Chapter One

December 20th, 2010 – Rosario, Santa Fe, Argentina

Some people are famous, always in the spotlight, whether they want it or not. Others, however, are as ordinary as they come. They are just another face in the crowd, one of the billions populating the planet. While I was of the latter group, my childhood friend Lionel Messi wasn’t. It did help being disputably the world’s greatest player.

I didn’t envy him though. Always in the spot light, criticized, regardless of a win or a loss – it was a lifestyle I was happy to avoid.

“Lia, open it already.”

Whatever Leo had gotten me for my birthday/Christmas present had him excited. It was a shame that he wouldn’t be there for the actual holiday, but he would be flying back to Europe to potentially be named the best player in the world. Of course, the title was arbitrary. He’d always been the best in my eyes, or at least had the potential to be the best. He’d already won once, and despite how good Andrés Iniesta and Xavi Hernández were, Leo was better. And while he didn’t think he would win, I knew he would.

I had been fiddling with the box for over five minutes, almost afraid to see what he’d gotten me. I was always slightly ashamed of how little I could give him in comparison to what he got me.

Finally I tore the last of the wrapping paper off, and slid off the cardboard lid. The tissue paper obscuring the object was such a simple barrier, yet I still hesitated. “Go on,” the footballer prompted. I flashed a glance his way, “I’m wary of what you got me after last year – that cell phone was ridiculous.” He smiled, but didn’t reply.

Finally giving in, I pushed the fragile white paper to the side, and nearly fainting. Inside sat a beautiful new Argentina National Team jersey, with his number on the back. Looking closer I saw it was signed by the players, the signature of Di María noticeably absent, to my amusement. But I was also stunned. His signature was most prominent, and after his, that of team captain Javier Mascherano. It was too much of a gift. “Leo, this is…” “Don’t say too much,” he interrupted with a smile. It was, after all, the mantra I repeated after anything he gifted me with.

Before I could say anything in reply, he continued, “Keep going.” I looked up at him, “There’s more?” He nodded, an eager look of anticipation on his features.

Astounded, I lifted up the jersey, and nearly dropped it in surprise. A sleek laptop sat, nestled in more tissue paper. It was beautiful, a decorative cover of the flag of Argentina. “Again, this is too much. But this is way too much,” I said, looking between
him and the mounting pile of gifts. “Your computer is old…it’s slow,” he defended himself.

I glanced over at the ancient PC in the corner, the bulky monitor taking up half of my desk. He was right, I knew, but still…I didn’t like that he spent so much on me.

“Leo, I was getting by,” I insisted. “You know it was slow. Besides, this way you can bring it with you…you know, when you come visit me in Spain.” It was said with hesitation, and shyness. I couldn’t help but smile, even if I was even more frightened that he’d insist on buying those tickets as well. “There’s still more,” he then said, causing me to actually groan. “This isn’t enough?” I asked weakly. He shook his head.

I lifted up the laptop, and looked at the lanyard that was included. Inside there was a ticket, reading Completa pase a la Copa América.

“What is this?” I asked, making sure I wasn’t misreading it.

“It will get you into the box at the Copa with my family,” he answered. “Leo, this is something to give to Antonella, not me,” I said, referring to his girlfriend. He rolled his eyes, “I got that for you months ago, for you, not her. Besides, we broke up a month ago…” “What? Why?” I asked, concerned he was broken up about it after I had so callously mentioned her. “We weren’t a good match…things just didn’t work out.”

I sighed, I really wanted him to be happy. “How are things with Carlos?” he questioned. Carlos, my boyfriend. I smiled, “Pretty well, thank you.” Lie. Underneath the long sleeve shirt I was wearing, despite the hot weather, was a mirage of bruises. But Leo didn’t know that, nor did he need to.

“Don’t worry Leo, you’ll find the one meant for you,” I said reassuringly.

He turned and smiled at me, a frenzy of emotions in his brown eyes. But I was unable to decipher them. “I know. Someday I’ll find someone…someone like you.”

But not me, I thought bitterly.

~~

Barcelona, Spain – December 21st, 2010

The loud bass of the music vibrated the glass in my hand, the melting ice tinkling lightly against the glass. I was surprised I didn’t have a headache already. I tried to remember what I’d liked about clubs when I was younger, more rebellious, and more carefree. They were just loud.

