The Long Way Home (20 page)

I grimaced, "Yikes. They are usually pretty nasty. One
time when Mike and I were about nineteen, he came home for Christmas from
wherever the hell he was. We went to a party and one of the guys he was
teammates with, came up and asked me to take his wife out for a smoke. I smoked
at the time. So I asked her to come with me. She was excited someone was even
talking to her. I had my smoke and she got into a conversation with another
girl. I left her there on the deck and went back inside to go to the washroom.
I opened the door to find her husband screwing some random chick in the
washroom. I closed the door and went back out onto the deck. He came out about
twenty minutes later and wrapped his arm around her, like nothing had happened.
I learned then, the difference between puck fucks and wives.  I also lost
a lot of respect for the players."

I dipped my biscotti and took a bite. She looked disturbed,
"That doesn’t happen now though?"

I shook my head, "It happens every day. Why do you think
there are so many divorces with sports players? They are surrounded by adoring
fans
who
want to give them everything and anything
they could possibly want." I wrinkled my nose, "That's why Mike is
still single. His best friend Will is the same. He won't marry until he knows
he is almost done with the game."

She swallowed hard. I felt the tiniest bit of remorse, but it
was washed down with the delicious biscotti and the vision of the players as
they skated out onto the ice. They looked sexy in their gear.

The anthems were sung and the announcer got the game going.
The puck dropped and it was on. I didn’t realize how much I did enjoy watching hockey
until it was the second period. I was out of my seat screaming as Mike was on a
breakaway. He scored. Daniela and I hugged each other and jumped up and down in
our heeled boots.

The game ended with a win, Italy over Germany 6—3. We
waited in the seats for a few minutes. The game was over and the box was quiet.

She finally touched my hand, "I want you to know I love
him. I know he is like a brother to you, and you watch out for him and worry.
But you don’t have to. I adore him."

I smiled, it was the fake plastic one my mom taught me,
"I'm glad." I wasn’t. I was dying inside, but he had chosen to be
with her, even when I had professed my love for him.
Even
when I had flown to Rome.
Even when he saw the sash
and knew the truth.

He had chosen her, and if I wanted him to still be my France,
I had to accept his wife.

She stood, "We can wait downstairs in the heat."

The box we were in was warm enough, but I could sense the
awkwardness coming from us both and agreed. We walked with only the sound of
our heels clicking on the floor. I had bought myself boots with Luce. He had
showed me where the Italians buy their footwear,
all designer
but discounted. I had gotten a pair of grey A.
Testoni
platform, knee-high boots for three hundred euros. It was a steal. The pair I
had gotten the last time I was in Rome had cost me eight hundred. They were a
mixture of leather and suede.

Daniela nodded at them when we got downstairs, "Those
are beautiful."

I smiled, "Thanks. I went shopping with Luce."

She smiled wide, "He is a beautiful man."

I nodded, "Yikes. He is trouble, I can tell. Smooth and
sweet and dresses well. He scored three of the goals."

"He's going to Boston to play too. When the owners came
to speak with Michael, they saw him play. Offered him a huge contract too."

I frowned, "How old is he?"

"Twenty-four."

I bit my lip, "Oh." He was four years younger than
I was. "I wonder why he never got scouted when he was young?"

Her eyes widened, "He was in a terrible accident. He has
a huge scar on his leg. He was in rehab for it for two years. He was drafted as
a young man, but he never made it to America. Now he's older and still playing
just as well, if not better. They want him now."

I sighed, "That facial hair and confidence definitely
make him look older."

She nudged
me,
"He is not too
young for you. Besides, that is an Italian way.
Older woman,
younger man.
Very common."

I could count the days to my 29th birthday. Five years older.
What was I thinking? She had me distracted from France. She was good.
Too good.

I wanted to hate her and destroy her, but I couldn’t.

The group of the foreigners came from the dressing room
together. They had to stop and sign autographs. Girls were crying and kissing
cheeks and making a spectacle. Daniela tried to look stoic, but I could see the
annoyance on her face. I had created the doubt that now sat in her eyes.

France came over to us, looking confused. Daniela wrapped her
arms around him. He hugged her to him, but I could see the way he wasn’t all
in. He was half-
assing
the hug.

Tex grinned at me, "Ready to drink some wine,
Jack?"

France made a face but I ignored him and nodded, "I am
if you are."

Luce walked up, inspecting my boots, "They look
lovely." I almost melted into his green eyes. I nodded, "Thanks for
helping me pick them out."

He cut Tex off and looped my arm into his, "Tell me
about this obsession you have with wine."

I let him lead me out to the cab. Some of the Italians on the
team were joining our group suddenly. Tex nudged me, "We invited the
team."

I nodded, "Okay."

France sighed, "Red wine tasting as our
after-party?"

Daniela poked him, "I think it's a marvelous idea."

He glanced down at her, maybe catching the glare of doubt in
her eyes, and shrugged, "Whatever."

When we got to the hotel, Romeo had a magnificent spread. He
had red wines, white wines, and blush wines set up at three separate tables. He
was grinning from ear to ear as we walked in.

"Ms. Croix, welcome to our wine tasting. I have
selected, what we here at the
Boscolo
Aleph, consider
our best wines. Some are top shelf and others are surprisingly good for their
cost level and popularity."

There was a member of the hotel staff at each table to pour
the wine and discuss it.

Daniela's face was glowing, "This is a smart
after-party."

France glared at me, "Leave it to you to wreck my last
night with the guys."

I stuck my tongue out at him, "We aren’t even close to
even."

Luce was hovering over me, "Which should I taste
first?"

