Chapter Six

August 17th – Camp Nou, Barcelona, Spain

My heart raced as I bounded down the concrete stairs, sneakers kicking up dirt as I went. I reached the bottom, and tore out into the hall which thousands of other fans were pouring out into. I quickly squeezed my way out into the throng of people, carefully looking for the door Leo had told me about.

He’d played brilliantly. After the first part of the game he’d been sick, and he still hadn’t been playing great, but he’d still scored the winning goal.

The moment had been one of the best in my life.

I went into the game without a clue about the true rivalry between the clubs. But as I sat there with the thousands of fans, I began to understand. It wasn’t just a team, it was a family. It wasn’t just a game, it was so much more to everyone. It was history being made. Those players on the field were playing with all of their might.

I had seen Leo play hundreds of times for Argentina, and replays of him playing for Barcelona, but never before had I seen him play like that.

He had poured his soul into the game, the ball a mere extension of his body.

He worked tirelessly to pass and to fake. He had been tackled time and time again as they tried to bring him down, but my fellow Argentine was unstoppable. He had easily dribbled through or around all attacks. And then, after a brilliant back heel from Gerard Piqué, the ball was at his feet. One, two, three strides and the ball was in the net, Real Madrid keeper Iker Casillas on the ground, and Madrid star striker Cristiano Ronaldo on his knees.

The stadium had exploded in cheers and applause. The fans were bouncing on their feet, jumping as high as they could. Scarves were being waved, and all around chants sprang to life.

I could hear them now, as I finally found the door Leo had told me about. I weaved through the crowds as yet another cheer rose to life.

“Madrid, caldrón, salud el campeon!”

I smiled at the taunt, and continued through the door, fishing out the pass Leo had given me as I went. I showed it to a burly looking security guard who, after further inspection, waved me through. I thanked him softly before going deeper into the stadium than most were allowed.

At last I was standing in the lounge in front of the locker rooms. I waited silently in one of the chairs, not daring to go in, since dozens of men were showering and changing. I didn’t need that embarrassment.

At last players began to trickle out. Among the first were Piqué and Puyol, both of whom immediately came over to see me. I smiled, greeting them shyly. However, Piqué pulled me into a bear hug as if we’d been friends forever. “Have you officially turned you into a culé?” he asked hopefully. I laughed, “Yeah, I’d say you have. Nice back heel, by the way.” He set me back down just in time for the other defender to pull me into a hug.

I then remembered the nasty tackle committed by Real Madrid player Marcelo. “How is Cesc?” I asked, looking between the pair, since they were both close with the midfielder.

“He’s getting it iced, so he should be fine. He might have to sit out a game or two, but nothing too serious,” Puyol answered, sounding relieved himself.

I nodded, “And I heard fights like that are not uncommon, but that one was particularly bad?”

Piqué snorted, “Our teams have never gotten along, but ever since that Mourinho became head coach, it’s like any relations that existed before completely deteriorated. I mean, we play on the national team together, many of us, but we appear to be mortal enemies. He poked poor Vilanova for whatever reason, not to mention how bad that tackle was to begin with.”

“I’ve actually seen worse stuff in South America than that. There was this one came in Uruguay where a striker actually kicked the goalie in the face after his shot was blocked,” I commented. Both chuckled and winced at the same time.

“And is Villa alright? I didn’t really see what happened, but it looked pretty serious,” I continued, worried for the players I knew so little about, but couldn’t help but be concerned for. Both nodded. “I think he’s just upset,” Piqué said at length, and after some thought. No one had a clear idea of what happened between him and Mesut Özil, only that something had upset them both.

The doors opened again, and Javier Mascherano walked out. I smiled brightly at him, and he looked happy to see me. “Lia,” he said brightly, closing the distance between us.

“Hola,” I greeted, still amazing that the captain of the Argentine National Squad knew who I was.

I forced myself to not melt into my typical fangirl, and stay attentive to what was going on. Luckily, a good distraction came in the form of Cesc, who was carefully hobbling with a huge pack of ice attached to his right leg. I winced at the sight of blood that trailed down from Marcelo’s boot. He caught my gaze, and smiled reassuringly.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, gazing down at it. He shook his head, “It’s fine, honest. It could have been a lot worse. I was lucky.” I nodded, unsure if he was kindly lying about how it really felt.

“You played brilliantly,” I said, hoping it’d make him feel better. He glanced at me in surprise, “Really?” I nodded enthusiastically, “Definitely. You did really well controlling the midfield with Iniesta and Xavi.” He shot me a bright smile.

I saw one of the various staff members come in, carrying a large case of beer. The players swarmed. Mascherano was kind enough to offer me one, but I declined politely, not one for drinking after seeing the effects it had on Carlos. I had scars to prove that some things were better left untouched, as least by certain people. I, however, didn’t feel particularly unsafe around anyone else.
I saw the goalie, Víctor Valdés, refuse a beer before heading up, looking rather anxious. “Is he ok?” I asked, gesturing to him.

Mascherano nodded, “Yeah. He’s just going to meet with his girlfriend.” I nodded, understanding how that could feel. He had played and amazing game though, and had nothing to be ashamed of.

Finally I saw him, Lionel Messi, the game’s MVP. He came out from a different door, having been pushed to a quick interview and then press conference where he accepted the award for being the game’s MVP.

