Love Turns With Twisted Fates (Truth About Love Book 2) Page 8

  "Yes, of course. I actually find that my favorite leagues to watch are the Italian Premiere League and the Queen's Premiere League." His eyebrow says everything. "No, I'm not just saying that for your benefit,” I chuckle. “I find that I'll sit and watch more of the teams in those two leagues longer than any other team on any other league...with the exception of any team Diego plays for," I finish hand over heart.

  "They have a word for feisty things like you, Izzy," Bean teases. "Trouble," he roars out, laughing at his own jest.

  "It is my middle name," I quip, but before I can continue, I'm halted by the announcer on the television.

  “Good afternoon and welcome to today’s matchup between the London United Football Club and the Fulham Football Club. Today’s match should be a good one. Both teams made some exciting changes during the off season, but what we’re all looking forward to seeing today is Mr. Stafford’s newest addition Diego Santo." The announcer continued on about Diego’s career in the States and talked about “the youngster” being the missing key.

  They zoom in on Diego and I'm speechless. He's so handsome in his uniform. They pan out to the rest of the team and I'm floored. There next to Diego on the field is Sasha. How the fuck? Time to pry. "That's funny, I never even heard Sasha leave," laying the bait.

  "Oh, she's down by the bench for most home games. I swear she’s like another coach out there. I am constantly reminding her that I’ve hired coaches to handle the pitch.

  "But that’s my Sasha, she has to be in the thick of it. She sometimes forgets this is my team," he starts. "And it will be hers, when fate decides it's my time to step down, but that's not happening yet," he guffaws heartily. “She loves the sport and is a natural with the business of owning a team,” he boasts.

  Translation: She loves the men and is obsessed with the power associated with owning a team. She could be a really nice woman, but my bitch-dar was raging from the moment I saw her. Her not shaking my proffered hand was just a big confirmation. Her eye-fucking my husband and pawing at him the smoking fucking gun.

  Once the game starts, after the singing of the national anthem and introduction of the starting line-up, we settle into a comfortable silence. It never gets old watching my man play.

  “Come on Santo, don’t let him take the ball from you so easily,” talking to Diego like he’s sitting right next to me and not playing on the pitch. It’s obvious to me, he hasn’t settled his nerves and he’s holding back. “Yesss,” I shout as Diego relieves the opposing team’s center midfielder of the ball.

  I stand and track Diego as he makes his way past midfield driving toward the goal. The defender missteps as Diego shifts his weight from his left foot to his right and back. Diego continues past him with a spin, keeping the ball on his foot all the way through. For a split second, the game slows down and the defense parts like the Red Sea. Taylor, the left forward, is two steps behind a defender and Diego has a straight line shot to him. Diego takes one more step and skillfully launches the ball to his waiting teammate. With one touch, Taylor drills the ball past the goalie and into the net.

  Mr. Stafford is shoulder hugging me in his excitement. He’s as elated with the goal as he likely is with Diego’s key role in it. I beam with pride. My football stud of a husband is worth every penny of his expensive ass. And right now, Mr. Stafford could not agree more.

  “Mr.—Bean, with all the excitement the water has caught up to me…could you point me in the direction of the ladies’ room?” I practically beg realizing the urgency of the situation.

  He points to the door in the back corner of the room. “Luckily for you, there’s no line,” he jests.

  There is less than five minutes left in the game and the London United are up three to two. Diego has racked up another assist and a goal. His scorecard for this opening match with London United shows three points—a point for each of his assists and a goal, in as many team goals.

  Bean has been joined by a couple of his old buddies and I’ve moved to the seats just outside the box. The coolness of the air on my overheated skin helping me cope, because I’m lacking in the adjusting department since I have to fan myself through the rest of this heat flash.

  In the final minutes of the match, the main objective is to possess the ball as much as possible. This is definitely an area of expertise for Diego. From the first time I saw him play to now, it looks like there’s a magnetic connection between his feet and the ball. If you didn’t know any better, there would be times you could swear he’s glued the ball to his shoe.

