Player's Ultimatum (8 page)

Close on his heels, Yvonne took the steps two at a time. She entered the kitchen, Helena and Robbie were sitting at the kitchen counter sipping coffee and sharing a slice of tiramisu. A black tape recorder sat conspicuously to the side. Malfi stood in the corner watching the two of them.

Yvonne placed a well-rehearsed peck on Robbie’s cheek. “You two haven’t drunk the entire carafe of coffee have you?”

“Thanks to you there’s more than enough.” Robbie chuckled at the private joke. Out of guilt over their deception, Yvonne had overcompensated by ordering enough food and coffee to feed a party of ten or a quarter of the soccer team, which ever came over first.

“How did you two meet?” Helena stared at Robbie intensely over a pair of half-rimmed spectacles.

Robbie set his cup down and cleared his throat. “We grew up together in the same neighborhood in Orlando, FL. Yvonne and I even went to the same grade school. I’m slightly younger, so mothers made us walk to the bus stop every morning. Ever since then she’s looked out for me. You know like a big sister, but then one day love struck. We’ve been together ever since.” To seal the il usion, Robbie leaned over and kissed Yvonne on the lips.

“Wel I see both of you are definitely in love,” Bracci drawled, though not sounding entirely convincing. “But why have you never spoken of her before and al owed the rumors of your supposed homosexuality to simmer for so long?” Knowing Robbie tended to blow his top over the intrusive gossip even now after so many months later, Yvonne spoke up.

“Robbie came over to play a sport he loves, not to hang his private life out to dry for everyone to see. He’s a very private person. He didn’t even want to do this interview. But I insisted, so we could get the spotlight redirected from unimportant things and back to the real reason why he’s here in Italy. To play footbal for
Roma Internazionale
and to help them win the European Grand Cup.”

Yvonne almost patted herself on the back as the conversation turned to other things. She’d rehearsed her lines in the bathroom while getting ready.

They’d only limited the interview to an hour and a half, but Helena Bracci extended it and monopolized their time for over an hour and a half as she tried unsuccessful y to glean more information. However, like the good footballer wife, Yvonne skil ful y shifted the conversation from their personal lives back to footbal .

The public didn’t need to know if he snored at night or if she had to beg him to take out the trash.

Getting nowhere, Helena final y gave up. “I thank you for your warmth and hospitality. It’s time for us to go. We have a deadline to meet. Malfi!” She shrieked at the top of her lungs thoroughly spoiling her regal image.

“
Si, Signora
?” Malfi mumbled appearing at the patio door off the living room. He’d excused himself earlier to smoke a cigarette in the garden.

“We have taken enough of this lovely couple’s time!” Without waiting for him to catch up, Helena headed to the front door with Robbie and Yvonne fol owing in her wake.

“Helena, it was a pleasure having you,” Yvonne called after the woman. “Please come back again.” Helena didn’t bother turning around. She simply raised her hand and wiggled her fingers while Malfi hustled her into a black Mercedes resembling a clown car. Figures, Yvonne mused. She’d dropped al pretenses of politeness when she failed to get what she came for.

Yvonne shut the door and spun around. Robbie was already waiting for her with his palms held out in front of him.

“Can I get a high five?”

Yvonne slapped her hands against his. They’d just pulled the wool over the eyes of one of Italy’s most revered and respected journalists. If all went according to plan, Robbie would move from page one to further back into the gossip rags and eventual y forgotten altogether.

Of course, their relationship would be interesting to fol ow for a while. But Yvonne didn’t have the name recognition or the fame to maintain the public’s curiosity for the rest of the season.

“It’s time to celebrate,” Robbie crowed, leading the way back into the kitchen.

With a sigh of relief, Yvonne kicked off her heels and sat on the nearest stool. She watched Robbie select a bot le of champagne from the mini wine cel ar near the sink and pour them each a glass.

“To us,” he proclaimed, raising his glass in the air.

“To us,” Yvonne repeated also raising her glass. “In the immortal words of the great Tupac Shakur, may God rest his soul,
vene, vici, vidi!”

“Puh-leaz,” Robbie snorted, “you and I both know Tupac is sunning on the Italian Riviera as we speak.” Robbie took a healthy swig and then set the empty glass on the counter.

