I take my time showering, blow drying my thick hair straight, which takes forever and I’m getting a nasty look from a Swedish girl who needs to use the blow dryer. Then I do my makeup on the patio, ending with my red lipstick. I look pretty good, respectable enough. Usually I up my sexiness, but with the straight hair and minimal makeup, I think I’m leaning more to the classic look. I have no idea how fancy these horse people are, so I err on the side of caution.
Time flies by and I only have enough time to drink an instant coffee before I have to meet Luciano outside.
Now I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be. I’ve been around Luciano a lot in the last two weeks, usually alone in his apartment, and the more I’m with him, the easier and more natural it feels. In fact, I feel bereft when he’s not around.
But today, the fact that he’s inviting me to meet his infamous father, it feels like there’s a lot at stake.
It’s like I should be doing this with Marco, not him.
I don’t have a lot of time to dwell on it before Luciano’s grey BMW pulls up.
I go over to the passenger side and sit down, buckling up.
“Nice suit,” I say, looking him over.
And that’s an understatement, because I mean, damn he looks good. I should be used to suits on the Ribeiro brothers, since Marco wears one literally all the time, but this is the first time I’ve caught Luciano in one. It’s charcoal grey and fits him perfectly, his wavy hair providing a bit of contrast to the sleek lines.
“Thanks, it was a freebie,” he says, adjusting his tie.
“Nice car too,” I tell him, running my hands along the dash.
“It was also free,” he says with a shrug. “Sponsors love to give us cars. We don’t really get a choice in the matter.”
“Well lucky it’s a nice sponsor.”
I glance at him to find his eyes on me.
“What?” I ask. I don’t let myself think about the heat in his eyes, how his gaze simmers when he looks at me sometimes.
Even though I want him to look at me like that all the time.
“You look good,” he says, clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the road.
“Was that so hard to say?” I tease him and lean close. “You smell good.”
He does. He doesn’t splash his cologne all over the place like Marco does, in fact I don’t even know if Luciano wears cologne. He just smells naturally good, like sea salt and pine. It reminds me of the mountains and the sea, and yet also just reminds me of him. Something wild and comforting.
“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
