I stop and pull my head back, trying to remember why I’m here, that I need to talk to her, that the last thing I was supposed to do was kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely. Everything feels so fucking raw and sensitive, like I’m one self-inflicted wound.
“Don’t be,” she says, her hands going up to my face, holding me. “Please don’t be sorry.”
I close my eyes, try to swallow, try to think. I put my arms against the wall, bracketing her in, resting my forehead on hers. “I really came here to talk.”
“This is us talking. Don’t you remember?”
She stands up on her toes and reaches up to place her mouth on mine. Her kiss is beyond sweet, just hinting at the wild woman I know she can be.
My cock grows tight, poking her hip as I press myself against her. The urge to be inside her is a monster inside me, clawing its way through the walls I put up in her absence.
Talk to her.
Take it slow.
But no.
I can’t hold back. I need to. I want to. I have to take my time savoring her but there’s an urgency that I can’t ignore.
That eternal ache I’ve had for her ever since she left me.
I close my eyes and she nips and kisses along my jaw, and I know we’re saying more to each other than our words ever could. Each kiss is a promise, a revelation, a confession.
“Ruby,” I whisper to her, running my hands through her braid until her hair is loose and free around her shoulders. “Ruby, I…”
“I know,” she says sweetly, pressing her lips to mine. “I know.”
She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the bed, which is in the middle of this sparsely decorated studio apartment.
“I need to tell you something,” I whisper to her, as she reaches for my shirt and starts to bring it up over my head, my arms raised.
“Tell me in other ways.”
She steps back until the back of her legs hit the bed and she reaches down to the hem of her dress and slowly peels it off her. I watch, transfixed, as she reveals her calves, her thighs with that beautiful, familiar scar running across it, then her teal-colored lace underwear, the undulating curve of her hips, her smooth, soft stomach, her breasts, full and bare and edible enough to make my mouth water.
She tosses the dress aside, steps out of her underwear, then sits down on the edge of the bed, motioning me to come forward with the crook of her finger.
I watch her, dumbfounded. It’s like I have whiplash from the past to the present, the Ruby I knew, the Ruby I know now, and it’s all coming together to make me realize it’s the same fucking person and it always will be.
It’s Ruby.
She doesn’t have to beckon me anymore.
I’m at her in a flash, my hands a blur as they touch her, feel her, revel in the comfort of her skin.
“Fuck,” I moan as my tongue tastes the past on her neck. It tastes like honeysuckle.
She reaches up, snaking her fingers through my hair, giving urgent little moans as I suck at her throat. Those noises spur me on, and I’m so consumed by my need that I’m nearly frozen in place.
I take in a long, deep breath, trying to remember why I came here. It wasn’t to get inside her. It was to tell her how I feel. How I’ve always felt.
But perhaps she’s right.
All those words we left unspoken left us so brittle. I feel like sex is the bandage putting us back together.
So I kiss her. I touch her. I whisper soft words of want.
Her hands work at me, desperate and quick as they remove my shirt, my jeans, my boxer briefs until I’m pulling off my socks, naked in front of her.
She stares up at me, her eyes glowing, mouth parting with desire, and I can hardly believe that this is happening. This is my Ruby. She’s the same and she’s not the same. I’m the same and not the same.
I push her back on the bed, crawl over her.
The sweet heat of her tongue slides against mine.
My cock slips in between her legs, one easy thrust and I’m pushing inside her.
It’s never been like this, never been so comfortable, like we’ve both spent years looking forward to this moment, like we knew it would happen again.
I groan against her neck, the slick purchase of her body clinging to me, making my eyes roll back in my head. My own body gets hotter, tighter, the pressure of a thousand tangled knots building at the base of my spine.
I love this woman.
More than words can fucking say.
But I have to try and say the words.
“Ruby,” I whisper to her as I start thrusting harder, deeper, like I’m trying to bind myself to her, like I’m sliding into her darkest parts, not to shine light on them, but to meld with them. Joining her in the shadows.
“Shhh,” she says to me, scraping her nails down my back, shivers culminating along my spine. “Just be with me. Please be with me.”
My breath hitches as her words hit deep, and I start pumping into her with the same kind of intensity. I revel in the feeling of our bodies coming together again in pure precision, our sweat, our gasps, our moans, filling the air.
Soon she’s coming. She lets out a sharp cry and I stare down at her, at the beauty of her surrender, at how much time changes us and yet also lets us be. This is my Ruby, still, different and the same, and a hundred contradictions, just as she always was. This is my love, coming hard around my cock, staring up into my eyes with tears in hers.
“I love you,” she says through a gasp.
I feel like she punched a hole right into my heart, filling it with fireworks.
“I love you,” she says again, her eyes rolling back in her head as I keep working at her.
I let go.
Tumbling in the freefall.
I come so hard I think I might have a heart attack, because everything seizes for a moment and then it’s like I’m hit from behind. I let out a raspy groan as I pour inside of her, her own body squeezing and milking me for every last drop.
