Love Turns With Twisted Fates (Truth About Love Book 2) Page 9

  “Ohhhhhh…” Now, I know what she’s referring to. “I think you might be slightly misrepresenting who did what. I believe my drunk ass was following your drunk ass around the parking lot while you were asking anyone and everyone if they wanted a ride on the crazy train.” I pause, trying to remember the rest. “If my memory serves me right, you were wearing the crazy train shirt I made for you.”

  “Well,” she shrugs not even remotely embarrassed, “sometimes you gotta ask the hard questions.”

  “Oh, Mazzy,” I squeeze her. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Miss Izzy, your water.” I turn to see Alfred has returned with my sparkling water in the bottle with a straw. “I took the liberty of putting together some finger sandwiches. Cucumbers with cream cheese and cheddar cheese with sun-dried tomatoes. They’re on the table downstairs. I know Diego will want you to eat as soon as possible.”

  Speaking of Diego, “Alfred, where is Diego?”

  “Let me check out front,” he answers and turns for the front door.

  “That’s odd,” I say picking up my phone. “Diego sent me a message saying he had to go to a meeting with Bean.”

  “Bean? That’s the owner, right?” Mazzy asks looking quite pleased with her memory skills.

  I nod.

  “So, why is that odd?”

  “He didn’t even come in to say goodbye,” trying not to let my emotions affect my voice, but failing miserably with a squeak.

  “Let’s get you to the food and make you fat.”

  My growling stomach temporarily distracts me and supports her almost insulting suggestion. I gesture for her to follow me down the stairs.

  She continues, “I’m sure he figured you were giving me a tour and wouldn’t notice he was go—”

  Her sudden silence stops me in my tracks. I turn to see what’s caused it. With her mouth agape, I see that Mazzy is awe-struck by my fabulous kitchen. I chuckle. I suppose the openness of the room is pretty impressive.

  “Fuck, Izzy…” she trails off as she walks the length of the cabinets, examining the marble countertops with her fingertips along the way. “You could have a staff working in here.” She turns to look at me. “I thought this place just looked huge in the panoramic images you sent…” she trails off again with a shake of her head. “Baz is gonna lose his shit over this kitchen.”

  “Right?” the question dripping with enthusiasm over Sebastian’s foreseeable kitchen envy. My grumbling belly interrupts my thoughts and garners the attention of Mazzy.

  She gestures to the finger sandwiches beautifully plated on a tiered serving dish, “Eat.”

  The constant grumbling coming from my belly is enough to keep me from arguing that I need to finish giving her the tour, but not enough of a distraction to keep my mind from where Diego went in such a hurry without telling me in person.

  Sitting at the breakfast bar where Alfred placed the small spread of finger sandwiches and an assortment of raspberries, blackberries and plums. I pull my phone out of my pocket to message back Diego.

  It takes a moment, but he replies back almost immediately that he’s already on his way back home. I decide to not push the issue. He said he’d explain when he got home.

  “D is on his way home.” Mazzy’s at the door leading to the backyard when she turns to look at me. The empathetic look on her face says I failed again to keep away the hitch my rampant emotions cause in my voice.

  Taking the seat next to me at the bar, Mazzy leans in to give me a squeeze. “Come on, Izzy. Don’t get yourself worked up…this is Diego. The man insists the sun rises and sets with you.”

  And with that, I crumble, losing the battle to the emotions waging war on my common sense. She rubs soothing circles on my back while my forehead presses into the crook of her neck. “You weren’t kidding about these emotions,” she declares. “I’ll tell you now, fuck this baby business! I’m a mess without the added hormones.”

  I remove my face from her now tear soaked shoulder. I can feel the state of mess I’m in without even looking. Like a child, I use my arms and hands to smudge away the mess.

  “Izabella,” Diego’s voice startles me. His tone is filled with worry.

  Crap. Before I completely lose my shit again, I rest my forehead on Mazzy’s shoulder. She must be gesturing something to him, because she’s a bit bouncy as my support. I work to steady my emotions with slow deep breaths.

