And then I hear the rumble of an engine.
It sounds like an old car, and my ears know it from all the phone calls we’ve had, that it belongs to the vintage truck that Luciano drives around.
My heart stills.
My body becomes alive, like it’s been dormant, sleeping, waiting for the right person to ignite it again.
He’s my person.
I lower my chin and look right across at an old blue two-seater truck.
I watch as Luciano gets out of the driver’s side.
He doesn’t walk around the front of the truck.
No, he runs.
He runs right for me.
I burst into tears at the sight of his face.
I cry as he picks me up off the ground, his arms around me, my arms around his neck.
“Ruby,” he whispers into my neck, his voice breaking. “Ruby, Ruby.”
I hold him tighter and he spins me around and everything else drops away, it’s just me, this crazy mess of dark stars orbiting around the sun.
“Luciano,” I cry out. “God, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
He pulls his head back and grins at me, tears running down over his beautiful face, over his lips, getting caught in his beard. He kisses me and I taste his happiness, I taste our longing, our years of patience that led up to this very moment.
“You’re home, Ruby,” he murmurs against my mouth. “You’re home.”
My face crumples, the sobs running through me, my shaking hands at his face, marveling at him. Even with seeing his face on my screen every day, it never held a candle to what I’m seeing right now. The dent in his nose, the slight bump on its ridge after Marco broke it, the curve of his lips, his beard—which is thicker and darker than ever. His hair is still unbelievable, thick and shiny and wavy, pushed off his forehead. He’s forty and he hasn’t lost any of it, the only difference is that there’s more grey, which I think suits him so well.
Then there are his eyes. Dark and brilliant and soft, even with tears in them. They take me in with so much love until I feel I might burst, then I remember that we don’t contain our love, our love contains us.
And now, finally, it contains us together.
Forever.
It feels like I’m in his arms for ages, holding on like I can’t let go.
Eventually he lowers me to the ground and kisses me again. This kiss I feel rush through my veins like a tonic, making my stomach flip. God, I love how he still has the power to do that. If anything, I think he’s gotten even better at kissing me.
“Shall I take you home?” he asks me, cupping my face, running his thumbs over my tears on my cheeks.
“Per favor,” I tell him. “Obrigada.”
“Oh,” he says, raising his brows as he grabs my bag. “You’ve learned Portuguese in the last day or so?”
I give him a playful shove. “Shut up.”
You see, he’s been trying to teach me Portuguese over the phone. He even got me to download the Rosetta Stone software so I could learn it that way, and let me just say, I don’t think there’s enough room in my head for another language. My Finnish is still really good because I talk to Elena once a week, but poor Luciano has had nothing but an uphill battle.
“It’s a complicated language,” I add in protest, as he throws my suitcase in the bed of the truck. I take a moment to admire his strength, his muscles popping under his grey t-shirt. Even though he’s retired, he’s still in fantastic shape. I know he works out every day, still kicks the ball around, and now he has those lean ropey muscles that hard labor produces. Running a ranch is no joke, and lifting sheep and hay bales seems to have made him stronger than anything else.
“You’ll be speaking it in no time,” he says to me as he goes around to the driver’s side. “Otherwise I’ll forever be your translator.”
“Not a bad gig. You’re retired, what else are you going to do?”
I flash him a cheeky grin as I get in the passenger side, buckling my seat belt.
“You’re going to get a spanking for that,” he warns, heat simmering in his gaze.
Fuck. Me.
I forgot what his eyes feel like in person when they do that thing, heavy-lidded, dark and intense. I feel it all the way to my core, making me grow hot, my skin flush.
“Promise?”
He bites his lip. “How was your flight?” he asks, as if he didn’t just fuck me with his eyes.
“Eh, I had a nice old lady next to me that really hated my tattoo.”
“That’s right,” he says, realizing. He picks up my hand and peers at it, smiling openly. “There it is.”
Technically, I guess Luciano and I aren’t really engaged. I mean, he asked me to marry him as we were crying on the floor of his apartment and I said yes. But there was no ring exchanged, and we decided to keep our decision a secret from everyone else. We thought that it might make people, aka customs and immigration, suspicious that we were just doing it for residency or something like that, especially as it happened as I was being deported.
I didn’t mind having it a secret.
Okay, so I told Elena about it.
But, I mean, I had to talk to someone about all my pining and yearning.
“How was Marco?” he asks. He pulls the truck on a highway, turning away from the cobalt blue Atlantic and heading inland along red-roofed towns nestled in valleys beneath towering mountains.
I stare at the scenery, my jet lag making my brain slow down a little. “He was good. Really good. He seems great, looks great. He’s happy. We had coffee, and what he considered the best pastéis de nata in Lisbon. I think I ate my weight’s worth of them.”
“He’s called me twice already to talk about you,” he says with a laugh. “Really enjoyed letting me know that he saw you before I did.”
I smile. “I figured as much.”
