Chapter 23 Carla
Carla
“You even have a pool?” I gape, pointing toward the built-in, still-covered-for-the-season swimming pool surrounded by sun loungers and closed umbrellas. “Why do you stay in Valencia?”
Luca chuckles, kicked back on a sun lounger. He’s clad in sweatpants and a long-sleeved henley, his feet bare, his hair a riot of curls.
The temperature has dipped and the breeze has kicked up as the sun sets, but the cool, crisp air feels fresh. Invigorating.
I curl my fingers into the thick scarf I wound around my neck before venturing outside. I changed too, donning loose, baggy jeans, and a lightweight knit sweater. At the last moment, I added a scarf for extra warmth, and as I perch on the end of Luca’s lounge chair, I’m glad I did.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, bending one arm behind his head as he looks at me. “The chef left a whole smorgasbord of meals for us to try.”
“That sounds delicious. I’m getting hungry for sure.” I tug one foot up onto the chair, turning my body toward Luca. “You know, I get that we’re here for work, but this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe even since before I lost my spot in Chicago.”
Luca purses his lips thoughtfully. “That’s a long time to be carrying worries.”
“I don’t know if I was even aware of it. It’s just now that I’m here…” I look around at the gorgeous backyard. The impeccable landscaping is complete with lighting and, as if on cue, they flicker on. “I feel at ease and the difference is shocking.”
“I love it here,” Luca agrees. “I wish I came out more, but it’s tough during the season.”
“Even more so on international competition years.”
“Exactly,” Luca agrees. “If I’m called up to the national team, I usually miss the first week of camp…” He shrugs.
“You know, a lot of players don’t try to host annual camps while they’re actively playing.” I grin. “You’re such an overachiever.”
He barks out a laugh. “Bianca used to tell me that too. But I love the camp. I love coming home and having a real reason to be here; one where it feels like I’m contributing. Helping to shape the next generation of players is important to me. I want to pay it forward.”
My brows pull together as I try to decipher his words.
He sits up straighter in the lounger. “My father passed when I was twelve. I had just started at the academy and suddenly, I didn’t have my dad.
No family nearby, none of the kids I had come up through the ranks with.
If it wasn’t for Coach Jorge, álvaro, Ale and Andrés, your father…
” Luca trails off, shaking his head. His eyes take on a gleam that holds me captive.
I twist my hands together in my lap, forcing myself to remain quiet and wait for him to find his words.
“I had a lot of people invest their time, energy, and guidance in me. I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am without them.
If I can help be that, or part of that, for someone else…
well, that’s just as an important legacy for me.
Maybe even more so than winning the Copa or breaking a record. ”
I shift slightly, placing a hand on his leg, just above his knee. “I get that, Luca. Truly. You see your position in the fútbol world as so much bigger than a player’s normal trajectory.”
“So do you, or you wouldn’t be championing girls in sports the way you are, the way you have been.”
“It’s different for my papá and Ale. They breathe fútbol for the sake of playing. Winning.”
“We all have different roles to play.”
“True. But I want to play again too. I love my girls and coaching. Being part of Santa Isabel’s team gave me a confidence boost, and I needed it.” I bite my bottom lip, choosing my words carefully.
“But it’s not enough?” Luca murmurs, his voice quiet.
I shake my head. “I miss being part of my team. I miss being out on the field, with the fans in the stands. I miss…all of it. And I want another shot.”
“Then take it. It’s still possible for you.”
“I’m worried I’m getting distracted. Sidetracked.”
“Because of the coaching?”
“Partly.”
“Or…” Luca’s lips twitch, a small smiling softening his words. “Because of me?”
I groan, lifting a hand and rubbing along my forehead. “How do you know me so well? See me so clearly? When no one else does?”
“I understand you, Carla, because I’ve been you. I was you, before Mamma passed away. Losing her changed my perspective on things. But I understand your hunger, your drive. Hell, I applaud it. I don’t want to keep you from the things that make you happy.”
“I don’t want to sacrifice this opportunity, to make a club or the national team.”
“I don’t want you too, either.”
“And I don’t know how to be all in on a relationship. What if I mess this up?” I gesture between us. “What if I can’t give you more and I hurt you?”
He tilts his head, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Is that why you keep things surface level? Why you’ve never been in a serious relationship before?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
I suck in a breath. This is it. If I utter the next words, I’m willingly crossing a line with Luca. One I can’t turn back from; one I don’t want to turn back from, even though I’m petrified. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”
At my confession, Luca leans closer. He hunches forward, dropping his legs to each side of the lounger so he can pull me in between them. When he wraps his arms around me, my body unwinds, all tension seeping away, fears dashing.
“It’s not one-sided, Carla. The things I feel for you…” He trails off, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I turn in his embrace so I can read his eyes, his expressions.
“I proposed once.”