  Now at my side, Diego crooks a finger under my chin and lifts my face to look into my eyes. I know my earlier attempt to erase the mess on my face was futile when I see the look of concern on Diego’s. “What’s going on, bella?”

  I just shake my head. “You were gone, you didn’t say goodbye, and these fucking hormones.” Shooing away with my hand his attempt to explain, I continue. “Yes, you figured I was so busy with Mazz that I wouldn’t notice. And I think under normal circumstances you would’ve been correct…” I finish with a sigh.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks, switching topics. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this or not, but again, my empty stomach is threatening mutiny in not so many words. With no further prodding, I feed myself.

  When we finish with lunch, Diego and I give Mazzy the rest of the tour. At one point, Mazzy asked if polygamy or gay marriage were legal in the U.K. She offered to be a sister wife to me or Diego, she was game for either.

  “You did good, Tweedle D,” Mazzy compliments my husband with a hug. “If only we could clone you.”

  “Veeee-toooo!” I all, but shout. “There can only be one Santo Feo and he’s all mine.” I snuggle into Diego as he sits down next to me on the couch.

  “My woman has spoken,” he states. “Besides, the world couldn’t handle more than one of all this,” lifting his shirt with one hand and showcasing his spectacular abs with the other.

  We spend the rest of the evening catching up and making plans. Mazzy is excited to go sightseeing and to watch Diego’s next home game in three days. I worry that the two weeks with her will go by too fast, but I silently promise myself to enjoy the time I have her here.

  Chapter Eight:

  All Star

  September 2006

  I almost forgot about my appointment to sit in with the engineer at Abbey Road studios. He called to remind me the day before. I suppose it worked out well. I hadn’t realized when I made the arrangements that Mazzy would be in town, but when Leo Decker called to confirm, I asked if having a friend come with me was okay. He was hesitant at first, but conceded in the end.

  Leo was quite shocked when we showed up and he learned that the friend I brought was the Mazzy Kidd. “Ms. Kidd, I’m…big fan…your work,” he fumbled over his words. Mazzy is one of my label’s most sought after producers. She’s a bit of a no-nonsense hard ass, but she has “mad skills” as Leo so eloquently put it, arranging and polishing tracks and albums. The man was practically kissing Mazzy’s feet.

  We were not even halfway through the session when I got a message from Diego.

  Hey sexy

  Hello my football god. How’s the photo shoot?

  It’d be better if u were here

  You’re cute. When do you think you’ll be done?

  Seriously bella…they asked if you’d answer some questions and take some pics with your man

  You’re joking, right?

  I laugh out loud at his silly tease, drawing the attention of Mazzy and Leo.

  “What?” Mazzy inquires. “What’s Mr. Football God texting you now?”

  “Something he thought would be funny…” Now, he’s calling me. “Hey, sexy,” I answer.

  “Hey yourself…now get in the car so Alfred can drive you to me. I’ve already called and given him the address.”

  “You’re not joking?”

  “Izzy, baby, I said I was serious.”

  When the man isn’t leaving me breathless, he’s leaving me speechless. Several times, I start to say something and stop. Mostly, I just look like a big-mouthed bass opening and closing my mouth. “B-b-but,
” I stutter, “I’m not dressed or made up for a photo shoot, D.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “So, a make-up person—”

  “Artist,” I correct.

  “Okay, a make-up artist,” he emphasizes, “is on her way and well, Tony here is faaaaabulous with hair.”

  With my only reason for not doing it, proven null and void a sigh falls past my lips. “Sounds like you’ve figured everything out…once again. Are we sure we’re ready for the world to see Mrs. Diego Santo,” I ask.

  “Fuck yeah,” he replies. “It’s time the world sees the woman behind the man.” I can hear the pride in his voice. How can I say no to that?

  “All right. I’m saying goodbye to Mazzy now.”

  I look up to see Mazz staring at me wide-eyed with questions. A weak smile spreads across my face my eyebrows lift with disbelief. “They want some photos of me and Diego and I together for Diego’s featured article.”

  “And you’re going to do it,” the incredulity hanging from her words disguise if she’s asking me a question or making a statement.