“I’m glad you got a chance to see him, though,” he says warmly. “Really. Although you’ll see him in a month or so. He’s coming to visit. Then Alejo and Thalia. As we head into winter, suddenly everyone in Europe thinks they’re your best friend.”
I laugh. “That makes sense, because Elena said she and her family want to come down too. I think there will be an onslaught of sun-starved Finns.” I pause, thinking back to Marco. “You know, when I was talking to your brother, I didn’t realize that he doesn’t talk to your stepfather anymore. I mean, I know you had told me they’d had a falling out after what happened. But from what he told me, it sounded like Marco completely disowned him.”
Luciano presses his lips together into a hard line. “Yes. He has. I know he spoke to him after our mother died, but that was about the will and the funeral arrangements.” He glances at me. “He barely spoke to him at the funeral. As you know, I didn’t talk to him at all.”
The funeral was held here on Madeira. I wish I could have gone to give Luciano some comfort, but that wasn’t possible.
“Do you ever feel…like it’s all our fault?” I ask him, something I’ve always felt, something I’ve kept buried out of shame.
He glances at me thoughtfully, frowning. “Sometimes.” He sighs, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel. “If you want to get technical, yes. But there was always something in my stepfather, from the very beginning. This need to just…hurt people. We just made it easier for him.”
“Too easy. God, sometimes I wish I could just rewind time and make all the changes. Save ourselves from all of this.”
“But this is life, Ruby girl,” he says. “You know that better than anyone. It’s not linear. But does it matter, as long as you end up where you were trying to go?”
“I guess not,” I tell him. “Especially as I ended up here. Home.”
He picks up my hand and kisses my tattoo. “Home.”
The ranch is located on the north side of the island, in São Vicente, at the base of the mountains. It’s actually a longer drive than I thought it would be, considering how tiny Madeira is on the map.
We
spend the hour talking about everything, as if we don’t know every single detail of each other’s lives. But, shit, it just feels good to talk to him. The phone and video messaging just can’t replace person-to-person interaction, especially between two people who do a lot of talking through their bodies.
“And how was your father?” Luciano asks me, as we head down a dirt road.
I shrug. “Fine. I mean, I think he was pissed that I was leaving again but hey, I’ll take it. Means he cares.”
“Of course he cares.”
Luciano says that, even though it’s been a tough go for my father and I putting our relationship back together. But while Luciano and his stepfather drifted apart for good, me and my father repaired what we could.
The thing is, if I hadn’t gotten deported and sent back, I would have never had that opportunity. I might have stayed in Europe until I died, because it felt so fucking scary to imagine ever going back, especially as time distorts things. Bad feelings become monstrous ones that eat you alive. Because I had to go back to Houston, I was forced to stop running for once in my life.
I was forced to make amends with my family, to make up for lost time, to try and make something out of the situation. That’s what I meant when I said it takes time to see the diamonds under the shit. There are blessings in disguise around every corner, and you can always find the good in whatever life hands you, even if you don’t see it at the time. Eventually it will reveal itself, and everything else will slide into place. It’s hard to make sense of life but when that clarity comes, it feels like you’re plugged into the universe.
And this universe spun me right back to Luciano.
“Do you think he’ll come visit?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I tell him. “I mean, he could get a free flight.”
“I can’t believe he’s still flying.”
“He’s got a cushy gig. I know Sharon has been dying to come here.”
Sharon is my father’s wife, which I guess makes her my stepmother. She’s actually really nice, and once we got to know each other and she knew what to do with my energy (which, I know, isn’t for everyone), we got along well. I have to say, it’s nice to have a mother figure in my life for once. I still cry over the loss of my own mother sometimes, but as vague as the pain feels sometimes, it’s gotten easier to manage.
I glance at Luciano, my heart warming at the sight of him, knowing how much he’s gone through recently, how much we both have.
And yet here we are.
Lost and stumbling together.
Except, maybe, a little less lost.
A little more found.
Finally, he pulls the truck up to the massive ranch house I’ve seen in a million videos and pictures. Again, it’s one of those things that you need to see in person.
It’s huge, white, sprawling, with a red-tiled roof. There are tawny fields stretching out in all directions, with the green craggy mountains behind it. I can see the stables to the side, then the barn. I know beyond that must be the sheep.
I really had no idea that part of Luciano’s dream was to raise sheep. I mean, I knew he still loved his horses and now that he’s no longer on the team, he’s able to ride them again. But he bought this place and the sheep that came with it and now this is his thing.
He looks the part too, with his wild hair and his beard, and the way he seems to suit the dramatic landscape.
He gets out of the truck while I fiddle with the seatbelt and he opens the door for me.
Bends down and scoops me up into his arms, like a groom would carry his bride over the threshold.
I yelp. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says gruffly as he carries me toward the porch of the house. Even though I’m fairly heavy, he handles me with such ease, his muscles not even straining. I wrap my fingers around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, holding on as we go up the steps and then he kicks in his front door dramatically.
I laugh. “You’re not going to give me a tour?”
“Oh, I’m going to give you a tour.” He carries me through the house, straight to the bedroom at the back. He pauses at the foot of the bed. “The tour starts with me.”