“I wish I could stay and enjoy this lit le victory of ours a little longer, but work calls. I have practice this afternoon.” Robbie opened his shirt, exposing chocolate brown skin poured over wel -chiseled abs. The tat oo of an Arabic verse ran down the center of his torso and disappeared inside his waist band. If she were a man….

“And I need to get back to your agent. Nico Acqua countered the endorsement offer. They have champagne tastes, but a beer bottle budget,” Yvonne sniffed, “I can’t believe they only offered one hundred and fifty thousand
euro.
They can’t even get a personal appearance for that.”

Robbie came around the counter and started massaging the tight muscles in her neck. “You need to take a break. You’ve been working nonstop ever since you’ve been here. If it’s not your thesis, it’s brokering deals or fielding interviews.” Sighing, Yvonne relaxed under Robbie’s ministrations. “Maybe I wil take a break, right after I talk to Nico Acqua.” Yvonne tried to break away from his firm grasp, but he pulled her around and marched her towards the stairs.

“You’re taking the rest of the day off. Take my membership card and go to the Roman Bathhouse. Their hot spring wil work wonders on this stiff neck.”

“Umm, Robbie, aren’t bath houses for gay men?”

Robbie chuckled. “It’s not
that
kind of bath house. This one’s actual y legit, sort of.” Yvonne’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t get busy in the bath did you?”

Robbie released her to take the stairs. “Chris and I didn’t get busy in the bath. Now the sauna…that’s a different story altogether.”

* * * * *

Yvonne waited until Robbie left before she called his agent. She couldn’t resist the adrenaline rush of a heated negotiation. And she would never give up until she got what she wanted. Business was in her DNA and closing a deal under her terms made it even sweeter. So it wasn’t until late afternoon when she final y left the house for the Roman Bathhouse.

Housed in a former government building, the Roman Bathhouse’s entrance was located below street level. Heavy on privacy, one entered through the building’s secured basement parking garage.

Unlike the concrete exterior, the lobby was a luxurious oasis consisting of Italian marble, piped-in classical music and soft lighting. Several club chairs were scattered about for client seating, while the walls had built in shelves lined with an array of beauty products. A receptionist desk guarded by a paper thin brunette dressed all in black dominated the center of the room.

Sighing dramatical y, the receptionist slid the tabloid magazine she was reading aside
.
“
Che Aiuto
?” She asked without looking up.

Yvonne held out Robbie’s membership card. “My fiancé told me I could use this to gain access to the spa.” The brunette eyed the card with lit le or no interest, but when she looked up her green eyes widened. “You are…you are Gutierrez’s fiancée, Yvonne Floyd?”

Yvonne frowned. Had Robbie called before hand to give them a heads up about her arrival? Sensing her confusion, the receptionist snatched up her magazine.

“Is this you?” she asked, pointing at a picture of Yvonne in the stadium’s tunnel. Yep it was her captured with a doe-in-head lights expression on her face.

“In the flesh,” she muttered.

The receptionist dropped the magazine and clapped her hands together. “We are so pleased to have you. Permit me to call Salvatore, the general manager. He’l want to give you a tour of the spa himself.” The brunette snatched up the phone and punched a but on on the console. In rapid Italian, she spoke for several moments before replacing the receiver.

“He wil be up in a moment. If you like, you can have a seat.”

Before Yvonne could say ‘hel s bel s, thanks for the hospitality’, the general manager burst into the lobby.

“
Signorina
Floyd,” he breathed. Clasping her hands in his, he squeezed them gently. “We are so honored you have chosen to pay us a visit. Is
Signor
Gutierrez coming as wel ?

“No, Robbie should just be finishing up at practice.” Yvonne struggled to hold back a laugh as Salvatore practical y deflated before her eyes.

“
Si
...
si...
I guess he’s getting ready for the match against Calabria on tomorrow. Can’t wait to see that one myself. Enough about footbal ,” he said, obviously catching the glaze entering Yvonne’s eyes. “You didn’t come to our spa to chat about sports, but to get away from it. So which of our services you would like to indulge in today?”

“Robbie recommended the springs.”

“Ah! Good choice. Our baths are sinful y delicious. You wil want to indulge more than once.” Insisting on giving her a tour, Salvatore led Yvonne down a flight of stairs to the women’s locker room. Pausing at the entrance, he handed her a key on a plastic accordion-style wrist band.