  Either way. “I’m going to do it,” mustering up the resoluteness needed for this next step. In our 8 years together, not once have I been in his spotlight. Even when I was his manager for the first few years of his career, I preferred to keep the focus on Diego and his career. We’ve never discussed our relationship in length, I’ve declined the few interviews requested and kept all of Diego’s strictly soccer and soccer-related. His success was, is—my success.

  “You always knew this day would come. Diego was always going to go big time.”

  “I know, but I never figured it’d be this soon. Back in the States, the sport isn’t what it is here across the pond. Professional footballers are worshiped liked gods here.” Nothing new. I expected all of this, but the reality of the increase in Diego’s, and subsequently my celebrity status is definitely on the surreal side of things.

  “Mrs. Santo,” the door to the sound booth soundlessly opens with the studio receptionist. “Your driver is waiting for you in the lobby.”

  I thank her with a nod and turn to Mazzy. “I’ll send Alfred back to come get you when you’re done.”

  “Nonsense,” she replies with indifference. “Deck and I,” I quirk up my eyebrow at her using a nickname for Leo, “are gonna grab a bite to eat and a drink. I’ll cab it home.”

  “Or I can drop you off?” Deck offers in the form of a question.

  “See? Transportation problem solved. Now go. Get your Vogue on superstar.” She knows I hate being in the spotlight. It’s why I never took a more public role with my dad’s label. Of course, Fate had different plans for me. Otherwise, I would not have ended up with a celebrity athlete in the making.

  I lean in to give Mazzy a hug. “Leo, it was a pleasure,” shaking his hand with my goodbye.

  Once I’m in the car, I send Diego a message.

  I’m on my way. :|

  Whats with the funny face

  IDK…nerves? How long will it take me to get to you?

  10 15 minutes. Ken will b waiting 4 u outside

  K. See you soon.

  Izzy

  Yeah?

  U know I love u right

  I do.

  Aaaand?

  How much do you love me?

  So much so much

  Diego was right. Less than fifteen minutes later, Alfred is curbside in front of a large warehouse-like office building where Ken is waiting.

  “Izzy,” Ken addresses me, helping me from the car.

  “Hi, Ken.”

  He leads me into the unassuming building where, in contrast, colors pop and the building springs to life with phones ringing, high-fashion dressed persons, and constant chatter. “You must be, Izabella,” a young brunette approaches me. She doesn’t fit within the high-fashion persons surrounding us. More like the building, she’s plainly dressed, hair disheveled and face free of make-up. I’m instantly at ease in her presence.

  I reach out my hand for hers, “I am.”

  Taking my hand, the brunette introduces herself as Jane Coney, the photographer’s assistant. She leads me down a busy hallway through an open door at the end. With all the hustle and bustle, I’ve misplaced Ken. I’m searching for him when Jane leads me into the room filled with lights, backdrops and tables lining the walls. Before I can ask where Ken disappeared to, my eyes land on a shirtless Diego in front of a white backdrop.

  As it is with us, his eyes immediately find mine. The grin on his face says he knows that I was gawking and asks the rhetorical question, “Like what you see?”

  “Izabella?”

  “Please, call me Izzy.”

  “Right. Izzy, follow me so we can get you done up and dressed.”

  “Dressed!” I shout drawing the attention of half the warehouse. “Sorry,” dropping my voice to normal, “I don’t have anything more than what I have on.”

  “Already been taken care of,” answers Jane, directing me to the temporary salon station. “This is Tony,” gesturing to the flamboyant man standing off to my left. I shake his hand. “He’ll be doing your hair. This is Theresa. She’ll be doing your makeup.”

  In no time, Tony has my hair whipped into this beautiful mane of brown ringlets fit for a runway and Theresa has done the impossible and made me look glamorous without making it look like I’m wearing paint.

  Before they can get me dressed, Diego is by my side. I love the smile he’s wearing. Makes my insides feel all gooey. I’ll never completely get it, but he sees no one else, but me, even with these glamazons walking around.

  “Can we get Izzy some food before we start?” Diego asks an assistant passing by. I try to decline with a shake of my head, going bug-eyed to communicate to him to not explain. “Your blood sugar, Izzy. You know how you get when you haven’t eaten.”