I turned my back on France and took Luce's arm,
"White." We strolled over to the table to taste the best whites I had
ever had.

Luce nodded on the last glass, "I can taste peaches, but
it isn’t sweet. It's like the essence of peach is in the wine."

I smiled at his accent and palate, "Exactly. Aging wine
in oak is a great way to add flavor to the wine. The oak barrels will make the
wine take on whatever flavor is present while it ages. So if ripe peaches were
in the room as the wine aged, the oak would soak up the flavor in the air and
infuse the wine with it."

He sipped from the glass that looked like a toy in his huge
hands.

I cocked my head, "I don’t know a lot of people from
Israel but you seem huge."

He laughed, "I am above average for an Israeli man, but
I'm not Israeli. My mother is actually a Brit from Saudi Arabia and my father
is half Bahraini and the other half British. My mother was raised in Saudi
because her father was an ambassador and my father was raised in Bahrain until
he was thirteen. Then he was sent to school in England. He and my mother met
there, at Oxford. My father works in Bahrain in banking. His family has always
been in oil, banking, and trade. I was raised the same way he was. When I was
thirteen, I was sent to London for school but I wanted to play hockey. My uncle
lived in California so I was sent there when I was fourteen, and played in prep
schools there. I was drafted from there."

I frowned, "How are you from Israel?"

He laughed, "I'm not. I lived there before I came here
because I was in rehabilitation there. The best doctor for my injury lived
there. I was in a car accident. Technically, I was drafted into the Italian
league from Israel. I am not from there though. It is a beautiful place but not
my homeland. I think of California as my home."

I laughed and walked to the red wine table, "So what are
you?"

He laughed, "I am exactly what most Americans are, Heinz
57. I am mostly British with a quarter Bahraini and being born there, that is
my nationality. I have duel citizenship."

"Luce is an odd name, it sounds Italian."

"It is. My mother's favorite teacher when she was a girl
was an Italian named Lucian Merino. He was her philosophy teacher. I am Lucian
Nooruddin
."

I whistled, "That must have been a blast when you were a
child."

He scoffed, "Luce has always been my nickname." He
nudged me, "What are you?"

I shook my head, "Same as you.
My
father is French
,
Croix is pretty obvious
. My
mother is English. Her family came over on the Mayflower, very old money.
Unfortunately, they lost it all. My parents both grew up on the East Coast. My
mother was in the Hamptons and New York mostly and my father was in New
York."

France poked his head into our conversation, "Your
parents would love Luce's." His tone was harsh.

I scowled at him but Luce just laughed, "She explained them
to me earlier; I doubt very much even I would get their approval." He was
giving France a compliment but he didn’t get it. France shrugged indifferently,
"They'll love the improvement in her. Caring about art, music, and
theatre. You'll be a great influence on her. I mean, Phillip brought her so
far,
you should be able to get her the rest of the way, make
a lady out of her, and get her the right connections. His family is friends
with the Bush family and the Kennedys, you know that?"

My jaw dropped but Mike continued with his mockery. He
pointed, "You never know, Luce. I thought she came here to ruin my
engagement like I did hers. But maybe her parents sent her to snatch you up
instead. We both know you’re the better catch. Any guy here, technically, could
have had her with the way she was throwing it out there, but I'm glad it's
you."

Luce shoved him slightly, "France, watch it, huh?
You're drunk
,
stop
. We're friends.
You're being a dick."

Mike shoved him back but Luce was sober. He pulled Mike's
shirt over his head and held him down, "Calm down, Mike. Stop. We're on
the same team, man."

Mike tackled him into the table with the blush wines,
crashing everything to the floor. The bottles smashed.

I jumped at Luce, "Are you aright?"

Mike got up and shoved me back and grabbed Luce, lifting him
off the ground and punched him in the jaw. Luce took the hit well and tackled
Mike into the wall. The plaster cracked.

"STOP!" I screamed.

Tex grabbed Mike and Arthur grabbed Luce. They held them back
with the help of the rest of the team. I could see blood on Luce's back from
the bottle. I lifted his shirt and winced, "You're going to need
stitches."

He was breathing heavily when he shook his head, "Fuck
with me again, Mike, or her…" He pointed. France looked at him from under
the most evil face I'd ever seen grace his brow.

Daniela grabbed my arm, "J.D., you okay? I'm so sorry.
I'll take him upstairs now. He'll be so sorry he said that tomorrow. You know
how he feels about you. You're like a sister to him." She turned and
gabbed France, "You are an asshole and you owe her a huge apology."
She scolded him as she dragged him from the room. I stood there, frozen in the
silence of them all. I looked up at Luce, "I'm so sorry. Excuse me."
My words were barely audible.

I turned and ran from the hotel. I ran down the street in the
direction I hoped was the right one. I passed the piazza we had been at earlier
and ran down the cobblestone street. My boots clicked against the stone. I ran
past a road but stopped when I realized it was the turn to the Piazza di
Trevi
. I walked slowly into the piazza, awestruck by the
pain in my heart and the lit-up piazza. The whole fountain had a warm glow to
it and the lights under the water made it magical. I sat on the stone ledge and
tried to breathe. A terrible lump formed in my throat. I heard footsteps,
dreading seeing Luce. The sound of the running water was overtaken by the
footsteps of the man I never wanted to see again.

"Jack." His panicked face was twisted as if he were
in pain.

Tears started instantly. The lump took over. I couldn’t talk
or breathe. All I could do was sob.

I hugged myself as he drew closer. I put a hand out, shaking
my sobbing face.

He stopped, "I don’t know what's gotten into me. I just
don’t know which way is right."