  “DAMN IT!” Whoops, forgot that I’m not with my normal company. I sheepishly turn to see the three older gentlemen shaking with their chuckles brought on by my outburst. “Sorry,” I deliver with batted eyelashes, aiming for sweet and demur.

  “Oh, Izzy, dear,” he tsks and shakes his head.

  It’s one of Bean’s buddies’ turn to shout an expletive. I redirect my attention to the field to see the opposing team’s forward dribbling his way past defenders left and right. “C’mon Red Dogs,” I shout out. “Just gotta hang on for a few more minutes,” I say barely above a whisper.

  There’s an opening between goalie and goal and the forward doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Drilling his foot into the ball, he sails it past two defenders and straight toward the goa—

  Out of seemingly nowhere, Diego is sliding across the path of the ball and altering the ball’s destination to the feet of his teammate. Without skipping a beat, Diego is back up on his feet, indifferent to the fact that his last move to sacrifice his body to stop the ball likely saved the game. The trio of gentlemen with me are hooting and hollering behind me.

  The London United manages to maintain their lead and win the game. Diego was undoubtedly the Man of the Match. I couldn’t be more proud. This was quite the debut for an international player in this super tough league. “Izzy,” I hear from behind me, but the rest of the world fades away and what I do see is through a red-filtered haze of hate. There, on the screen before me, is Sasha with her arm around Diego’s waist. Deep breaths, Izzy. It’s clear Diego is uncomfortable with the contact, but I presume he’s just being polite and not pissing off the boss’ daughter.

  Ugh. I just know she’s going to be trouble. Sometimes, I think the Fates have it out for us. Sure we’ve proven time and again that we survive. Together we’re nearly bulletproof. But just once, it’d be nice to start a new chapter in our life together without an ominous black cloud challenging our love’s ability to break through.

  I let out a sigh. Time to put on that happy face. There comes a time when you just have to roll with the punches. Take the turns fate puts in your path and persevere knowing that your love is strong enough.

  Our love is strong enough.

  Chapter Seven:

  Wind Beneath My Wings

  September 2006

  “Izzy, you bitch! What are you doing here?”

  “Well, hello to you, too,” I return. I may have promised to wait for her curbside, but in my defense, I was too excited to sit and wait. “Don’t lecture me about the ‘dangers’ of over doing myself. I already got it from Mr. Paranoid. And I’ll tell you like I did him, I’m walking through an airport, it’s exercise and I’m fine. Now, fucking hug me already!”

  We embrace in the middle of the terminal without a care for the rest of the travelers around us. Before Diego, I could get lost and find myself in the arms of my best friend.

  “Ahem,” a clearing throat comes from behind me. “Am I gonna get some lovin’ too?”

  Releasing me from her grasp, Mazzy shifts to give my man a squeeze. “It would appear neither of you can keep a promise…”she trails. “Wait, you’re not here for me are you, D? You were worried about, Little Miss Bun-in-the-Oven.” She finishes her final statement with a “hmmph.”

  “Untwist yourself, bitch,” Diego holds her out at arm length. “I’m holding you now and I haven’t even said one word to Izzy.” Pulling her back in for another hug, he winks at me over her
shoulder.

  “Whatever,” she huffs jokingly. “What bar are we hitting first?” I’m cracking up and Diego’s stunned speechless, jaw dropped and bug-eyed. Shock and awe are Mazzy’s most desired reactions. “Hmmm,” she hums out like she’s confused, “what was it you just said to me,” not really asking the question. “Oh! That’s right, ‘Untwist yourself, bitch.’ ”

  At this point, I’m doubled over laughing and I can’t breathe. These two can get under each other’s skin, it’s downright side splitting. Gasping for my breath, I try to say something, anything, but my words are being blocked by the now silent and hiccup riddled laughter shaking me.

  When my silent laughing fit turns to wheezing, I look up to find a panicked and ghost-faced Diego…and it does the trick. I’m able to settle myself if for no other reason than to ease the concern from his face.

  “Diego,” I soothe, “I’m just laughing.”

  His only response is to shake his head. He turns and starts walking in the direction towards the exit.

