Love Turns With Twisted Fates 2 (9 page)

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.

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,
MostMl
 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.

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?”

“Sometimes you are just too much,” grabbing his face between
both hands and planting kisses all over him. “And I love it.” I eat up his
affection knowing Sasha could be watching.

He tells me how much he loves me and with his usual cocky
charm, how to find him out on the pitch.

The game was going well. At just before the half Diego has
racked up an assist and two goals. The taunt of his name being chanted
throughout the stadium creates an overwhelming amount of pride in me. “
Santo
Feo
,” the crowd sings.

“Come on, ref! He’s offside.” I’m frustrated with the lack
of calls from the referees. Earlier, Diego was clearly taken out, but the
referee couldn’t be bothered to pull out a card.

I can feel Mazzy’s eyes on me. “What?” she questions, but I
don’t bother to turn to face her. “I still don’t get this offside shit,” she
says with equal parts frustration and resignation.

“Sheesh,” my exasperation a tease. “After all these years,
you still don’t get it?” From the corner of my eye, I register the shake of her
head and the tiniest bit of shame pass over her face. “Okay, let me see if I
can explain this in Mazzy terms.”

For a moment, I ponder the possible topics I could use to
help her understand. Running through my knowledge of Mazzy, the most logical
considerations are music, dance…

“I’ve got it,” my voice unnecessarily raised. “Imagine we’re
at a bar with the girls,” referring to the group of ladies we met in a dance class
we took as freshmen. “You and Sammi are eyeballing the same guy; he’s the
ball.”

Her eyes go big at the mention of ball. “Is he a big ball?”
gesturing with her hands held apart his possible size.

Shaking my head, I demand she focus. “Stay with me Mazzy.
It’s not the time to be in the gutter.

“Since, you and Sammi are friends you agree to play by the
rules, and the rules are simple: the night club—the field—is divided in half,
you and Sammi each protecting a side, but you each need to reach the end of the
other’s side for the goal—in this case, taking Mr. Man Meat home.”

“I love a good competition,” she interjects.

“You each are the last line of defense before the other
scores, goalie and defender rolled into one. The only way she legally gets past
you is if she has the ball—Mr. Man Meat—in tow. Keeping things fair, it’s ‘may
the best woman win.’” Mazzy dusts off her shoulders and pops her invisible
collar.

“Now, let’s say that Sammi enlists Ashley to help and they
have the ball, or more specifically in this scenario, Mr. Man Meat’s attention.
Ashley’s herding him towards Sammi and her goal.”

The way Mazzy’s screwed up her face I’m either about to lose
her with my analogy or the thought of Ash and Sam getting one over on her is so
unappealing it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. I’m hoping for the latter.

“Problem is Sammi is already waiting behind you waiting for
Ash to hand him off to her.”

“That bitch!”

I can’t stifle the chuckle her reaction elicits. “That’s
offside.” Gesturing back down to the game, I continue. “See the guy in red just
in front of our goalie?” She nods. “He’s you. If a member of Team Sammi gets
behind you while Ashley,” pointing to the player from the other team with the
ball, “still has the ball, Team Sammi is offside.” I shrug like it’s nothing.
“There are a few more technical considerations, but that’s the gist of
it."

By the time the half ends, I feel like my bladder is going
to explode. This baby business is brutal on your lady bits when you think about
it. Constantly going to bathroom, making your tits swell to the size of small
watermelons—yes, I’m exaggerating, and then there’s labor and delivery.

I freshen myself up while I’m in the bathroom since we’re
moving to the wives and girlfriends section for the second half. I don’t know
when Mazzy will be back again and Diego’s next games—while she’s in town—are
away games, I decided she needs to see the other half of what I deal with at
the games: the WAGS.

I load up Mazzy’s hands with a few bottles of water and I go
to find Bean. “Hey, Bean. I’m gonna take Mazzy down to the seats for the full experience.
Let her see what life in the WAGS section is all about.” Bean and his usual
game day buddies chuckle at the thought.

“You ready for this Mazz?”

She gives me a look that says, ‘Do you even have to ask?’

The weather is still nice. Mazzy and I are both wearing
short sleeves and Capri jeans which means our ink is showing. Normally, this is
not something I’d ever waste a minute worrying myself over, but the murmurs and
not so subtle under the breath mumblings I heard the first time I sat down
there with them, made it very clear that along with my being American, my
tattoos made me the ultimate pariah.

Fortunately, not all the wives and girlfriends felt that
way. It was contained to a small group of them that were the team’s version of
Mean Girls. The others were at least cordial and waited until I wasn’t around
to talk shit, if that’s what they chose to do. A couple of the ladies went out
of their way to be friendly and help me adjust, even including me in the gossip
as if I’d always been there.

“Hey, Vicki. Hey, Sue.” I greet two of the wives when we
reach the WAGS section. They each stand up to give me a gentle hug while air
kissing both cheeks. “This is Mazzy. Mazzy, the Wives,” I introduce, referring
to my name for the two wives that welcomed me with open arms.