Years and years and years rush through me, feelings and emotions from every hidden crevice all coming to the surface. The heat of tears builds behind my eyes and I have to keep breathing in and out, strong and deep, in order to keep them at bay.
But the tears have found her. They’ve found my Ruby girl.
They trickle from the corners of her gorgeous blue eyes.
I lean in, placing my lips on her cheeks, kissing them away.
“Amo-te,” I tell her, my heart growing as I say those words. Finally. “I love you.”
There’s nothing else to say in this moment.
I stay inside her as long as I can, holding her close, so close, until I finally fall asleep in her arms.
Twenty-Two
Ruby
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby,” Luciano sings the Kaiser Chiefs softly in my ear. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
I laugh, snuggling up into his chest. “I’ve definitely heard that song before. Do you know how many songs there are about a girl named Ruby? Like, a million.”
“If I had any talent, I’d write a song about you too,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“It wouldn’t be fair if you were a god between the sheets, on the pitch, and with a guitar.”
“Actually,” he says. “When I was a teenager, I had aspirations of quitting soccer and joining a ska band.”
I giggle, resting my chin on his pecs, staring up at him. “Wouldn’t that have been something? To think how many lives we all might have had depending on the choices we made.”
“As long as you’re in all of them,” he tells me. He gives me a soft smile, the kind I feel in the marrow of my bones, his eyes glowing with affection as he stares at me. He reaches out, stroking a finger down the side of my cheek.
I still can’t believe this is happening. That, after all this time, he’s still here, still mine. I feel like I’m tempting fate too much, like no one deserves to be this happy, and that something awful is abou
t to happen to tear this all apart. It’s like I’m too scared to enjoy it in case it gets taken away again, and yet I’m reveling in him, reveling in us.
This man loves me.
Still.
After all this time.
And I love this man.
Still.
With every bone in my body.
And I want to hold onto him, tight, with everything I’ve got, in case he slips away, smoke through my fingers.
But I also know what lies ahead of us.
This isn’t going to be easy.
Then again, it never has been.
It’s been a few days since Luciano showed up at my Airbnb here in Madrid and changed my world again. Since then, we’ve been inseparable. I know I’ve been completely selfish, I know I’m scared, and I’ve been more or less hiding at his apartment, sleeping with him, spending all my time with him, afraid that this time here is all the time we have together.
But I can’t help it.
Marco has called me a couple of times, but I’ve ignored them and texted him back instead. Telling him I’ve been busy. And I have been busy, putting off the inevitable.
But today is the day. I’m going to meet him at his apartment and tell him that it’s over.
I want to tell him that I’m in love with his brother, but Luciano insists that’s his job. I know he’s right, it’s just that I know this is going to hurt the both of them very much, and I wish I could take the pain for him.
But it’s his brother. His decision.
And I can’t begin to understand what Luciano must be going through right now, knowing that he’s choosing me over his family. I know that the thought makes me sick to my stomach, and yet I can’t imagine my life without him now. I had that life, I can’t go back to it.
My only hope is that maybe Marco will understand. We’ve only been together a week, really. We’ve kissed, but nothing beyond that. I didn’t let that happen, maybe because on a subconscious level I knew I’d end up with Luciano. Who knows. Maybe because it just didn’t feel right, and while it was wrong of me to go on some dates with Marco because it was easy and I was lonely, I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, just as I knew that nine years ago.
I’m not perfect. But I can at least try to be better.
“Do you really want to do this?” Luciano asks me, his thumb now grazing my lip. I briefly bite it. “I can tell Marco.”
“You can’t break up with him for me, okay? I’m doing it. I’ll let him down easy.”
He gives a caustic snort. “It will be short-lived until I show up.”
“Well, maybe I’ll sweeten the deal by giving him a plane ticket to Barcelona.”
Now Luciano is really laughing. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t laugh.”
“Well, you reap what you sow.” I shrug. “Marco is no angel.”
Luciano stills, some dark realization coming over his eyes. “No. He really isn’t.”
I feel like there’s more to the story there, but honestly, I don’t care. The past is the past.
“Well, I better go get this over with,” I tell him, sliding out of bed and stretching my arms high above my head.
Luciano’s eyes simmer as they rake over my naked body. Damn, this man knows how to fuck you with just a look. I better get some clothes on before I give in and crawl back into bed with him.
I slip on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, then pick up my purse, glancing over at Luciano, who is still in bed.
“Are you going to be here when I come back?” I ask him.
“Where else would I go?” he asks with an easy shrug.
“I just want to make sure you’re home.”
“I’m going to need to give you the spare key. I’ll get it off of Marco when I talk to him.”
I wince. “You’re taking his girl and the spare key to your apartment.”
He doesn’t look too happy. “I’m doing what needs to be done,” he says gravely.
And he’s right. Because the alternative is that we don’t get to be together.
I give him a sweet smile. “I love you.”
“Amo-te,” he replies, in Portuguese.