Like a magnet I was drawn to him. His eyes were already scanning the room, stopping only when he spotted me. He stayed rooted on spot, waiting as I closed in, his smile widening. I finally reached him, acting on pure instinct. My hands reached up, gently grasping his cheeks, and planted a kiss directly on his lips.

I only pulled away when I heard Piqué whistle from right behind us, bringing what I was doing into perspective. I took a step back, blushing darkly.

What had I just done?


August 17th – Camp Nou, Barcelona, Spain

I waited patiently in my seat, Lia having left quickly. I had talked with her through halftime, and was well on my way to considering her a friend. I noticed how she was friendly, but reserved. She didn’t talk at all about why she was in Barcelona, but mentioned she was staying with a friend. And then, she was gone, a wide grin on her face. I assumed that her friend was Messi, but I didn’t want to ask, fearing she’d think I was prying.

Felipa was now looking around excited to finally meet Víctor. I knew I shouldn’t have put it off for so long, but I was just so worried she wouldn’t like him as much as I did, and God, did I like him.

He was unlike any other man I had dated. There was no feeling of weariness, and nothing seemed contrived. I felt as though I could talk with him for hours, and did, on many occasions. But my daughter needed that same level of comfort and security with him. My feelings were negligible if she didn’t want him around. She always came first.

“When is Señor Baldy coming?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

“Remember, amor, don’t call him that to his face,” is said ardently. She pouted, “But we always call him that.” I nodded, “Yes, but I’m not sure he would appreciated being called that in person.”

She nodded reluctantly, “Then what do I call him?” “I don’t think he’d mind being called Víctor,” I replied, knowing for sure he’d dislike Señor Valdés. He’d already said that made him sound old, and his lack of hair already contributed to that view of him.

By breath hitched as I saw him exit out of the tunnel, descending the steps toward us – my breath was always affected by his appearance, without fail.

“Buenas noches,” he greeted, his deep voice setting butterflies loose in my stomach.

“Hola, Señor Bal – I mean, Víctor,” Felipa greeted, catching herself last moment. His eyes left mine, and traveled to the right, stopping on my daughter. “Felipa, sí?” he asked, sitting down in the seat behind her. She nodded enthusiastically. “Mommy told me lots about you,” she confessed with childlike innocence, though there was a hint of mischief twinkling in her gaze.

“Oh? What did she say about me?” he questioned. “She said that you were like a prince!” the young girl exclaimed. I blushed, giving her a look.

Víctor, however, looked beyond pleased.

“That makes my mommy a princess,” Felipa continued, “since you’re the prince.” His grin widened even more, if that was possible. She frowned a bit, “So I don’t know what that makes me, if mommy is the princess.” “You are definitely the beautiful queen,” he said.

My daughter brightened instantly, “Does that mean I can tell mommy to clean her room?”

I groaned, “You’re the one who needs to do that, Querida, not me.” She pouted in that adorable way, the one which resulted in most of the toys she owned. I was powerless against her. “How do you resist that?” Víctor asked, looking helpless as well. I glanced at him, “I don’t. At least, not very well.” I whispered so she didn’t hear, not as if she didn’t already know.

“If you’re a prince, does that mean you’re going to take mommy away to a castle?” Felipa questioned. I arched a brow, wondering just how many fairytales she’d been reading as of recent.

“Well, not quite yet. You see, I have several trials I have to face first in order to whisk her away,” Víctor replied, playing along. “Oh, like a dragon?” she questioned. He nodded, “Several dragons.” “And an evil witch?” my daughter continued, making me smile. He grinned, “A whole lot of those.” Felipa grinned, “And then there will be a happily ever after?” The footballer smiled, a strange look passing over is features.

“Would you like to go to dinner?” he asked me, finally returning his gaze to me. I nodded, smiling.

“So who are the dragons and witches?” I asked curiously as we left the stadium, Felipa skipping ahead of us. “Dragons would be the paparazzi, and witches…well, those would be those annoying fangirls who always interrupt dates.” I laughed, “So we’re just living one big fairytale?”

He shook his head, “No, because those princesses are always having to be rescued by the prince. I think in this case, you’re the one rescuing me.”

I looked up at him curiously, “How so?”

“You’ve given me something to play for. I mean, more than just winning and trophies. I have someone to be proud of me – two someones, actually.”

I blushed. Once again, he was the epitome of perfection.

What was I in comparison? A blushing, stuttering, pathetic mess – yeah, that sounded about right. It really was something of a miracle he liked me at all.

“Hey, no thoughts like that,” he said, nudging me out of my thoughts. I frowned, “Like what?”

“You, Ariela, are the most beautiful woman on the planet. You are beautiful, lovely, and don’t you ever doubt it.” Felipa glanced back at us, grinning, revealing the gap from her missing tooth.

He grabbed by hand, “I don’t know how her father left her. She’s perfect. Beautiful. I want to be there for you, for both of you. I want you to believe me when I say that I love you.” I squeezed his hand. There was a part of me that didn’t believe that any of it could ever be true. But my heart tugged so strongly that I felt that it was in every fiber of my being.

As his warm hand squeezed back, my heart fluttered. I wasn’t sure what I would do if he were to leave. Everyone else had been passing and brief.

But Víctor, he was already such an important part of my life. It was a risk, but I felt that for once he was worth it. I felt that he would be good for Felipa, as I already knew he was good for me.

“So, how many dragons and witches did you say there were?” I asked, smiling up at him.