Maybe the alcohol had helped. It wasn’t unusual for me to drink until the entire night became a blur…at least in my past. Felipa had changed that. Everything had changed.

But watching everyone dance, grinding on one another, alcohol being downed like nothing, it didn’t hold the same appeal. I looked over at the friends I had come with. Two were at the bar, ordering more martinis. Another group of them were on the dance floor, shamelessly dancing, and attracting the wrong kind of men. I had been there, and I had a daughter as a result, and I was raising her – alone.

That was the moral of the story, being alone. Not everyone had a prince charming or a knight in shining armor. Sometimes, men were just pigs. Sometimes, the good men were just taken, or they were gay. I had rarely met a good man, and they had never been available when I had. It was an unfortunate twist of fate that kept me from finding someone. But I wasn’t just finding a boyfriend, a lover, or a husband. I also would be finding a father for my daughter. She deserved the best, but the best had never appeared.
I glanced to my left as my remaining friend left, her drink gone. My glass of water was still half filled. I had fallen out of the habit of drinking on nights like this. I still had to go home, and tuck my daughter into bed. I didn’t want her to smell the alcohol on my breath, or witness me doing crazy shit.

The ice clinked as another cube melted to the point where everything in the glass shifted.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I turned my head back to the right to see who had addressed me, as I assumed I was the person he was speaking to. Handsome. Tall. Rugged. Footballer.

It took all of my strength not to just ask for an autograph. God, did I ever want one. But he had asked me a question, so it was only polite to answer. “I’m not interesting in alcohol tonight,” I managed to get out, and at least that was the truth. He nodded, shifting his weight to his other foot, “How about conversation then?”

“I guess that couldn’t hurt,” I conceded, though I was internally throwing a celebration. Oh, how many women or culés would kill to be in my position. I almost laughed aloud.

“So what brings you out here if you aren’t interesting in a drink?” he asked casually as he slid into the seat that my friend had abandoned not a minute earlier. “My friends dragged me out for a party. And now they’re either dancing or getting drunk,” I said, gesturing out to the crowded dance floor, and then the bar.

He nodded, “Well, their loss. I’ve been hoping to talk to you all night.”

“You wanted to talk with me?” I asked incredulously. He nodded, “And buy you a drink or something. But since you don’t want that, maybe you’d rather dance?”

I looked out at the crowded dance floor. Women grinding up against men, or other women, sweaty. They were practically having sex on the floor. Did I want to dance with this man? Yes. Hell yes. But I knew it wasn’t a good idea. “I have a daughter to go home to,” I blurted out. Well, way to scare him off. His eyes flickered down to my left hand, taking not of the lack of ring, and then back to my face. He probably thought I was a whore.

“What’s her name?”

Ok, I hadn’t been expecting that. “Her name is Felipa,” I said, still stunned he’d even asked. “How old?” he then questioned. “Four years,” I answered.

“I bet she’s beautiful, like you,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. The ice clinked again, settling once more. The glass was vibrating from the heavy bass of the song. She recognized it to be a song from America, as the lyrics were in English.

“She’s the most beautiful think on the planet,” I said in response to his statement.

“I don’t doubt it,” he grinned. We fell into a silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I was just trying to figure out what was even going on. How could he have not been scared away by a kid? Or maybe he wasn’t scared off, but no longer had the same intentions. That had to be it.

“Would you accompany me to the park?” he asked suddenly. “Now?” I responded, looking up at him. He nodded, his angular features more pronounced as he shifted more into the light.

I weighed the options, but finally nodded, “Alright.”

He led the way through the throng of bodies, and out into the night air. It was cool, the December air relatively still. Few clouds lingered in the sky, but the lights of the city prevented many stars from being seen. A large, warm hand enveloped my own, pulling me along at a reasonable pace.

We reached the park, the moonlight bathing us in a silvery light.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his other hand. I looked up at him incredulously. “Here?” There’s no music,” I responded,
surprised by the sudden proposal.

“Music is optional. Come on,” he pressed.

I finally conceded, and allowed him to take my hand. He slowly began to sway. It wasn’t like the dancing it the club that was sexy and hot. This was slow, and even intimate, despite the fact that we were strangers. “This is much better than buying you a drink,” he said softly, his voice a mere whisper. Damn, was he right.