He throws me on it and I bounce, laughing playfully.
“You better take off your fucking clothes,” he says to me, lifting his shirt over his head. “Unless you want me to rip them off you.”
I stare at him in a trance.
His gorgeous sculpted shoulders and arms, the wide expanse of his pecs, the lines of his abs. He looks as perfect as he did the last time I was with him, except his six-pack has softened into a four-pack and his chest has some greying hair. He looks beautifully mature yet stunningly youthful at the same time, his skin the color of gold.
Then there is his dick.
Perfectly cut, rigid, pulsing for me.
My god, I’ve missed him.
“Ruby,” he warns.
I shake my head, lost in my lust, but then I work quickly. I discard my tunic, my leggings, bra, underwear, shoes and socks, the urgency building inside me like I’ve been set on fire.
For the first time in a very long time, I’m lying back on a bed, completely naked in front of Luciano.
His gaze drops to my bikini wax. He wets his lips, raises a brow. “That for me?”
“It’s all for you,” I tell him, parting my legs.
His mouth curls into a crooked smile, the kind that unleashes a million butterflies inside my chest, making me feel so fucking giddy.
Then he’s on me.
Lips, mouth, leaving long, hot kisses.
His weight pressed against me, the hard length of his cock grinding against my skin.
I’m completely insatiable, starved, ravenous, the hunger that rolls through me is so painful that I cry out, digging my nails into his back. The need inside me aches something deep and fierce and we can’t quite move fast enough to quell it.
It’s a desire that consumes me whole.
He pushes himself inside me and I gasp, my body practically revirginized now, despite the very heavy usage of my vibrator collection and our frequent phone sex.
I melt into him, the pain slipping into pleasure as he rocks into me.
We don’t talk.
There is no need.
Our bodies do the talking, as they always have, as they always will.
The room fills with the sound of our love, the creak of the bed, the slick wet noise as he pumps in and out of me, his raspy breath, my light, airy moans.
Home.
I’m home.
A tear falls from the corner of my eyes as I grab hold of him tighter, wanting him in deeper, until we’re one and can never be parted.
“I love you,” he whispers roughly to me, kissing my lips, my neck, my breast.
“Amo-te,” I tell him.
He grins at me and I feel a dam burst in my heart, flooding me with love from head to toe, this wild, feverish love I have for Luciano.
Both of us have waited so long, however, that neither of us have any patience left.
We’re not taking our time.
We have eternity for that.
With a slick slip of his fingers, I’m coming.
Then he grunts as he pounds into me, stiffening as he lets go.
We come together, our bodies in sync, our souls swirling around each other, tangling tighter and tighter until we’re forever joined.
He rests on top of me, his breath heavy, my heart wild, and we lie like that for as long as we can, until the world we created comes back into focus, the stars bleeding in.
I reach up and brush his hair off his forehead. I grin through my tears, so fucking happy, kissing his chin, his cheek, his mouth.
His eyes sharpen briefly, his love for me palpable.
“Ruby,” he whispers to me. “Will you marry me?”
I beam at him. “I’ve already said yes.”
“Will you say yes again?”
“Yes,” I say softly
, joy radiating outward until it becomes me. “Always yes.”
He kisses me on the forehead, grinning, and then he rolls over to his bedside table. I hear him open a drawer, rummage around.
Then he rolls back over, holding out a ring.
A beautiful sparkling diamond that catches even the dimmest light in the room.
I gasp, staring at him open-mouthed.
He gives me a nervous, shaky smile and grabs my hand, slipping it over my ring finger, covering the tattoo.
“There,” he says. “Now it’s official.”
“It’s real,” I say, another set of tears wanting to drown me as I stare at my hand.
“It’s always been real,” he says, bringing the ring to his lips and kissing it. “You and me. It’s always been real, Ruby.”
Real.
We’re raw and messy and lost and found but what we’ve always been is real.
What we’ve always been is us.
Epilogue
Luciano
Six Years Later
“Papá!” Afonso yells at me. “She’s being a brat!”
I twist around in the saddle to look at my son, who is trying desperately to raise the head of Pimenta, his pony. I knew that buying him a mare named after a pepper was probably a bad idea, but Afonso has always been so insistent that he have something wild. I think he’s watched The Black Stallion too many times.
“Pull her head up,” I tell him. “Yank on the reins. No, no, not so harsh. More of a gentle yank.”
Ruby snorts from behind her son, rolling her eyes. She’s riding her gelding, Ferdinand, another wild one. But the black Lusitano suits her just fine. They both have matching ebony manes, both are a little on the flighty side.
And they both keep me on my toes.
As does Afonso. I don’t know how a five-year old can so perfectly tire me out more than any Champions League game I’ve played, but it’s true. Somehow he takes it easy on his mother, but when it comes to me, it’s a whole other story.
“Perhaps you are too young to be riding off the lead line,” I tell Afonso with mock disappointment, knowing it’s going to rile him up.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 30