Chapter 15 Carla
Carla
After a full day spent working through details for Luca’s summer camp, I’m ready to eat a plate of paella, kick back with a drink, and enjoy my Sunday.
I’m visiting Abuela when Luca drops by to pick me up so we can go over my logistics progress.
“?Pasa! Come algo,” Abuela greets Luca, pulling him into the kitchen. She moves right to the stove to fix him a plate of paella.
“Gracias, Abuela,” Luca says, kissing her cheeks. “Como estás?”
“Muy bien. Bien.” She pats his cheek affectionately and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “How is training with Carla? Is she treating you the right way?”
Luca laughs. This time, I do roll my eyes.
Luca slides a hand to my back and lets it rest there as he dips to kiss the top of my head. “Training is going well, but did Carla tell you the other news?”
Abuela lifts an eyebrow, her eyes darting between us.
“She’s helping me run my summer camp this June,” Luca says.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from chuckling at the disappointment I note in Abuela’s eyes. I think she was expecting Luca to announce that we were dating…and while we’re not, we’re still something. A situationship.
“You watch too much Las Islas,” I whisper to her as Luca moves toward the sink to wash his hands.
“Shh!” she scolds me, her eyes darting to Luca. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you know…” She trails off. “He’s a very handsome man. And a good boy.”
I snort. The last thing Luca DiBlanco is, is a good boy. But I don’t tell Abuela that. I suppose when you’re pushing mid-eighties, it’s all relative.
“I have to take this,” Luca says apologetically, holding his ringing cell phone in the air.
Abuela waves him off as he slips into the living room.
She turns her curious gaze on me. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me, Carlita?”
I blush, dropping my head. I swear she has some kind of secret vision that lets her see into the inner workings of her grandchildren’s minds. “No,” I murmur. “Nada.”
“Aún no,” Abuela decides, grinning. Nothing yet.
I blush deeper and roll my eyes. She grins and claps her hands together.
As Luca returns, Abuela’s phone rings and she dashes out of the kitchen, giving me a cheeky wink before she clears the doorway.
Luca sits at the kitchen table across from me and we dig into our plates of paella.
“This brings back memories,” he admits. “I used to come here with Alejandro, and Abuela always fed us something delicious. Paella, fartons and horchata, coca de mollitas,” he rattles off the items.
“Abuela’s an amazing cook,” I agree. “Poor Marlowe, she was really craving paella, which is why Abuela made it today, but Ale phoned and said not to bring it.”
“Is she still sick?” Luca asks.
I nod.
“Isn’t it kind of…well, a long time to feel this poorly?”
“Yes,” I agree, sighing. “She has hyperemesis gravidarum.”
Luca’s eyebrows fly off his face.
“Think morning sickness but more intense and for her whole pregnancy,” I explain.
Horror shudders through his eyes. “That sounds awful. Ale hasn’t said anything.”
“They just got the diagnosis two days ago. He’s…worried about Marlowe. She needed IV fluids this week.”
“Mierda,” he swears.
I nod in agreement. It really is shit.
“But Abuela was happy when I told her you were passing by. She’s always thrilled to have someone eat her paella.”
Luca chuckles. “What are you up to for the rest of the evening?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Honestly? I feel like going out. Tomorrow is a teacher’s professional development day so there’s no work for me. I haven’t had a night out in ages. You busy?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. And I’d love to take you out.”
I bite the corner of my mouth. “Do you have practice tomorrow morning?”
“No,” he says slowly.
“Good.” I stand from my chair and stack our empty plates, rinsing them in the sink before loading them in the dishwasher. “Because you’re going to need to sleep in.”
“Where are we going?” He stands and follows me out of the kitchen.
“You’ll see. Trust me?”
“Sometimes,” he murmurs.
I raise an eyebrow, fighting my grin.
“I want to,” he amends.
I laugh and reach for his hand. Linking our fingers together, I squeeze reassuringly. “I’ll get you home in one piece, DiBlanco.”
Luca snorts. “I’m holding you to that.”
After we say goodbye to Abuela, we pass by my apartment so I can quickly change.