I sigh happily. I’ve only recently realized now just how romantic Portuguese is. I try not to melt on my feet in a swoony puddle, and open the door, stepping out into the hallway.
Marco’s apartment isn’t too far from Luciano’s, so I have about a fifteen-minute walk in which to stew over all the guilt and baggage I’m dragging with me. I feel awful for what I’m about to do, and I feel pretty bad that I was unfaithful to him. But he doesn’t need to know any of that, it would only hurt him further.
Maybe he won’t even be hurt, I think to myself. Maybe he’ll just shrug and smile and that’s that.
Stranger things have happened.
When I get to Marco’s place, a flashy building with a concierge, I’m buzzed up to his apartment. My heart is beating wildly in my chest and I’m so nervous that I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I get to his door and I’m about to knock, but I hear voices on the other side, like he’s talking to someone. A male voice. It’s muffled and foreign to me, yet the voice feels insidious inside my head.
Stop.
Go.
Run.
I can’t explain the instinct to flee coursing through me, like there’s something awful and dangerous on the other side of the door.
But then the door is opening.
Marco is there, grinning at me.
“Ruby,” he says brightly.
I feel like I’m going fucking crazy because it’s literally just Marco, he looks happy to see me, he…
And then I see him.
Moving into frame behind Marco.
My breath hitches.
Oh my fucking god!
No.
No.
It’s him.
He’s here.
I’m staring right at Tomás Ribeiro.
In the flesh.
Why the hell is he here? Why didn’t Marco tell me?
But all my questions disintegrate.
“Hello Ruby,” Tomás says idly. “Do you remember me? We met once. At a horse show.”
Holy. Fuck.
The fear, the panic, it’s overwhelming.
What do I do?
“Come on in,” Marco says, reaching forward and grabbing my arm.
I want to pull back and run, but Marco is already frowning at the fear in my eyes as he pulls me into the apartment.
The door shuts behind me, sounding like a prison cell closing.
I’m trapped.
“Want a glass of wine?” Marco asks, giving me a funny look. “We’re drinking a white.”
“It’s very good,” Tomás says, his long fingers tapping at the glass in his hands, his voice reminding me of a snake. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
I don’t respond. Or move.
My heart is lodged in my throat.
I’m not even sure if it’s beating.
All I can think about is the fact that he’s here.
My only saving grace is the fact that he thinks I’m with Marco.
The good son.
“Ruby?” Marco asks.
I snap out of it.
Do something.
I look at Marco and smile. “Sorry. I was daydreaming.”
“Are you sure? Looks like you were daynightmaring.”
I force myself to giggle. “That’s not even a word, you silly thing.” I go over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing him on the cheek. “I missed you. Sorry I’ve been so busy.”
Marco goes from shocked to grinning in seconds and, fuck, I feel so bad that I’m doing this. I wish I could tell him with just my eyes, but we don’t have that kind of connection.
All I know is that as long as Tomás thinks I’m with Marco, he has no reason to hate me. Right? I mean who fucking knows at this point. It’s been seven years since that fateful day at the match and yet he feels as
dangerous as ever.
The things he knows…
“So Ruby,” Tomás says, saying my name with strange deliberation. “It’s very interesting to see you again.”
“Small world,” I tell him brightly.
He holds my eyes for a moment. A cunning smile. “It is a small world, isn’t it? Who would have thought that all these years later, you’d end up back with Marco.”
“The funny thing is, Papá, that she’s actually a Barcelona fan,” Marco points out.
“Is that so?” he asks. “What does Luciano think about all of this?”
I gulp. “About what?”
“About you being here.”
Marco laughs as he hands me a glass of wine. “Luciano barely remembers her.”
“Is that so?” His voice is like ice.
“You know how it is,” Marco goes on. “He’s forever the bachelor.”
“Such a shame, isn’t it Ruby?” Tomás asks me.
I attempt to shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t really seen him.”
“No?”
“Hey, can we stop talking about Luciano for a moment?” Marco says jokingly. “You’ve got the real winner here.” He pulls me closer to me, kissing me on the lips, but my eyes go to Tomás, who is watching us.
Watching me.
“Excuse me,” Tomás says, getting up. “I’m going to use the washroom.”
I pull apart from Marco and watch him as he goes.
“Hey, sorry if it’s weird that my father is here,” Marco says, once the door to the washroom closes. “He’s at a hotel around the corner, we were just discussing some business ideas. He’s not staying long.”
“Oh.” My chest tightens. “So that’s why he’s here.”
“Yes, he comes to Madrid every now and then to see me and Luciano.”
Luciano never told me he was here, I want to say. But of course I don’t.
I need to get out of here.
I make a face and Marco frowns. “What is it?”
“I just, uh, I have to go and run to get something.”
“What? Why? What something?”
Think fast.
“Women problems. Period stuff. Lots of blood, very messy.”
Marco scrunches up his nose like I thought he would. “Well, okay. Come back. I’ll try and get rid of my father and we can really catch up.”
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 27