Chapter 35

Aurora

I had never felt this way.

Alexia was always the anchor of Barcelona, the unyielding captain whose shadow was wide enough to shield an entire squad. But right now, with her forehead buried in my shoulder and her hands gripping the fabric of my shirt like a lifeline, she felt terrifyingly human. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, and she was shaking.

Alexia Putellas was shaking.

The sheer shock of it froze me for a second. The anger that had been burning a hole in my chest all afternoon—the fury over the leaked photos, the humiliation of being labeled a “distraction,” the fear of losing my spot on the national team—suddenly evaporated. You can’t hold a grudge against someone who is unraveling right in front of your eyes.

“Ale,” I breathed, my fingers tangling into the soft hair at the back of her neck. “Breathe. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

“Don’t go to London,” she mumbled again, her voice muffled against my tracksuit. It was thick with tears she was actively trying to choke back. “Please, Ora. If you leave, they win. The press, the federation… they win.”

“I’m not going to London,” I said softly, the truth of it hitting me as I said it aloud. I hadn’t even looked at the Arsenal graphic properly until she showed me, but seeing her panic made my own path crystal clear. “My agent might be playing chess with the media to get the club to back off, but I haven’t signed anything. I don’t want to go to the Emirates. I want to be here.”

Slowly, she pulled back. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes swimming with a vulnerability that she usually kept locked behind a thousand steel doors. She looked at me, searching my face as if trying to read a tactical board, looking for any sign that I was lying.

“You’re not?” she asked, her voice dropping into a small, fragile whisper.

“No,” I smiled faintly, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I was furious with you, Ale. I was so angry because when the world started crashing down, you went into ‘Captain mode’. You treated our life like a press release. It made me feel like I was just… a liability you were trying to manage.”

Alexia winced, closing her eyes tightly. “I was trying to protect you. In my head, if I don’t give them anything, they can’t take anything away. It’s how I’ve survived for ten years.”

“But I don’t want to just survive, Ale,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her deeper into my dark apartment, away from the door and the lingering threat of the hallway.

We sank down onto my sofa, the lights of Barcelona twinkling like a sea of diamonds through the glass. Alexia kept her fingers tightly interwoven with mine, as if she was still afraid that if she let go, I’d disappear into the night.

“I messed up,” she admitted, staring at our joined hands. “At the press conference… Mapi had to step in because I was losing my mind. I was so angry that they were hounding you. But I realize now that by trying to keep it a secret, I made it look like something we should be ashamed of. And I am many things, Aurora, but I am not ashamed of you. Never.”

A profound silence settled between us, but for the first time today, it wasn’t a heavy, suffocating silence. It was peaceful.

“So, what do we do now?” I asked, leaning my head against her shoulder. “The Italian Federation is still going to be difficult. Laporta wants a meeting. And the fans are going to analyze every single pass we make to each other on Saturday.”

Alexia leaned her chin on top of my head, her posture finally relaxing as the tension left her frame. The faint scent of her perfume mixed with the familiar warmth of her skin, grounding me completely.

“Let them analyze,” she said, a hint of that familiar, arrogant ‘Capitana’ smirk returning to her voice, though it was softer now. “We’ll give them the best football they’ve ever seen. And the next time a reporter asks me about you? I’m not going to say ‘no comment’.”

I looked up at her, my heart doing a strange, hopeful flip. “What are you going to say?”

Alexia looked down at me, her eyes intense, completely devoid of the fear that had brought her to my door. “I’m going to tell them that Arsenal doesn’t have enough money in their entire bank account to buy the girl who holds my heart.”

Alexia’s words hung in the warm air of the living room, heavy and grounding. For months, I had been terrified of her shadow, of the sheer, crushing weight of her legacy. But sitting here in the dark, with the frantic buzz of the outside world still echoing through my muted phone, I realized her shadow wasn’t a cage. It was a shield. If she was willing to stand in the fire, the least I could do was stop running from the smoke.

I let out a soft breath, my fingers tracing the familiar calluses on her palm. “You’re going to give the club’s PR department a collective stroke if you say that to the press.”

“Let them hire more people then,” she murmured, her chest rising and falling in a deep, relaxed rhythm against my side. The desperate, trembling version of the woman who had practically threatened to break my door down just ten minutes ago was fading, replaced by the quiet confidence I fell for. “I mean it, Ora. No more ‘just friends.’ No more pretending that a photo on a beach is a crime we need to cover up.”

I leaned back a little, looking into her dark eyes. “Are you sure? Laporta is going to drag us into his office the second we step into the facility tomorrow. And my agent… God, Elena is probably chewing him out right now for letting that Arsenal graphic leak, even if it was just a tactical move.”

“Let them call the meetings,” Alexia said, her jaw tightening with that familiar, fierce look she got right before walking out of the tunnel. “We go in together. Hand in air, if we have to. They want to talk about contract clauses and image rights? Fine. But they don’t get to dictate who sits on my floor at three in the morning when the pressure gets too high.”

As if on cue, the screen of my phone lit up on the coffee table. The display showed a text from Elena.

I picked it up, expecting another lecture or a frantic check-in, but instead, it was a photo. It was a picture of Lessi, completely passed out on Elena’s couch, a faint streak of chocolate ice cream still smudged on her cheek, holding a small plush football tightly under her arm.

Below the photo, Elena had texted:

Elena: Lessi is finally asleep. She said if Alexia scares you away to London, she will personally pop all the footballs in the training ground. Also…I just saw a drone hovering outside my kitchen window. I’m 90% sure it is a paparazzi or a very lost bird. I threw a show at it and now it is gone. Love you ;).

I felt a genuine smile tug at my lips, the tight knot of anxiety that had been twisting in my stomach since the airport finally unraveling. I turned the screen so Alexia could see it.

She looked at the photo of Lessi, and a soft, genuine laugh broke through her throat—a sound so vastly different from her stiff press-room tone that it made my heart ache with relief.

“She really is a miniature bodyguard, isn’t she?” Alexia whispered, her eyes softening as she stared at the screen.

“The fiercest,” I agreed, sliding the phone face down onto the cushion. I turned back to Alexia, wrapping my arms fully around her neck, pulling myself tight against her chest. The smell of the stadium, the rain, and her familiar skin washed over me, completely erasing the phantom noise of the cameras and the shouting journalists. “Stay tonight? Please. The media thinks I’m halfway to London. Let’s let them guess for a few more hours.”

Alexia didn’t answer with words. She just shifted her weight, pulling me down with her until we were lying flat against the deep cushions of the sofa, the glittering lights of Barcelona casting long, soft patterns across the ceiling above us. Her arms locked around my waist, tight and unyielding.

“I love you, Ora,” she whispered into my hair, her voice steady and true.

“I love you too, Ale”.