“This is the key to your locker,” he said. “You’re 15A. Put al of your valuables in there. You’l also find a robe in the locker to change into after you hang up your clothes. Did you bring a bathing suit?” Yvonne nodded.

“Good. Bathing suits are required to enter the springs. However, women are also allowed to go topless. After you change, meet me here and I’ll escort you to the baths.”

Yvonne didn’t waste any time changing into the yel ow bikini Robbie picked up just in case they were invited by some rich mil ionaire to cruise the Italian Riviera on his private yacht. The bandeau top and bot om were held together by a multitude of string on the back and sides.

For modesty’s sake and being somewhat self-conscious, Yvonne slipped into the spa’s courtesy robe. Good thing she had because the main bathing area was probably ten degrees cooler than the locker room and occupied with other bathers.

“You did not take an hour to change?” Eyes wide in surprise, Salvatore stepped closer. “And no makeup?”

“Didn’t make any sense to wear makeup to take a bath,” Yvonne murmured.

“A beautiful woman after my own heart.” Salvatore smiled, tucking her arm in his.

The first part of their tour began in the main bathing area. Housed in a room the size of a high school gymnasium, the one hundred-year old pool was bordered by Roman columns and mosaic tile. About a half dozen people were either floating or sitting in the chest deep water while piped in music filtered through the ceiling.

Salvatore skirted the pool via a columned pathway and guided her through an archway into a wide tunnel-like hal way constructed of stone. Individual alcoves, with smal pools were fronted by etched glass panels for a modicum of privacy.

“To truly reap the benefits of our pools, there is a three-step process you must fol ow. For the first twenty minutes, guests sit in the sauna.” He paused to point to a door on the other side of the glass.

“After the sauna, you will take a dip into the
caldarium
or hot bath followed by a salt rub applied by Minerva, one of our message therapists. Once you’re done with your body treatments, you wil get into the
tepidarium
or warm water pool fol owed by a plunge in the
frigidarium
or cold bath.”

Salvatore must have sensed her trepidation because he smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s very easy. Take your time and enjoy yourself. You are not taking a bath you are awakening the senses. If you need any assistance, press the intercom but on on the wall. One of the attendants wil answer your cal .”

Left on her own, Yvonne removed her robe and stepped into the sauna. She gasped at the heat. It had to be a hundred degrees in here! “Take your time and enjoy yourself. You are not taking a bath you are awakening the senses,” she repeated, but barely able to breathe.

Taking in deep calming breaths, she laid down on one of the wooden benches and al owed the heat to envelope her like a blanket. She tried to empty her mind and just relax, but her thoughts kept drifting to Paolo Saito.

“Why haven’t I heard from you Paulo? You promised me you’d cal .”

Paulo sighed. He’d tried to avoid the brunette’s attentions, but she’d cornered him at the entrance of the men’s locker room.

Why do women make such fools of themselves?
He didn’t even sleep with this one and she stil hounded him like a lost puppy. He hadn’t taken her out because she always shot him cow eyes whenever he came to the Roman Baths. He’d done it out of boredom and thought she might be cool to hang out with for an evening.

Big Mistake. After their one date, she’d run to the media and practical y had them married. If she hadn’t been a single mother of two, he wouldn’t have insisted to Salvatore that she keep her job at the spa when the manager threatened to let her go.

“I apologize, Lucia. Al of my focus has been on the upcoming playoff season.” Not ful y buying it, she crossed her arms and thrust out her chin stubbornly. “Have you been out with anyone else?” Paolo tamped down his rising anger. For some reason one’s celebrity equaled a disturbing familiarity on others people’s part.

“Even though it’s none of your business, I haven’t been out with anyone since you.” Placated, she stepped closer and smiled, running a manicured hand over his chest. “Maybe we could spend a quiet night at your place? I can get my mother to watch the girls.” Alarm bel s dinged in Paulo’s head.

He never took a woman home, no matter how much he wanted to shag them. Once a woman came over, she started acting like she owned the place, making it even harder to get rid of her. As a rule, al of his dalliances were carried out elsewhere be it hotels or the homes of the women he dealt with.