“Your hair is straight,” he says after a moment.
I stare at his large hands on the steering wheel, briefly wondering what they would feel like on my hips. I swallow the thoughts down.
“Your powers of observation astound me.”
He shakes his head, giving me a crooked smile as he stares out at the street ahead. When Luciano gives you his full-on smile, you feel like you’ve won the lottery.
The piano notes of Adele’s “Someone Like You” comes on the radio and I lean over and turn up the volume. “I love this song!” I exclaim. I’ve heard it so many times since I’ve been in Europe that it’s starting to feel like a theme song.
“She’s a talented singer,” he admits. “Seems she came out of nowhere.”
“No one just comes out of nowhere. She actually had an album before this one.”
“You came out nowhere,” he says, glancing at me. “Least that’s what it feels like.”
I think about that for a moment and then say, “Are you ready for Ruby Karaoke?”
Luciano laughs, shaking his head. “No. I’m not.”
“Too bad,” I tell him, turning up the music even louder and taking in a deep breath, waiting for my favorite part.
“Don't forget me, I beg!” I belt my heart out, throwing myself back and partly over Luciano. “I remember you said, sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.”
Okay, I’m a horrible singer, which means I play my awfulness up as a joke and it’s got Luciano laughing even harder now. His laughter is like a fucking tonic to my soul, I swear.
“So,” I say after a few moments, when I’ve got my American Idol audition out of my system, “tell me about this event we’re going to.”
“You’re the one who reminded me.”
“I tell you about things all the time in which I have no idea what they’re about. But this one, I’m going to.” I glance down at my clothes and then at him. “And I have no clue if I’m dressed properly.”
His eyes coast over my body and he looks away before I have a chance to read into them. “You look fine.”
“Before you said I looked good. This is a downgrade.”
He gives me a wry look and for a moment I’m lost in the depths of his dark eyes. “You look better than good. But if I were to give you anymore compliments, I’m afraid I’d make Marco look bad.”
“Maybe I need to hear them since he’s gone.”
He gives me a stiff smile. “Maybe.”
“So where are we going? Is this the stables you grew up at?”
He licks his lips for a moment, his posture tensing. “Ruby, you’re the journalist here. You know where I grew up.”
I nod slowly, remembering. “Of course. Boarding school.”
“Yes. This is the stables Marco grew up in. I spent my summers there.”
Right. A sore subject, even when I’m not interviewing him.
“And,” he goes on, “this is a horse show that my father puts on every year. It’s just a chance to show off his breeding, that’s all.”
“Are there any riding competitions or is it just showmanship?”
He glances at me, his black brows furrowed. “You do know your horses. Did you used to ride?”
My heart drops in my chest, the way it does when I think about riding. When I think about Billie. When I think about that day.
I nod. “Yeah. A little.”
“Would you like to go riding with me today?”
I stare at him wide-eyed, feeling faint panic course through me. “I don’t…I don’t think so.”
“It would be fine. I have a horse, I’m sure we’ll find you one. Someone gentle and easy. I know just the mare, she’s the sweetest one we have.”
“No,” I say sharply.
Puzzlement comes across his face. He slowly nods. “Okay. No problem.”
I sigh and sink back into my seat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all shrill.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” I tell him. “I just…I used to ride all the time and I had to give it up for soccer. I didn’t want to risk injuring myself and losing my scholarship to college.”
“What a minute,” he says, looking between me and the road. “You played soccer? Competitively?”
“Yeah. I did. And I was pretty fucking good.”
“Marco never told me that.”
“Marco doesn’t know.”
Now he’s looking at me like I have two heads. “How can he not know that, Ruby? You’ve been dating for a month.”
My cheeks feel hot. I suck in my lip, trying to ignore the sharp edge in my chest, the fact that Marco should know this about me, and yet doesn’t.
“He’s never asked.”
“And you’ve never once said, hey I know you’re an agent for your brother who is a professional player, and did you know I once played the game too?”
“It’s never come up,” I say quickly.
“What do you guys even talk about then?”
I give him a steady look, the one that says, we don’t talk, we just screw.
He gets it. He nods, realization on his face. His hands tighten on the wheel.
I look away, at the passing buildings, blue and white tiles turning into a blur. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s in my past and that’s all over now. That’s why I’m a journalist. I cover the sport, I don’t play it.”
“Why did you stop?”
“You know that scar I have on my leg?” I’ve worn shorts around him, I know he’s seen it, even if he’s never asked me about it.
“Yes.”
“That was from my bone shattering into pieces when a two-thousand-pound horse landed on it.”
Luciano is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m the one who fucked things up for myself. I wasn’t supposed to ride anymore. They told me I couldn’t. And yet I decided to do it anyway, because that’s what I do. I fuck things up for myself. I do what I’m not supposed to. And every time I do, it ends up worse than before.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, though I can see the wheels turning in his head.
I don’t want to bum him out or anything but, at the same time, I feel like he wouldn’t think less of me. Like he gives me space to be who I need to be.
