The afternoon sun baked the sprawling Los Angeles skyline, casting long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Anne Hathaway’s apartment.
Despite the beautiful California weather outside, Anne felt drained.
She sat anxiously on the edge of her sofa, staring at the phone resting on the glass coffee table.
She was waiting for the phone call about the role she so desperately wanted.
But the anxiety of the wait was compounded by a deep ache.
Anne had already started to diet.
She was preemptively starving herself, knowing that if she secured the role of Fantine in Les Misérables, she needed to look the part of a destitute factory worker.
Her stomach let out a hollow rumble that echoed in the quiet room.
She felt weak, surviving on nothing but black coffee and a handful of almonds for the past two days to begin achieving the emaciated look the casting directors demanded.
To distract herself, Anne forced herself to stand up and began tidying up her apartment.
It was a mess.
Discarded scripts, shoes, and clothes were strewn everywhere across the hardwood floors.
She had never gotten around to doing it before, paralyzed by the emotional whiplash of their bittersweet goodbye.
She picked up a stray sweater, folding it mechanically, trying to keep her mind blank as she moved to gather a stack of fashion magazines.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door echoed through the quiet apartment.
Anne frowned, dropping the sweater onto the sofa.
She wasn’t expecting anyone.
She walked over to the heavy wooden door, running a hand through her messy brunette waves, and pulled it open.
She physically froze.
Standing in her doorway was the man supposed to be a continent away.
“Rico?” Anne breathed out, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief.
“Anne,” Rico said softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an exhausted warmth.
Anne launched herself forward, colliding with his chest as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
Rico instantly reacted, catching her effortlessly.
His large arms enveloped her waist, pulling her flush against his muscular frame with a possessive tenderness.
He buried his face deep into the crook of her neck, letting out a long sigh as he inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla that he had missed across the Atlantic Ocean.
Anne clung to him as if her life depended on it.
The embrace was a desperate collision of two people who had tried to walk away but found it impossible.
Her heart hammered against his chest, matching the rapid rhythm of his own heartbeat as they stood still in the threshold of the apartment.
Anne finally pulled back just enough to look up into his face.
Her mind was struggling with the fact that he was actually here, “What are you doing here?
Shouldn’t you be in London?” “Yeah,” Rico nodded, a tired smile on his lips as his hands lingered on her hips.
“I need to go back by tomorrow.” “So what are you doing here?” Anne asked, bewildered by the transatlantic insanity of his schedule.
He had flown hours away to turn around and go back.
“Can I come in?” Rico asked gently.
“Yeah of course,” Anne said quickly, stepping aside and pulling the door wider to let him through.
Rico entered her apartment, his towering frame making the living room feel a little smaller.
He looked over the apartment, taking in the tasteful decor, the windows overlooking the city, and the neat stacks of scripts she had just organized.
“This is a nice place,” Rico complimented.
“Thank you,” Anne smiled, smoothing down her casual clothes, suddenly aware of how she looked.
Rico turned back to her, his piercing eyes softening with affection.
“How have you been?” “I’ve been good,” Anne replied, leaning back against the kitchen counter to steady herself.
“I’ve finished Princess Diaries.” “Did you take anything off set?” Rico asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I would never,” she said jokingly, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense, making Rico laugh, which made her knees feel weak.
Anne smiled, “I had a couple auditions.” Rico took a step closer, intrigued by her career moves.
“Oh, what you’ve been auditioning for?” “Try guess,” Anne challenged, her doe eyes sparking with playfulness.
“Okay,” Rico leaned against the back of the sofa, his cinematic memory kicking into high gear.
“Have I heard of it?” “Yeah, we’ve talked about it,” Anne hinted.
“So, adaptation?” Rico questioned.
“Yeah,” Anne said, knowing Rico already knew what it was.
Rico thought for a fraction of a second, his sharp mind connecting the dots.
“Les Miserables.” “Yeah,” she let out a bright laugh, amazed by how quickly he had figured it out.
“That’s amazing news,” Rico beamed, his entire face lighting up with pride for her.
“I haven’t even got it yet,” Anne tempered, though she couldn’t hide her hope.