I gasp, my eyes widening. He proposed marriage…
My reaction causes a smile to flicker over Luca’s lips. “It was eight years ago. Chiara and I were together for years—”
“I remember Chiara.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I was jealous of her. I remember when she would come to your games, wear your number…Ale always spoke highly of her. Said you were lucky to date a woman who didn’t give you shit all the time. She was supportive, accommodating…”
“And that was the problem. Accommodating isn’t a good thing in a relationship.
Maybe at certain times, when one person is going through things and the other lends extra support.
But not as a default setting. Accommodation breeds resentment.
I didn’t see it with Chiara. She was always so understanding and agreeable that when she turned down my proposal, I was shocked.
Never in a million years did I think she’d say no. ”
“Why did she?” I ask, my heart hammering. My palms feel slick, my stomach nervous. A flicker of indignation rolls through me on Luca’s behalf but a much larger part of me feels…relieved, confused, uncertain? I can’t nail down my emotional response and I can’t look away from Luca, either.
“Because she didn’t want to come second place in her marriage. And she was right, Carla. I never put her first. Fútbol came first, Mamma came first, Bianca, Alejandro and Andrés, preparations for camp…everything came before Chiara. She was right to turn me down.”
I frown, staring up at him. “But she broke your heart.”
“It needed to be broken. I needed to have that experience to understand that when you make a future with someone, when you ask a woman to be your wife, her goals, dreams, ambitions, become yours.” He brushes my hair away from my face.
“I’m rooting for you, cucciola, always. But I don’t want to let myself hope, or fall, if you’re only interested in keeping it casual.
You have to be open to something deeper, something real and messy and meaningful, if we’re going to take this further.
Because you could break me, Carla. And I’d willingly risk it for a real chance, but not for a fling. ”
Holy shit. His words, the intention behind them, the seriousness in his gaze, his trust in me…it’s too much. All of it is too much at once.
I pull in a breath, my heart rate loud in my temples. “Luca,” my voice cracks.
He continues to stare at me, his fingers stroking my hair. “Think about it.”
“What if I want that? Everything you said? But I don’t know how to do it?” I whisper the words, ashamed at my inexperience and hating how vulnerable I feel. Like I could crack open and bleed out insecurities right here on the lounger.
“We can figure it out together. We just have to be honest with each other. Communicate. And try.” Luca’s eyes blaze as they hold mine. Hope and desire searing in their intensity.
I reach for his shoulders, using them as leverage to pull myself closer. He lowers his head but doesn’t completely close the gap between us. He’s waiting for me. For my commitment, for my certainty.
“Yes,” I say. “I want that too.” Then, I kiss Luca, sealing my intentions.
I want a real relationship with him, a meaningful commitment, with all the messy emotions and hard truths it demands. With Luca, I want everything.
After a delicious dinner, I stifle a yawn and stretch my arms overhead. “That pasta was out of this world.”
“I’ll pass your compliments to the chef. He makes it fresh every morning.”
I shake my head. “Of course he does.”
Luca’s quiet for a beat, staring at me. And then, “You want to go somewhere with me?”
I tilt my head. “Now?”
He nods.
A sense of adventure sparks to life within me. While Ale and Andrés relentlessly tease Luca for being the dad of the group, he’s not as severe and strait-laced as they make him out to be. “Okay.”
He extends a hand to me. “Okay.”
I stand from my seat.
“I’ll clean this up. You need a warmer sweater or a coat,” he says, pointing at my thin knit.
“I have a leather jacket.”
His grin widens. “That’s perfect.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Shaking my head, I leave him in the kitchen, a beautiful, open-concept design with similar tiles to the ones in the Italian restaurant I liked in Valencia, and hurry to my room for a jacket and ankle boots.
When I return to the foyer, Luca’s waiting for me by the front door, a helmet in each hand.
I falter. “What are we doing?”
He laughs and passes me a helmet. “Trust me?”
“You know I do.” I jam the helmet on my head.
Luca places his down on a console table as he makes sure my helmet is a snug fit. His thick fingers adjust and fasten the clasp. Then, he palms the top of my helmet and gives it a little shake. “You look badass, campionessa.”
“I am badass.”
He pulls on his helmet and opens the front door. And there, waiting for us to ride, is a sleek Ducati motorcycle.
I inhale sharply. “This is yours?”
He nods. “I have a different version in Valencia, but this one handles better on the backroads and open stretches.”
I point at him, narrowing my eyes. “You ride a motorcycle.”
He chuckles, tossing one leg over the bike and straddling it. “Sí. I’m letting you in on my secret.” He winks and I feel it like a pinch between my legs. My God, what is he doing to me?
Luca extends his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you for a ride.”
Placing my hand in his, I swing one leg over the bike and settle myself behind him. He clasps my hands and wraps my arms around his abdomen. “Hold on tight.”
I shiver against him, partly from the cold and partly from the rumble of his words. Then, he revs the engine, pushes off the ground, and rides away from his farmhouse, into the rolling hills, languid curves, and dark promise of night.