Page 20 of Flawless

“And you!” she says, shaking the rolling pin at me. “What have I told you about ignoring those idiots? You don’t give them what they’re asking for, no? That’s what they want. If you act out, then you’re giving them something else to report about, and you’re better than that.”

“Mrs. Caparelli, I had no plans on hurting him.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you, Zenon Diaz. You’re a good man, but you’re also emotional and passionate like my late husband, Bruno, was. I saw the news reports. Let them talk.”

“They’re questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Caparelli. My honor, my word, and my allegiance to this country mean everything to me. Yes, I would love to play for Brazil, but I didn’t make it. I accepted that a long time ago, and when the opportunity for me to play for Italy arose, I jumped at it.”

“Come here,” she says, beckoning me with a finger to lean down closer to her as she tucks the rolling pin under her arm.

I do as she says, and she grabs my cheeks in her doughy hands. “You’re so honorable, but you make things hard on yourself. Tell them the truth.”

“No.”

“You owe it to yourself.”

“No.”

She kisses my cheeks, pats them, and then steps back.

“Why not?”

“Telling them that Brazil tried to recruit me back after my first two years won’t solve anything.”

“It will stop them from questioning your loyalty. They won’t ask if you purposefully lost that game so that your home country could win.”

“No matter what I tell them, Mrs. Caparelli, they’re going to find something else to drag my name through the mud about.”

“Yes, that will be one less thing, though.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, shrugging.

“I’ve got some gnocchi and tiramisu,” she says, smiling at me.

“I’ll be right over,” I promise as she turns and walks away laughing at me.

I jog into the house, shower, and change for dinner at Mrs. Caparelli’s home.

***

Dinner at her house was wonderful, as always. She still cooks as though all her children are living at home, and truthfully, she only sees them twice a week now. As usual, she sent me home with leftovers, and for that, I’m grateful. That’s less cooking for me.

As soon as I step outside of her house, though, I spot two more news vans across the street from my house. As soon as they spot me crossing the lawn, they jump out and head in my direction.

This time, I ignore them calling my name and recall Mrs. Caparelli’s warnings. My phone rings the moment that I step foot inside of my home.

“Hello.”

“Z, Mamãe is worried sick about you. She’s been calling you for the last two hours, and you haven’t answered your phone,” my older sister, Aurea, says.

“I was next door with Mrs. Caparelli for dinner. I left my cell phone behind. I’ll call her.”

“Make sure you do. But how are you? We saw the video.”

“What video?” I ask, peering through the curtains as I watch two entire camera crews set up across the street from my front lawn.

“Earlier today, you assaulted some camera guy. Then, this old lady comes out assaulting them with a broom and a rolling pin. What is going on over there, Z?”

“Aurea, it’s not as bad as it looks. They were harassing me, okay?”

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