Then, we head to Ruzafa, the trendy, eclectic part of the city.
It’s bursting with people, energy, and good vibes and I breathe it all in.
After weeks of commitment and grind, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and have some fun.
Luca and I move through the crowds of Ruzafa together, our fingers linked.
Luca stops a few times to sign autographs or pose for photos, but for the most part, people leave us alone.
He’s well-known and recognized, but if he’s solo, without Alejandro, he can blend into a crowd.
And no one recognizes me here unless I’m with Papá or Ale. It’s refreshing, to be honest.
A night out with my crush—high school Carla is squeeing. And dancing. And pinching herself. Because, is this even real?
“What would you like?” Luca asks as we slip into a bar.
I bite the corner of my mouth, glancing up at him. “Is it okay with you if we drink tonight, Coach Luca?”
He snorts. “Smartass.”
I laugh. “I’ll take a beer.”
Luca grabs us beers and we spill back out onto the street with other partygoers. Clustering around a small table, we’re pulled into easy conversation with strangers and I enjoy the night, the simplicity of the moment.
Luca steps behind me and I close my eyes, breathing in, when his palm finds my hip and slides across my abdomen before stilling. He shadows my back, his frame big and strong and protective, and I relish the feel of his hand on my body, pressing my back against his front.
When he drops his mouth to my ear, I nearly shiver. “You want another drink?”
I turn my face and our lips almost brush. Luca doesn’t back away. Neither do I.
His eyes are dark, liquid pools of ink. There’s a hunger, a desire there, that shocks me. And I love that he’s reacting this way to me. “Sure.”
One side of his mouth pulls into a half smirk. He taps my hip bone once before ducking into another bar for more beers.
We drink our way through Ruzafa, stopping at bars, and pausing to chat with friends and acquaintances we know in the busy streets. If anyone is surprised to see us together, they don’t let on.
And that pleases me too.
We could be a normal couple now. Gone are the days of being Ale’s baby sister. I’m an adult now and I can be worthy of the space beside a legend like Luca DiBlanco. Not because he’s a futbolista but because he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known.
“You ready for our cherry on top?” I ask as we’re sandwiched between a group of people on a crowded sidewalk.
“A cherry on—what?” he laughs.
“It’s an expression,” I start to explain before shaking my head. “Come on; I’ll show you.”
We wind through throngs of people before stopping at a nondescript door on a side street in Ruzafa.
“Where are we?” Luca asks.
“You know, you’re supposed to be the local these days; you should know these things.” I knock seven times.
A bewildered expression crosses his face and it’s adorable. “Know what?”
“Dime la clave.” A man opens a small window in the door. Tell me the code.
“Tabú,” I murmur. Taboo.
Behind me, Luca freezes. I glance at him over my shoulder.
“You’re not taking me to a…sex club, are you?” He hisses the word sex and, under the streetlights, I note the tips of his ears redden.
“I adore you, Luca DiBlanco,” I say, grinning, as the door to the speakeasy swings open.
We enter and slip behind a massive, velvet curtain. And then, we’re back in time.
“This place is based on the speakeasies of Prohibition New York. But it has a Spanish flavor,” I explain, pointing to the bar. “Behind the bar, there’s a secret tunnel to the place next door. It opens into a nightclub. It’s really fun!”
Luca looks around, taking it all in. The place is busy but not packed—mostly because you have to know about it to access it. It’s hardly advertised, having gained popularity by word of mouth only.
The little tables, the stage with the jazz band, the theatrical cocktails, all set against a backdrop of gold accents and Art Deco patterns, makes it feel like we’ve transported to the past. Chandeliers drip with crystal, throwing the light, dim and sultry from the Edison bulbs.
But the elaborate mirrors and gold brocade add sparkle, creating the illusion, the fantasy of 1920s New York City.
“This is…I had no idea this was here,” Luca comments. “And B lived in Ruzafa for a bit.”
“Trust me, Bianca knows about this place.”
Luca gives me a look. “How do you know? Did she tell you?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I told her!”
“She never told me…” he grumbles as we step to the bar.