She was still waiting on that phone call.
“You will,” Rico stated with certainty.
“You’re amazing at acting, they’ll be a fool not to take you.” “Your arrogance is extending to me,” Anne teased, deeply appreciating his confidence in her.
“Maybe,” Rico smirked effortlessly.
“What role did you audition?” “Fantine,” Anne answered.
“You’re going to kill that,” Rico said, his tone entirely serious.
He knew exactly how talented she was.
“I so badly want that role, I even started dieting,” Anne admitted, her stomach practically twisting itself into knots at the mere mention of food.
Rico’s gaze drifted over her slender frame, “I saw that, but I didn’t want to say anything.” “Yeah, I’m starving,” Anne sighed, rubbing her arms.
“Just eat a bunch of vegetable, way less calories,” Rico advised practically.
“Cucumber, lettuce stuff like that.
It tricks your stomach into feeling full without gaining the weight.” Anne tilted her head, curious about the miserable diet of a professional athlete.
“Would that work?” “It should at least,” Rico shrugged his broad shoulders.
“It’s what I have for a snack.” “There’s a sadness to your life Rico,” she joked, laughing at his sugar-free existence.
“It’s why I’m grumpy all the time, no sugar,” Rico deadpanned, matching her humor perfectly.
Anne laughed again, the sound echoing warmly in the apartment.
“They might even let me shave my head for the role.” “Oh,” Rico breathed out.
He paused as he imagined her with a buzzcut.
“What?” Anne asked, suddenly self-conscious under his intense stare.
“Nothing, just imagining you with a buzzcut,” Rico smiled softly, deciding she would still be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen regardless of her hair.
“I know, but it’s for the role, this is the first mature one I’ve ever had,” Anne defended her artistic choices.
“You got to do what you got to do,” Rico supported her instantly, understanding the sacrifices required to reach the top of an industry.
Anne stepped slightly closer to him, her curiosity taking over.
“What’s going on with you?
I thought you would be in London.” “Me too, honestly,” Rico ran a hand through his dark hair, looking slightly embarrassed.
“I was in Fulham then we did the trial, I did kind of shoot myself in the foot.” Anne’s eyes widened in concern.
“What did you do?” “I opened my mouth,” he said jokingly, making Anne smile, fully aware of his lack of a filter when it came to his own monumental ego.
“Like we’re having a meal with the owner and the coach,” Rico explained, pacing slightly, “and the food looked nasty.” “What was it?” Anne asked.
“It looked like someone came on the fish,” Rico said seriously.
Anne burst out laughing, “No way?” “I’m being serious,” Rico insisted, his expression serious but his eyes dancing with amusement.
“And then we talked wages and I went and asked for a ridiculous amount.” “What did they say?” Anne asked, deeply invested in the European contract drama.
“I wanted seventy and a chef,” Rico stated.
“And what did they agree to?” She questioned “We settled for 60 and no chef,” Rico stated as the number had only been agreed hours ago.
“That’s good,” Anne smiled brightly, doing the mental math.
“Monthly.” “No weekly,” Rico corrected smoothly, leaning back against the sofa.
Anne’s jaw literally dropped in astonishment.
“That’s crazy, you guys get paid so much.” “I know, but it doesn’t end there,” Rico continued.
“What happened?” Anne asked, intrigued.
“After I stormed out, we got on a flight to Porto,” Rico told her.
“How did that go?” “It’s here and there,” Rico waved a dismissive hand, not wanting to explain the lecture he had received from Jose Mourinho.
“But I’m definitely going to Fulham.
My physical test is tomorrow.” “What’s that going to be like?” Anne asked.
“I got a rough idea, but I won’t know till I go through it,” Rico shrugged effortlessly.
Anne suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing as the insane, transatlantic math finally caught up to her.
“Rico, why are you here?” “What do you mean?” Rico asked innocently.
“You got your physicals tomorrow, and you’re here.
Shouldn’t you be there?” Anne pointed out, her heart beginning to hammer wildly against her ribs as the magnitude of his trip began to sink in.
Rico looked her dead in the eye, all the humour draining from his face.