“How old were you?” he finally asks, his voice low, quiet.
“I was nineteen. Just a few years ago. Second year of college. I told my friend Julie I wanted to go riding. I hadn’t been in so long and it was driving me crazy not being able to do it. She took me to her grandparents’ ranch and we were out on the trails, in the hills, and we got caught in a rainstorm. My horse slipped and I was crushed. The horse ended up being fine, but I wasn’t. I’m still not, you know. Because I had my dream life, I had my soccer, I was one of the best on my team and I was helping them win and I decided that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted everything. I wanted it all. So, I ended up losing both things in the end.” I let out a dry laugh. “That’s probably a metaphor for my life. Never satisfied, so in the end I have nothing.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he says after a moment.
“Why not? Everyone else is. All my father wanted for me was to get into college and compete. That’s what I was trained to do since I was young. That’s what he liked about me, the fact that I won, the fact that I was good and I had an identity and I was normal and someone he could be proud of, nothing at all like my mother. He was so afraid I was going to be like her, that I’d be drunk and on drugs and just useless white trash, and all I had was that game, all I had was that game to keep his love and respect and I lost it all. I lost everything.”
The words pour out of me and tears burn behind my eyes. I don’t cry. I don’t ever cry. I cried for too long after the injury, I cried for too long when my mother was taken away, I don’t want to cry anymore, I don’t want to be that person.
So I dig my fingernails into the flesh on my arms until I focus o
n the pain, and I try to keep my tears back, try to stay in control.
But Luciano reaches over, his warm fingers wrapping around my wrist, and he pulls my hand away from my arm where my nails have drawn blood. He takes my hand in his and holds it tightly.
I can barely swallow, my heart thumping hard against my ribs. I should take my hand out of his, but I don’t want to. I can’t. He’s saving me from myself somehow.
“Ruby,” Luciano says gently, and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling the car over to the side of the busy road and flicking on his hazard lights. He twists in his seat to face me, putting his other hand underneath our joined ones. “We can turn around.”
I blink back the tears and shake my head. “No,” I slowly said, my voice sounding rough. “No. I’m fine.”
His deep brown eyes bore into mine, and they see everything.
“I mean, I’m not fine,” I add. “But I will be fine. I don’t think I’ll be riding any horses again, but I’m not afraid to be around them. I want to go to the show. I want to meet your stepfather.”
At that, darkness washes over him. “No, you don’t.”
“Why not?”
He stares at me and the silence and tension in the car hums. Then he says, “It doesn’t matter. He’ll be fine with you.”
“He’s not with you?”
He chews on his lower lip for a moment, and then looks down at our hands intertwined. “Let’s just say I can relate to everything you just said.”
“Marco speaks so highly of him.”
I said the wrong thing. Luciano lets go of my hand and straightens up. “Marco has no reason not to.”
He puts his hands on the steering wheel where they grip the leather tightly for a moment, then release. I stare down at my own hand, wishing he was still holding it. You never realize the moments in which you feel safe until they’re taken away.
“I want to go,” I tell him. “I really do.”
“Are you sure? I can just drop you off. It’s not a big deal.”
“You said you didn’t want to go alone.”
“I’m a big boy,” he says. “I can handle it. Believe me.”
I believe him, of course. But I know what that text said. And even if he’s playing it off, I don’t want to do that to him. Like I told him, being around horses doesn’t bother me, as long as I don’t have to get on one. Besides, it’s been a long time. Maybe I’ll feel differently.
“I bet you’re a big boy,” I say teasingly. “I’ve heard the rumors.”
A flush comes over his cheeks and he gives me a dry look, like really Ruby?
But hey, it’s taking his mind off of things. A little innuendo can go a long way.
“Come on,” I say, patting the dash. “Let’s go. I’ll start singing Adele again if you don’t.”
Finally, a genuine smile. The one that makes you feel like a winner.
“Okay,” he says.
We drive.
Six
Luciano
The drive to my stepfather’s stables is about an hour, including traffic, located in the rolling hills of the Malveira region. It’s a place that comes with a lot of complicated feelings, and every time I go, I never know which one is going to take precedent.
Right now, I have Ruby to distract me. So much so, that I’m not really thinking about my stepfather or being paraded in public like I’m also on show.
I’m thinking about what she said.
The truth that poured out of her like blood from a wound.
The look of fear in her eyes.
Not because of a horse.
Because of her father.
Because I know that look so well.
Since I first met Ruby, she’s always come across as a free spirit, a tough girl, someone strong without a care in the world, going where the wind takes her. I know that’s how my brother sees her. But beneath that façade, I recognized her soft soul. That there were deep wounded parts of her she’d do anything to keep buried.
She showed me some of those dark parts today. She let me in for reasons I don’t understand. The only thing I do understand is that she’s not at all like she wants the world to see.
And I’m the only person who sees it.
But I don’t think any less of her, I think more of her.