  My body relaxes with relief. This is not the time or place to announce our expected family addition, if for no other reason than it’s just too soon.

  In a few moments, the passing assistant wheels back a cart with sweet snacks and finger foods. I decide to dig in as delicately as possible to avoid messing up Theresa’s masterpiece before Diego makes another fuss. I’m surprisingly hungrier than I thought. I avoid the berries and slowly sip on the sparkling water.

  “Are we ready, Mrs. Santo?” I turn to look at the person addressing me so formally. Going by the camera hanging from his neck, I’d say he’s the photographer. He introduces himself as Keith Langenberg, the photographer, when he sees the confused look on my face.

  “Please, call me Izzy and I do believe I still need to get dressed,” gesturing to the robe they placed me in for the hair and makeup portions.

  “About that…” he trails off looking around for something or someone. Snapping his fingers at another passing assistant, this one looks frazzled and beaten down. “You. Find me, Charlene.”

  “Izzy, while she’s off fetching Charlene, let me explain what I’m thinking.”

  Keith explains his vision. It sounds like a whole lot of skin and not much else. He’s not certain what the editors want for the cover, but he said he was going to give them more than they need and let them decide. The project manager ran the idea for the article by us. I’m especially impressed with the title they have in mind: The Man, the Myth, the Saint: Diego Santo is an international sensation. Can’t say that I’d argue against their direction, except to maybe add Adonis incarnate or demigod.

  Chapter Nine:

  The Boy Is Mine

  September 2006

  Even with Mazzy in town, our game day ritual doesn’t change. However, he did let Alfred cook us breakfast, but insisted I eat in bed. Mazzy was completely delighted to be served breakfast in bed with me. Of course, with Mazzy around I may have found myself playing fairer during our FIFA challenge on the PlayStation. When it was time to shower, Mazzy was on her own while Diego played the part of doting husband and father-to-be. Diego left soon after he was dressed.
While Mazz sipped mimosas, I chugged water like it was going out of style. Alfred dropped us off when it was about forty minutes before game time. I insisted Mazzy meet Bean, so we headed to his suite first.

  “Bean, this is my Mazzy. Mazzy, this is William Stafford or Bean as he insists I call him.”

  “Mazzy,” Bean draws out, letting the letters buzz across his tongue. “That’s an unusual name,” the words as much a statement as an inquiry.

  “Indeed it is. It’s why chose it.” Mischief and mystery twinkling in her eyes, I just shake my head.

  Bean lets out a hearty guffaw, “And here I thought Izzy was trouble. If only I was a few years younger,” he delivers with the shake of his head.

  Mazzy gives him a wink with her best, “Aw schucks.”

  I decide to go to the outdoor portion of the suite to watch Diego take the pitch for warm ups while Mazzy and Bean get caught up in idle chitchat. Soaking up the early afternoon, September sun takes away some of the chill in the air. The temporary warmth from the sun is instantly chased away when I hear her voice before I see her. I look up searching for Mazzy. When I locate her, her gaze is fixed on me and her eyebrows are raised in question, ‘This is her’?

  I give her a nod as I make my way back inside the suite. “Sasha, dear, meet Izzy’s friend from the States, Mazzy. Mazzy, this is my Sasha.”

  Not having the excuse of a distraction with my husband, Sasha shakes Mazzy’s outstretched hand looking put out behind her carefully placed facade of a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mazzy,” her voice unusually sweet, “it’s a real treat to meet you.” The venom lacing her voice is lost on Bean behind her sweet charade.

  “Likewise,” Mazzy chirps in return.

  “Daddy,” Sasha says turning her attention back to Bean, “I’m headed—” she halts mid-sentence and her eyes go wide with a smile that spreads the width of her face. I look back to find the cause of the shift in her demeanor. “Diego,” she purrs his name with a little too much appreciation.

  “Hey Sasha, Bean,” not affording either of them the privilege of his attention. “Mi bella preciosa, don’t you look gorgeous in that shirt. “I can feel his appreciation wash over me as he takes me in his arms. I must look like a dear caught in headlights behind my mile wide grin. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come say I love you and get my game time kiss?”