading to the door with number 4 on it.
It’s closed.
I raise my hand ready to knock, my heart nearly bursting out of my chest, all the cells in my body vibrating and on edge.
The door opens before I get a chance to knock.
Ruby stands on the other side, dressed in a sleeveless floral sundress, her hair damp and braided to the side. No makeup, no lipstick.
The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Our eyes meet.
Time stands still.
Everything we’ve never said passes between us.
“Hi,” she says to me.
“Hi,” I say back.
Then I kick the door shut and lunge forward, grabbing her face in my hands while her fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt, and I’m kissing her. I’m kissing her with fire and sorrow and love and sunshine, all these years coursing through my veins, lighting me ablaze, pouring out from my lips straight to her soul.
She cries out softly against my mouth, her hands wild, trying to hold me tighter. My hands slip back from her face, into her hair, messing up her braid, and we’re stumbling and turning until she backs up against a wall.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 26