And I want to protect her.
I spent most of the drive wondering if it was the right thing, bringing her to the Ribeiro Stables, but thankfully she seems fine as we pull into the driveway and I find a parking spot.
Meanwhile, I have to think about myself.
No matter what my father says to me today, I have to remember who I am and what I’m worth and that he has no say in that.
I also have to remember that Ruby is Marco’s girlfriend.
Not my girlfriend, not even close.
I know my father will be watching closely.
We step out of the car.
It’s hotter here than in Lisbon, and my suit already feels stifling. I really don’t know how Marco wears one all the time.
“Wow this place is stunning,” she says as she looks around, mouth open.
It’s busy. There are horse trailers everywhere and people running around and a crowd gathered around one of the larger rings in the distance. Lusitano horses are being led to and fro by stable hands, as others are being ridden. There’s media here of course, because these events are a big deal in Portugal, and my father prides himself on breeding the best horses in the country.
I don’t spot my father, but a movement near the house catches my eye. It’s my mother, dressed in a long black and white dress, her greying hair piled high in a bun.
“Luciano,” she calls out to me, smiling broadly.
“Mama,” I say to her as she pulls me into a warm embrace, kissing both my cheeks.
“Como é que estás?” she asks me. Then she glances at Ruby in surprise. “Quem é?”
“This is Marco’s girlfriend, Ruby,” I tell her.
My mother frowns at Ruby and then looks to me in confusion. “Your brother never told me he had a girlfriend,” she says to me in Portuguese. “And why is she here with you?”
I don’t think Ruby would like to know the translation.
“Ruby started working for me,” I say in English. “She’s helping out while Marco is on his ever-extended vacation.”
“Oh, but you know Marco deserves it, he works so hard,” she says to me, still not speaking English.
“Prazer em conhecê-la,” Ruby says, surprising the both of us. Her pronunciation isn’t perfect, but still she has the cadence of Portuguese down, and it’s not an easy language to learn.
“Oh,” my mother says softly, looking impressed. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she answers in English.
“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” Ruby says. She waves her hands at her clothes. “And if there’s a dress code, I wasn’t aware of it. You can tell them I was going for stable-hand chic.”
My mother laughs, though I can tell it’s one of her fake laughs to be polite. Despite her rather poor upbringing, she fully integrated into the wealthy lifestyle when she met Tomás. My birth father didn’t even have to be gone that long before she jumped on that chance.
My mother places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a quick smile. “Tomás is over by the judges. He would love to see you.”
What she really means is that my stepfather would love the cameras to see me. Dutiful famous stepson making his yearly appearance. Then he can go back to pretending I’m a stranger in his life.
My mother turns and walks over to some ladies gathered by a horse.
“Marco didn’t tell her about me, did he?” Ruby asks after she’s gone. “Don’t lie to me Luciano. I don’t expect that from you.”
I sigh. “Don’t get worked up about it. Marco doesn’t talk about any of his girlfriends. You’re the only one that I’ve met more than once.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
She’s staring at me
, one hand on her hip, her eyes squinting in the sunlight as she stares at me. I know I’m about to overstep my boundaries here, and I really don’t care. “For what it’s worth,” I say, “I would have told my mother about you a long time ago.”
She’s not impressed. “But you didn’t.”
“Too bad for you, you’re not my girlfriend. Now come on.”
I walk toward the ring, Ruby behind me, and it’s then that some people start to notice who I am. They smile at me, or nod, some of them glancing curiously at Ruby. I know she doesn’t fit in here, but I don’t really care.
“These are society people,” she comments as we walk, her eyes darting over the crowd. “This ain’t like any horse show I’ve been to.”
“They’re here to show off,” I tell her. “It’s not about the horses. It’s all about them.” I swallow, my throat feeling dry. “These are not my people.”
“They’re looking at you as if you are.”
I glance at her. “Because that’s what they want to see.”
My stepfather is busy at the moment, talking to a couple of politicians from Lisbon, so I head toward the outdoor bar set up to the side.
“Champagne?” I ask Ruby, handing her a flute.
“Yes please,” she says enthusiastically. “So fancy.”
I cheers, clinking my glass against her.
“How do you say cheers in Portuguese?” she asks, resting those lips of hers against the rim.
God, I need to stop staring at them.
“Saúde,” I tell her.
“Saúde,” she says. “Do you also have that thing where you have to look each other in the eye or else you’ll have seven years of bad sex?”
Good thing I’m looking you in the eye, I think.
“We have a lot of sayings in Portuguese,” I say.
“Tell me something,” she says.
“Engolir sapos,” I say.
“Which is what?”
“To swallow frogs.” She makes a face and I laugh. “It means to do something you don’t want to do. As in, I don’t want to be here right now. I’m swallowing frogs.”
“But you are here.”
“And you are partir a loiça toda.”
Her nose wrinkles comically. “Please don’t tell me I’m some other sort of slimy thing.”
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 7