“I want to be here with you.” “Your career is over there,” Anne reminded him softly, trying to protect herself from the terrifying vulnerability of the moment.
“I know, but, how do I say this?” Rico went silent, staring down at the hardwood floor, actively trying to think of the right way to say it.
For a man who was always entirely in control, he looked incredibly vulnerable.
“What is it?” Anne whispered, barely daring to breathe.
Rico looked back up, his dark eyes burning with a fierce certainty that stripped away his usual arrogant facade.
“A couple days with you is worth more than a lifetime without you.” Anne blushed violently, a deep pink rushing to her cheeks.
The romantic gravity of his words stole the breath from her lungs.
“What I’m trying to say is I’m fine trying long distance,” Rico confessed, stepping firmly into her personal space.
“You want to do that?
Because that’s not sustainable long term,” Anne warned, despite desperately wanting it to be true.
“Yeah, it can work out, I thought about it on the flight,” Rico insisted, laying out the logistical blueprint of their future with the same tactical precision he used on the pitch.
“In the summers we can spend it over here, when you’re not working you can spend it with me wherever am I at, and whenever we’re apart we can call each other every day.” Anne’s mind raced with the beautiful possibilities of a life shared across continents.
“What about kids?” “We can hire a nanny or they can stay with me or when they’re young, you can do movies in London,” Rico answered without a single ounce of hesitation.
He had thought of everything.
He wasn’t just after a fling; he wanted a lifetime.
Anne looked at the man who had flown across the globe, risking his multimillion-dollar transfer, just to tell her he wanted to try.
The fear of the distance evaporated.
She felt the exact same way as Rico did.
She loved him.
“Okay, I’m in,” Anne agreed softly, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears of pure joy.
The very second the words left her mouth, the tension that had plagued them for days snapped.
Anne practically launched herself at him as she pulled his face down to hers.
Their lips collided with a desperate intensity, a fiery explosion of raw passion and relief that sent a jolt of electricity straight down her spine.
Rico groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands gripping her waist possessively.
Driven by adrenaline and the realization that they were actually going to make this work, Anne gave into her deepest desires.
She climbed on top of Rico, as Rico caught her effortlessly, his arms wrapping beneath her thighs before he picked her up off the floor.
Anne wrapped her legs securely around his waist, anchoring herself to his solid frame, her delicate fingers tangling deeply into his dark hair.
Supporting her body weight with ease, Rico carried her out of the living room, blindly navigating the apartment hallway, and carried her straight back to the bedroom.
A/N) I’m going to go with the plan I suggested in the last chapter, about the clubs.
I might extend his stay at PSG for another year (so 2016-2019), but apart from that, it’s staying the same.
The only ones I’m seeing comments about are Rico joining Real in 2010-2016.
They will co-exist because, at the end of the day, Rico only cares about winning, and the Ballon d’Or conversations will come down to International Teams, and Rico will always outshine the other two.
That may never bother Ronaldo because he knows Rico makes him look better (Imagine how many more goals he would score with this guy behind him, he would have reached 1000 years ago) Also, he’s not joining Barca because Natan is joining Barca in the other story.
(I don’t like repeating teams) Apart from those comments, I really like some of these, and I’m interested to see where this story goes, as it’s nice to see you guys are agreeing with me.
We’re going to get to the conversation about his international team soon.
Also, I just want to say something about the culture and the atmosphere of the teams, and it wouldn’t be hard for me to write.
Think about it, I may not understand it but Rico shouldn’t understand that either.
He grew up in America and was a homeschooled rich kid; he doesn’t know that stuff, he doesn’t have the same experiences they had.
So, it doesn’t matter what, because either way, I’m going to present Rico as an outsider looking in at the start.
Also, about the ego thing, I feel like I’m doing this every chapter.
What do you think about this?
After the Mourinho team talk, he’s going to be like a caged beast just waiting to be provoked, and it will come out in the big games.
He will have his moments, but it’s only on the pitch; you’ve got to do something that annoys him to make it come out off the pitch.
Also, nearly 300k views in under a week and only 16 chapters.
Crazy.
Thanks for that.
I appreciate it.