Chapter 19

Aurora

My kitchen smelled like roasted garlic and fresh basil-the universal Italian cure for a bruised soul. After the emotional whiplash of the training session and the heavy silence of the morning, I needed to feel the flour between my fingers. I was halfway through rolling out fresh pasta dough, my mind finally drifting into a rhythmic, peaceful zone, when the doorbell rang.

Luna, who had been dozing near the radiator, sprang to life. She looked at me, her tail wagging so hard her whole back half shook, waiting for the signal.

“Va bene, Luna,” I murmured, wiping a stray smudge of flour from my cheek with the back of my hand. “Open it.”

Luna trotted to the hallway with practiced precision. She stood on her hind legs, wrapped her paws around the lever handle-a trick we’d perfected over rainy afternoons in Manchester-and pulled downward with her weight. The door clicked open, and I heard the familiar, heavy thud of the heavy oak hitting the stopper.

I didn’t leave the kitchen. I knew exactly who it was. The air in the apartment seemed to shift, growing electric and warm before she even spoke.

I heard soft footsteps on the hardwood, followed by the clicking of claws as Luna led the way like a proud tour guide. A shadow fell across the kitchen tiles, and then Alexia was there, leaning against the doorframe. She wasn’t wearing her training kit or the sharp, tailored suits she wore for press conferences. She was in a simple black hoodie and jeans, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders in dark waves.

“I didn’t know the dog was the head of security now,” Alexia said, her voice low and tinged with a hint of a tired smile.

“She’s very selective about who she lets in,” I replied, my heart doing a slow, happy roll in my chest. “You must have made a good impression.”

Alexia didn’t stay by the door. She crossed the small space in three strides, moving into my personal bubble as if she’d lived there for years. Before I could even set down the rolling pin, she was behind me.

She wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me back against her chest. I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Her chin rested on my shoulder, and for a moment, we just stood there-the only sounds being the bubbling pot on the stove and the steady beat of our hearts.

Then, she shifted, her lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead. It wasn’t the desperate, fiery kiss from the hallway. It was something deeper-a silent apology, a promise kept.

“I told Mapi,” she whispered against my skin.

I froze for a second, my hands still covered in flour. “I know. She caught us in the gym, Ale. I think she figured it out before we did.”

“She did,” Alexia admitted, her grip tightening slightly around my middle. “But talking to her… it made the world feel a little less like it was going to end. She’s going to help us. She and Ingrid.”

I turned around in her arms, careful not to get flour on her black hoodie. I looked up into her eyes-the dark, guarded eyes of the Queen that were now so soft they looked like velvet.

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked softly. “Because Mapi gave you permission?”

“No,” Alexia said, her hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her thumb grazing my temple. “I’m here because I realized that the only time I’m not ‘calculating’ is when I’m with you. And I’m tired of the math, Ora.”

She leaned down, her nose brushing mine, the scent of the sea and her expensive perfume wrapping around me.

“Teach me,” she murmured.

“Teach you what?”

“How to just… be. Like the ocean.”

I smiled, my hands finally finding the back of her neck, flour be damned. “It’s easy, Capitana. You just have to stop fighting the tide.”

Alexia

I had won two Ballons d’Or, lifted the Champions League trophy, and commanded the respect of every tactical mind in Europe. But standing in Aurora’s tiny kitchen, holding a bunch of kale like it was a complex defensive play, I felt completely out of my league.

“No, Ale! You’re bruising the leaves. You have to be gentle, like you’re… like you’re stroking Luna’s ears,” Aurora laughed, swatting my hand away.

She was in her element. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, and there was a streak of flour across her forehead that I desperately wanted to kiss away. She was teaching me how to make Ribollita-a thick, Tuscan bread soup that she claimed was the “only thing that could truly warm a frozen heart.”

“I am being gentle,” I defended, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my best efforts to stay ‘the Captain.’ “I am a very precise person, Ora. I don’t bruise things.”

“You bruise the ego of every defender in the league,” she retorted, nudging me with her hip. “But here, in this kitchen, you are my apprentice. Now, add the beans. Slowly.”

I did as I was told, watching as she stirred the pot with a wooden spoon that looked like it had been passed down through generations. She was so different here-away from the grass and the stadium lights. She was softer, warmer, like the amber light glowing in the corner of the room.

I couldn’t help it. I stopped mid-task, leaning against the counter just to watch her.

“What?” she asked, catching my stare. “Did I get kale in my hair?”

“No,” I whispered, my voice softening. “I was just thinking that you’re incredibly cute when you’re bossing me around.”

Aurora’s hand paused over the pot. She looked up, her blue eyes shimmering with a mix of surprise and mischief. “Only ‘cute’? I’m a culinary genius, Putellas. You’re lucky I’m sharing my secrets with you.”

“I am lucky,” I said, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t mean because of the goals or the fame. I meant because I was standing in a small apartment in Barcelona, smelling garlic and bread, feeling like a version of Alexia I had almost forgotten existed.

I moved closer, trapping her between my arms and the counter. The smell of the soup was rich and earthy, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating off her.

“I’m actually a decent cook, you know,” I murmured, my face inches from hers. “I make a very calculated omelet.”

“A ‘calculated’ omelet?” She let out a breathless laugh, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. “God, you are such a nerd, Ale.”

“A nerd who really wants to kiss you,” I replied.

I didn’t wait for her to answer. I leaned in, tasting the salt on her skin and the sweetness of the moment. The kiss was slow, tasting of home and hidden promises. It was the kind of kiss that made the ‘Standard’ feel like a million miles away.

Suddenly, a wet, cold nose shoved its way between us.

We jumped apart, laughing, as Luna sat there with a piece of dried bread in her mouth, looking at us expectantly.

“I think she wants to be part of the ‘calculated’ dinner plans,” Aurora gasped, leaning her head on my shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.

“Fine,” I sighed, reaching down to scratch Luna behind the ears.

As we finally sat down at the small table, eating the thick, delicious soup and sharing a bottle of red wine, I realized that Mapi was right. I had spent so much time worrying about the ‘architecture’ of my life that I had forgotten to actually live in the house.

Looking at Aurora, who was currently trying to explain why Italian bread was superior to Spanish bread with way too much hand gesturing, I knew I would fight any storm just to stay right here.