  Mazzy leans into me, “He’s all kinds of paranoid now, isn’t he?” she whispers into my ear.

  I answer with a slow nod and finish with a shake that says, ‘Yes, he is and it’s going to drive me crazy.’

  “It’s okay, babe,” she gives me a shoulder squeeze hug. “He’s just worried about you and his little princess.” I love that she finishes with our running joke about me having a little princess. She always knows how to lighten the mood. Patting me on the ass, she nods her head in his direction, “Go.”

  It takes me a few quick paces to get to Diego’s side. I grab his hand and he looks down at me.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make light of your concerns, but at this rate, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack if you don’t relax a little.”

  Diego’s shoulders drop. “I know.”

  Ahhh…he’s resorting to his one to two word answers. “You know I love you, right?”

  He hesitates, but eventually answers, “Of course. How much do you love me?” he asks with that wicked smile I love so much.

  “So much, so much,” I finish. He quirks an eyebrow up at me. I know that look. That’s trouble headed in my direction. “Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t the answer you really wanted?” His eyes twinkle, but he doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me with that look that says, ‘You’ll see.’

  “Hey!” Mazzy shouts from behind us.

  Diego and I turn to see Mazzy stopped and pointing at the sign above us. Straining, I see the sign for baggage claim. “Whoops…guess we weren’t paying attention,” turning back to Mazzy with an apologetic look on my face.

  “No,” Diego answers back, “we’re headed in the right direction.” Mazzy and I both screw up our faces in confusion. He just chuckles. “Untwist yourselves, pretty ladies. I asked Alfred and Ken to grab Mazzy’s luggage from baggage claim.”

  “Ahhh,” understanding sets in. “Now, I know why you wanted pics of the bags she was checking.”

  “Such a clever man, aren’t you D?” Mazzy asks. “Not just another pretty face.”

  “Oh, I’m a lot clever,” Diego retorts. “Just ask Izzy how clever I was last night.”

  I can’t help the roll of my eyes and Mazzy is so lady-like with her snort. “Easy, stud. Remember, I’ve heard the results of your talents through shared walls.”

  The two of them share a laugh at the embarrassed flush that’s spread across my face and my need to scan the area around us, hoping no one could hear them.

  When we make our way through the automatic sliding doors of the exit, I see Alfred and Ken waiting by the car. Diego’s trailed away from us to take a call. I lean in to whisper in Mazzy’s ear.

  “You’re gonna love, Ken. He’s the hot piece of man meat Diego hired to head his security.”

  “And why am I just now hearing about him?” she inquires.

  “Well, if you remember correctly, Diego was still interviewing a few days ago. I swear he went through twenty plus candidates,” shaking my head. “Kept saying he wasn’t ‘feeling it’ with each candidate. Ken, here,” gesturing to the man now talking with Diego, “was the last candidate he interviewed the day before yesterday. He hired him on the spot. His hotness slipped my mind…let’s blame it on baby brains,” I plead.

  “Holy shit, Izzy,” Mazzy whisper shouts in my ear when Ken turns to greet us.

  “Miss Kidd,” Ken addresses Mazzy, reaching out to shake her hand.

  “Ken, this is Mazzy. Mazzy, Ken.” Finished with the introductions, I turn to locate my ever-disappearing husband. Interrupting their chitchat, I ask Ken where Diego went? He gives the area a once over to locate him.

  Back toward the exit and surrounded by a group of teenage boys and their parents, is Diego. Chatting it up with the adults and signing t-shirts for the kids. The moms are practically drooling. The dads are fighting the obvious man crushes they have being in the presence of a football superstar. It’s quite the sight.

  “What are you looking at?” Mazzy asks, presumably following my gaze. “Oh,” she draws out. “Mr. Soccer God,” she mocks.

  “That’s Mr. Football God,” I correct.

  “Seriously, Iz. How do you ever concentrate with him around?”

  “Who says I concentrate?” And we’re in hysterics again. If we were in private, the both of us would be on the ground rolling, unable to catch our breaths. Being where we are, we still manage to be a bit loud and draw the attention of my husband and his adoring fans. The stern look on his face causes me to mostly snap out of it. I’m still cracking up on the inside when Diego makes his way back to us.

