But then my mother got breast cancer.
And then a curious thing happened. There was a strange shift in the family dynamics.
My stepfather softened before our eyes.
I say that loosely. He didn’t become a different person. I could clearly see he was the same man he always was.
But the way he treated me became…milder.
He didn’t seem to hate me so much.
If anything, sometimes he was kind.
I started being around him more because of it. I try not to let my guard down around him even now, but sometimes I can’t help but feel like perhaps I finally have a real family.
Meanwhile, Marco and his father started to drift apart.
This was all Marco’s doing. I think he realized how much control his father had over him, especially as that control tightened as my mother’s health went downhill.
Thankfully, she survived her round with cancer. It made Marco stick around for another year, to be by her side, before he moved to Madrid.
We’ve actually become so much closer now. Not just as agent and client, but as brothers. As friends. We hang out at least once a week, and if I’m ever in a crisis, he’s usually the first person I call. The same goes for him. He was married for a few years to this Spanish actress, but it ended in an ugly public divorce when she was caught cheating on him.
Which is why I’m assuming the reason I haven’t found Marco yet is because he’s found a woman somewhere. Once a player, always a player.
Thalia soon comes back with not just one beer, but two, both for me, leaving Alejo in a huff. I pound one of them back, then take my time with the second one. Then Mateo and Vera find us and some haphazard drunken dancing starts happening.
I’m grooving along by myself, eyes closed, when Mateo says, “Oh, here comes the man with the real moves.”
I don’t even have to look to know that they’re talking about my brother, who is notorious for cutting a rug on the dancefloor like he’s just leaped out of Saturday Night Fever.
My eyes open and I see Marco coming over to me, holding two glasses of champagne. I think Thalia spoiled me, because I’m hoping both of those are for me.
“Brother,” Marco says to me, pulling me into an embrace, some of the champagne spilling onto the floor. “Congratulations. Just the man I wanted to see.”
“I’ll say the same to you if those drinks are for me,” I tell him, holding out my hands.
He hands them to me. “You’re drunk, Luciano.”
I raise both glasses and grin. “About to get drunker.”
He laughs. “Well, you better refrain for a moment because I have a surprise for you.”
I ignore his ridiculous plea and raise one glass to my lips, the bubbles going down with ease.
“What surprise?”
“You’ll never guess who is here. I wanted to tell you a few days ago, but the game was more important.”
I shrug, moving to the music, not really caring what Marco is talking about. It’s hard to care about anything right now except that we won and life is pretty good.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” he says, to me, giving Mateo and Alejo high fives before he disappears back into the crowd.
I continue to dance, this time creating a Thalia sandwich with Alejo, the beat pumping around us, a drunken Mateo occasionally pulling us into a sloppy embrace.
Out of the corner of my eye, just as Mateo has me in a headlock, I spot Marco at the edge of the crowd.
I watch as he walks back toward me, his arm around a woman.
I straighten up, shrugging Mateo off me.
My heart coming to a full-stop.
He’s with a woman.
Not just any woman.
A ghost.
My ghost.
“Luciano,” Marco says as he approaches me, gesturing to the woman on his arm. “You remember Ruby, don’t you?”
Nineteen
Luciano
What.
The.
Fuck.
I stare, gawk, blink at the woman standing before me.
Ruby…
Ruby Fucking Turner.
But it can’t.
It just can’t be.
This must be a dream.
Must be some sort of joke.
I’m vaguely aware that Mateo, Vera, Thalia, and Alejo are looking on with some interest, which means I’m not entirely hallucinating this.
I’m also aware that seconds have passed and I haven’t said anything, my brain extra slow because of the alcohol, and the fact that Ruby left my heart in ruins when she left seven years ago, and now she’s just…back.
She’s here.
Staring at me, a wariness in her blue eyes, a strained smile on her red lips.
Those fucking lips.
Still red.
A Jezebel’s smile.
Everything that happened hits me all at once and I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to get out of this without acting like an asshole or just storming away like a fool.
“Don’t you remember?” Marco goes on in English, not getting it. Thank god he’s in the dark. “How long ago was it Ruby? What, nine years ago?”
I’m still staring at her. I try to rein in my expression, trying to keep my shock and anger and hurt and the million other emotions that are flooding through me buried. I put on the mask but it’s a Herculean effort. I can barely even smile.
“It was nine years ago,” she says, lying to him.
“Yeah, nine. Remember Luciano? She was my girlfriend. We dated.”
Suddenly, Alejo whispers behind me, “Ay Dios mio.”
I can’t even look at him because I know he’s putting two and two together.
You see, I’ve told him about her before.
About the one that got away.
Speak, say something.
“Right,” I say slowly. “I think I remember.”
“In Lisbon,” Marco goes on. “She was the journalist who interviewed you. Well, guess what, she’s still a journalist. I was hoping she could interview you tonight.”
I don’t even process those words. It’s laughable.
“I’m not doing interviews.” I gulp back the other glass of champagne. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get another drink.”
I stride off toward the bar, loosening the tie around my neck, feeling too hot
