“I love that lipstick on you!”
“Here, try it.”
“God, Carla’s speech was so good.”
“Really heartfelt.”
“My daughter started playing soccer after her camp last summer.”
“Yeah, she’s amazing. She’ll be missed.”
I let the door fall closed. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to engage with those wonderful women and not fall apart. Hurrying down the hallway, I turn a corner and find a small room, an office of some kind.
Slipping inside, I perch on the edge of a chair and tip my head all the way back.
You’re okay. You did the speech. Standing ovation. Isn’t that a great goodbye?
Don’t you dare cry. You’re in control here. Lock this shit down.
I blink frantically, trying to keep my tears at bay. But it’s no use. Several fall, sliding from my eyes, across my temples, and into my hair. Knowing it’s a losing battle, I drop my face into my hands and breathe. But my breath work sucks and, before I know it, I’m full-on sobbing.
Ugly crying, Raia calls it.
My shoulders shake and my throat feels scraped raw as I cry into my hands. Open palms that have nothing to hold on to anymore. There’s nothing left for me here.
The door to the office swings open and my head snaps up.
“I’m so sorry,” I hiccup, pressing to my feet.
“Carla.” His voice is a low rumble. Smooth and seductive and far too understanding.
I squint, bewildered by his presence.
Luca DiBlanco eats up the space in the doorframe and most of the oxygen in the small room. He’s wearing a sharp suit, Italian made and tailored, just like him.
He’s Alejandro’s best friend. His teammate. The serious, steady, reliable futbolista on League Valencia’s team.
Over the years, he’s doled out advice and guidance to me the same way he does to his little sister, Bianca.
He’s always been my off-limits crush. My brother’s best mate who has never seen me as anything more than a kid sister.
And seeing him here now, when he should be in Valencia, surprises the hell out of me. My shock is quickly replaced by mortification. I don’t want anyone, least of all him, to see me like this.
“What are you doing here?”
2
Luca
My heart splinters at the sight of her falling apart.
Her eyes, brilliant pools of cool blue-green, are puffy and smudged with mascara. Her lips are swollen from the exertion of her tears. A few tendrils of hair have escaped her bun and stick to her slick cheeks.
But she’s as beautiful as ever.
“Oh, Carla,” I repeat, stepping toward her. Reaching out, I wrap her in my arms and pull her into my chest.
Her frame is rigid, her breathing labored.