  “Oh, Mr. Football God, can I have your autograph?” teases Mazzy. “Right here?” pulling down the neck of her shirt to further reveal the swell of her tits and her cleavage.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mazzy, put those things away. There are kids about.”

  She shrugs, “They have to learn about anatomy at some point.”

  Diego gives her a squeeze, “Oh how I’ve missed your ways of rationalizing, Mazz.”

  “If you two are done drawing the attention of crowds, could we get in the car?” I ask with mock annoyance.

  “Untwist yourself,” they say simultaneously.

  I chuckle, “Let’s go you jerks.”

  After some time in the car, Mazzy breaks the silence and shakes me from my near slumber. “Wow. It’s really quite an incredible sight. When do I get the tour?”

  My eyes flash to Diego’s as his zero in on mine. “Well,” he drawls, “I could give you the tour I gave—”

  “No!” the sternness in my voice catching the three of us off guard. I clear my throat, “That tour was just for me.”

  We share a laugh. Mazzy heard about the tour I got. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

  Having plans to tour London with Mazzy while she’s here for two weeks, Diego has Alfred take us straight home shortening our trip by about half.

  Not as much to see with the “wow” factor, but she’s wowed nonetheless. Like me, she’s most impressed by the architecture, noting the similarities and differences from back home in the States.

  Mazzy and I are lost in conversation when Diego announces we’ve arrived home.

  “Wow.” It’s one word, but I know what she means. She’s out of the car and looking at our not-so-humble abode from top to bottom. “Izzy,” she practically whispers, “this is incredible.”

  “Wait until you see the inside,” my voice heavy with almost as much disbelief and awe as Mazzy’s.

  “Lead the way, Mrs. Santo.” She turns back to Diego and Ken, “Get the bags, boys.” It’s a riot when she tries on her mother’s snobbish demeanor.

  “Right away, Ms. Robinson,” Diego responds.

  Immediately, I’m searching Mazzy’s face for how she’ll react to being called by her given last name. When she was eighteen, she legally changed her name to distance herself from her parents and the affluent influence the family name holds. She chuckles, “I’ll g
et you yet my pretty,” wagging her finger in Diego’s direction.

  We share a laugh at her failed attempt to sound like the Wicked Witch of the West as we ascend the stairs to our front door. Alfred already has it opened and waiting for us to enter. Diego and I agreed that having him around regularly would help with my transportation needs. In addition to chauffeuring me around, he’s offered to be our valet. I gave up trying to fit a title to his role that didn’t sound so incredibly posh and snobbish and went with the lesser of the evils. As it is, I’ve taken to calling Diego Batman or Mr. Wayne, because his butler was also an Alfred.

  “Holy fucking shit,” she draws out each word. “When you said he found the ‘perfect’ place, Izzy, I figured he came close…I never would have figured he’d bought you your dream house.” She spins around taking in the expanse of the first floor.

  “Miss Izzy,” Alfred breaks me from the trance of watching Mazzy. “Can I get you something to drink?” I start to decline with a shake of my head when he gives me a knowing look. With Diego’s constant concern over my well-being, Alfred has managed to put two and two together.

  “Yes, please, Alfred. I’ll have some sparkling water.” I turn to Mazzy now looking over my collection of photos and books on the built-in cases. “Want something to drink, Mazz?”

  She just shoos me off as she picks up a photo of us from Ozfest 2002. The smile that creeps across her face tells me everything I need to know about what she’s thinking. We’ve had some killer times together over the years.

  “Izzy, you remember what we did after?”

  I quirk up an eyebrow, “I know what I did, but you were definitely not there.” Visions of Diego picking up a very drunk version of me from the Denny’s down the street pass through my mind. He was camping with some friends in the desert nearby and wanted me to join. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or whether my give a damn was busted, but underneath the stars that night, we had our fill of each other’s naked—

  “Before that,” she interrupts my daydream, her tone slightly annoyed. “When we were trying to find the car service we arranged?”