I hate how I sound, I hate this fake little conversation.
“Better,” he says, moving it slightly against me. The motion causes my breasts to jiggle, but Luciano’s attention is out the window of the car, like he’s trying his hardest not to look at me at all.
Silence fills the car again. This is so fucking awkward.
“When does your practice start?” I ask feebly, just to say something.
“A couple of weeks.”
“Brother, please, please tell me you’ll have something to drink tonight,” Marco says, looking at Luciano over my head. “Because I can’t handle this moody, grumpy version of yourself.”
Luciano just grunts. I have to wonder how he’d be acting if I wasn’t here.
Fortunately, the palace where the event is held is in Lisbon’s core, not too far from Luciano’s apartment, and it’s not long until we’re pulling up outside, the street filled with cars and looky-loos trying to get a glimpse of what’s happening.
I’m glad as hell I took Marco up on the dress, because as he grabs my hand and helps me out of the car, we find ourselves on a red carpet that leads into the palace. Cameras are everywhere, flashbulbs going off.
Marco grabs me and we pose, even though I think I look like a deer caught in the headlights most of the time, my smile shaky. Of course, the moment Luciano appears, all the attention goes to him, with only a few people still bothering with Marco and me.
I look over my shoulder at Luciano who is working the red carpet like he’s on the pitch, totally comfortable and in control. He’s putting the charm on to the max, smiling widely, that smile that never fails to take my breath away. The transformation is incredible, from the silent brooding man in the car next to me, to this bona fide soccer star. He looks like he lives for these moments, even though I know it’s not true.
Though perhaps I don’t know him at all.
Marco pokes me hard in the side and I turn my attention back to him in surprise. He’s scowling, eyes darting over to Luciano before landing hard on me. “Smile,” he commands, then gives a cheesy grin at the one camera person left.
I paste on a smile and the flash goes off. The camera man then goes down the carpet to Luciano, taking pictures of him along with everyone else.
“Come on,” Marco says, wrapping his hand around mine and tugs me along until we’re walking inside the building. I feel like I’m his property right now from the way he’s handling me. Obviously, the fact that Luciano is getting all the love from the media is rankling him, but what does he expect? His brother is who he is.
“So, there are three bars on this level,” Marco says to me, once we’re in the middle of the room. “And I think there’s some food somewhere.” This room is ornately decorated with statues and pillars, the marble floor filled with stunning women in gowns and soccer players in suits, with beautiful gilded frescoes on the ceiling. Everyone is tanned and smiling and seems to know each other. These people are the elite of the entire country, the biggest celebrities you’ll get in Portugal. Even with my hair done and the expensive designer dress, I feel woefully out of place.
“Anyway, eat and drink as much you like, it’s all included,” he says to me, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “I see some people I need to talk to. I’ll come find you later.”
“Wait, what?” I ask as he starts to walk away. I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.
“I told you, you’d be alone for most of the night,” he says, sounding a little too annoyed for my liking.
“Yeah I know, but we literally just got here. I thought you’d at least introduce me to someone so I could have someone to talk to before you went off with all of y’all friends.”
“Ruby,” he says, shrugging out of my grasp. He smooths out his suit, giving me a stiff smile. “You talk to everyone and make friends everywhere you go. I’m sure you’ll be fine, so as long as you don’t say things like y’all.”
I blink at him. “What’s wrong with y’all?”
“It makes you sound like a…what do you call it? A redneck.”
“Excuse me?”
I’ve been saying that quite a bit since, you know, being Texan and all, and he’s never tried to correct my language before.
“And like I said, you know Luciano,” he adds. “He’s not up for any awards tonight so I’m sure he’ll be feeling down and out about that. Probably would want the company. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go.”
Then he turns on his heel and beelines it to a couple of guys standing in the corner, deep in conversation. I watch as he barrels on in, not even waiting for a lull in their talking, before he starts introducing himself.
I know that this is part of his job, but so far tonight has definitely highlighted that sleazy rep that agents get.
I sigh and look around. Occasionally someone will look my way, and then eye my cleavage with disdain, but in general people pass by me like I’m not here at all. No one looks friendly enough to approach, definitely no one that would think my use of “y’all” was endearing.
Then there’s Luciano. He’s walking inside now, being trailed by a camera or two, talking to a man that I think might be the owner of Sporting, I can’t tell. All my instincts tell me to go toward him, that even with all the weirdness that has passed between us, that he’s still a safe bet, a shelter in a storm. He’s at least the only person I know here other than Marco, and I know he doesn’t judge me.
But he looks busy, and besides that, I don’t think he wants