“Ladies,” Mazzy drawls in her lazy California accent, “which
hotties on the field are yours?” She’s overly ostentatious even for Mazzy.

“Number nine,” says Sue.

“Number sixteen,” says Vicki.

“I tell ya, ladies, there are some of the hottest men on
that field today.”

Vicki leans in to tell me what a riot Mazzy was and how she
was sure going to ruffle some feathers today. I whisper back, “Where I have to
watch my tongue, she can unleash hers on whomever she deems deserving. I told
her about my first game down here. She insisted she get to see them,” nodding
up and back behind us.

“So, Mazzy,” Sue starts, “Izzy tells us you’re not much of a
fan of football.”

“Is anyone really?” she deadpans.

“Oh, Mazzy,” I plead. “Behave.”

“Unless being a fan of football players makes you a fan of
football. Then, by all means, you can call me a big fan,” she holds her hands
about twelve inches apart with a wink from behind her sunglasses.

The teams are taking the field as halftime is coming to an
end. I told Diego we would be down there for the second half, so I’m not
surprised that he makes a point to look for me. He flashes me a smile and with
his right hand, he holds up one finger then four then three. Each number
representing the number of letters in the words ‘I love you.’ I respond with
two fingers then four then two then four. These numbers representing how much I
love him: ‘so much so much.’

“Bleh,” Mazzy croaks beside me, “you two are even too sweet
for my sweet tooth.”

“Oh,” Vicki starts, “they’re sickening. Of course, Izzy’s
hands get fuller every time he does something like that. What was it you called
them, Izzy?”

“Who? The Vapid and Obtuse?” I answer knowing exactly what
she’s talking about.

She holds in a laugh, “Yes, the Vapid and Obtuse don’t even
see Izzy as an obstacle. When your man looks and acts like Diego, you don’t get
to keep him without a challenge even when you have his last name.”

We hear a snort from behind us with, “Especially if you’re
the owner’s daughter.”

Because we all know what they’re alluding to, we let it go.
I’ve even expressed my concern to Diego about Sasha’s attentions. He truly
doesn’t see what my concern is about, but has assured me he’s mine nonetheless.
Men can be so clueless.

When number twenty-one turns to look back at the WAGS
section, Mazzy doesn’t fail to disappoint. Knowing that he’s one of the Mean
Girls’ men, she goes out of her way to be super flirty. “Hey, Number
Twenty-One,” she calls out to him fluttering her fingers in a wave. “You and me
sans clothes, a bed is optional,” she shouts clearly for all those within
twenty meters to hear.

I choke on the sip of water I just took as a result of her
bold proposition. Watching Number Twenty-One, one moment he’s all smiles, the
next he looks like he was the kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie
jar.

None of us looks, but it’s safe to assume he was get a
glaring look from his wife behind us.

Sue and Vicki are still cracking up when Mazzy says to me,
“Izzy, with the number of good looking men on this team, I might just have to
move here.”

The cough that comes from behind must belong to Mrs. Number
Twenty-One. “Excuse me,” she spits out, “but that’s my husband you’re talking
about.”

Mazzy, always on her A-game, replies coolly, “I’m sorry. He
didn’t mention that when I was just flirting with him. My bad.”

I don’t encourage her behavior nor do I discourage it. It’s
been my experience, however brief and infrequent, that this lady and her band
of mean girls deserve every bit of Mazzy’s or anyone else’s antipathy.

“While you’re letting your friend,” now addressing me about
Mazz, “flirt with my man, your man is getting real cozy with the boss’
daughter,” she hisses.

“Alexis, I’m aware of what it looks like, but I am more than
certain that my man knows he’s my man.” Tsking the next part, I ask, “Can you
say the same?” knowing full well that his last infidelity was all over the
British tabloids.

The jaws of Sue and Vicki are practically hitting their laps
and Mazzy’s snickering behind her hand. Mrs. Number Twenty-One looks like she’s
about to blow. Instead, she stands with a stomp and demands her merry band of
mean girls follows. The lot of them storm up the stairs and out of sight.

“Izzy, you are definitely going to make this season
interesting in the stands,” says Vicki.

“Interesting might be an understatement. I’m thinking we
should start a reality show…The Real Housewives of London United.” Sue holds up
her hands and moves them across the sky like the words were on a marquee.

“That’s my girl,” Mazzy nudges my shoulder with hers.

The game ended in a tie and of course, that confused Mazzy.
She’s used to overtime and extra innings. I tried to explain, but she’d become
distracted with one of the staff standing on the sidelines.

“That’s Jason Becks,” I lean in to tell her. She repeats his
name as if she’s trying to taste it.

After they shake hands with the opposing team, the team
heads back our way to the locker room. We’re waiting outside the locker room
with the rest of the families when Diego comes out with Jason following. They
make their way to where I’m waiting with Mazzy.

“Two things: What happened with James’ wife?” referring to
number twenty-one. “And are you still up for the party tomorrow night? Jason,
here, is the one throwing the birthday bash.”