The bartender looks up and grins when he sees me. “?Cuánto tiempo, guapa!” Long time no see, beautiful.
“It’s good to see you, Henrik!” I smile at my old Danish friend. “How’s Maribel?”
“Wonderful.” He leans in closer. “Expecting our second baby any day now.”
“What!” I exclaim, leaning over the bar to kiss his cheeks. “That’s incredible. I’m thrilled for you.”
“Thank you. She’ll be sad to have missed you.” He turns toward Luca and holds out a hand, which Luca easily shakes. “Henrik.”
“Luca.”
Henrik winks at me. “Oh, I know who you are.”
I blush, hating that I once, drunkenly, waxed poetic about Luca to Henrik. It was a weekend in New York, when I was hosting a baby shower for Kate, and Henrik and Maribel were visiting to source materials for the speakeasy.
“What can I get you?” Henrik asks, turning his attention to me.
“Two of your specialties.” I hold up two fingers.
Henrik places a hand on his heart and dips his head. Then, he sets to work crafting our cocktails.
“This place is really cool,” Luca comments, looking around again.
“It’s awesome. Henrik made a deal with the club owner next door so they have this hybrid thing going. That way, they share clientele and the tunnel between their businesses also adds to the secretive, forbidden element of the speakeasy.”
“Yeah,” Luca agrees. “How do you know Henrik? The States?”
“Yes. He’s from Denmark but I met him a million years ago in North Carolina.”
“Let me guess,” Luca mutters. “You dated?”
“It was more of a fling.”
Luca’s eyes widen. “And what was his issue?”
“Henrik? Nothing. I introduced him to my friend Maribel, knowing they would hit it off. And now, as you heard, they’re expecting their second child.”
“Wait.” Luca shakes his head. “You introduced your ex to your friend?”
“I wouldn’t call him an ex. It was a brief little…fun,” I try to explain. “And he’s perfect for Maribel.” I bite my bottom lip, grinning. “You know, even though I have a ton of guy friends, especially from soccer, I am the ultimate girls’ girl, DiBlanco.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Here you go!” Henrik sets two cocktails in front of us.
“Thanks, mate,” Luca murmurs, reaching into his wallet.
Henrik shakes his head and holds out his hand, waving away the money. “It’s on the house. Be good to Carla; she’s one of the best.”
Luca nods. “Of course, I…thank you, Henrik. Grazie.”
A big group, a bachelorette party, enters the speakeasy and I laugh. Bachelorette parties are so hit or miss.
“Have fun with that.” I flip my chin to Henrik.
He chuckles. “It was good to see you, Carla.”
“Tell Maribel I’ll call her this week. I’m back in Valencia now.”
“She’ll be happy to hear it. Have a good night, you two. Holler if you need anything.” Henrik moves toward the approaching group of women.
“Come on,” I say, lifting my drink and gesturing toward a little table. “Let’s grab a seat before the show comes on.”
“What is this?” Luca sniffs his drink.
“A secret,” I reply. “But it’s gin based.”
“Carla, you always push me outside my comfort zone.”
I slip onto a seat and look up at him, noting how larger-than-life his presence is, somehow even bigger in the atmosphere of the speakeasy.
With his classic, Italian good looks and strong value system centered on family, loyalty, and reliability, he could be ripped right from the page of a historical romance novel. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
Luca takes the seat beside me. “When I’m with you, Carla, it feels like flying. And it’s exhilarating.” He clicks his glass against mine before leaning back in his seat.
His arm drapes around the back of my chair, his hand curling around the top.
The lights dim slightly as the jazz band starts their next set.
But I can’t tear my eyes away from Luca. I used to watch him when no one was looking, stealing furtive glances, and praying Alejandro didn’t call me out for it.
But tonight, I study him with abandon.
He’s always made me feel like I’m flying. Like I’m capable of anything. He never made fun of my dreams but inspired me to chase them.
And I realize that even now, in this season of uncertainty, he’s been that same steady, encouraging voice for me. He’s always seen me, even when I didn’t feel worthy of being seen.