Chapter One
Part One
In 2008 I lifted the trophy in Moscow.
My haters will tell you that I’ll never do it again, but they’re wrong. What my haters don’t know is that the more shit they talk, the more driven it makes me.
To be the best, you have to beat the best. With Manchester I beat the best, and now it’s time to be the best again.
“Another day, another photoshoot,” Cristiano sighed, looking at his agent.
“This helps pay your bills. Stop complaining.”
“Sometimes even I get tired of seeing my face everywhere.”
His agent rolled his eyes as they stepped into the hotel suite that had been converted into Armani’s set. Cristiano glanced around. It was done up simply, well as simply as one could get for a suite.
People rushed around adding finishing touches, making sure the correct clothing was ready, checking on lighting. And in the corner leaning against the wall was a beautiful woman. She was speaking with someone, laughing and nodding.
This was the woman he would be modeling with? Sometimes this part of the job wasn’t so bad.
From the distance he could already tell that she was short, shorter than most models. But maybe she wasn’t a model. Maybe she was an actress he just had not seen before.
Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wore dark jeans that hugged her hips and legs. Her black tank top offset her pale skin. As he looked her up and down, he noticed her eyes find their way to him. He grinned and she smiled quickly back at him before turning back to her conversation.
“Cristiano,” his agent was approaching him with another beautiful woman.
She had dark hair and was wearing too much makeup, but she was beautiful.
“Yes?”
“This is Ashleigh,” his agent said. “You’ll be working with her today.”
This was the model? Then who was the beautiful blonde leaning against the wall?
“It’s nice to meet you Ashleigh,” Cristiano smiled, allowing his eyes to travel back to where the blonde had been.
“Likewise,” Ashleigh nodded. “Excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.”
“I see you’ve found the photographer,” the agent said, once Ashleigh had departed and following Cristiano’s gaze.
“The photographer?”
“Yes. Sanna Erikson.”
“Wow,” Cristiano found himself breathing. “She should be spending more time in front of the camera.”
He watched as the blonde approached. He could tell by her walk that she was confident, though there was a hint of awkwardness about her. Like she was aware that he’d been staring at her.
“Miss Erikson,” Cristiano greeted the young photographer with a kiss to her cheek. It was then that he noticed three stars tattooed on her shoulder.
“Please call me Sanna,” she said, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Miss Erikson makes me feel like I’m a kindergarten teacher.”
*****
I have never held the trophy.
I have dreamed of lifting it. I can’t put my finger on why, but I want the Champions League trophy more than I want the World Cup.
This is the club I’m going to do it with. This is the club that I want to do it with. Even as a child, this is the kit I dreamed of wearing while I lifted the trophy.
But proving myself here has been anything but easy.
The house was quiet and dark when Karim stepped inside. Not dark as if it was the middle of the night, but dark because none of the blinds had been opened. He smiled to himself, knowing exactly which room of the house to head to first.
When he reached the door, he saw her. Just like the first time he’d met her, she had her nose buried in a book. There was enough light coming through the window to shine off her cornsilk hair and he couldn’t help the way his smile widened.
“Hello beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders.
Normally the blonde would jump out of her skin at being surprised like that, but Karim had a calming effect on her. She knew his touch, the feel of his breath on her skin, and even the sound of his heartbeat.
“Hi,” she smiled, placing a kiss on his jaw.
If there was one person in this world that made her smile, it was Karim Benzema. She’d always preferred books to people. She’d preferred studying about history and the lives of the people who made history more than people who surrounded her daily. And smile she did as she turned back to her book and highlighted a few more sentences. She was lost in her notes when she heard Karim’s voice again.
“Mia, did you hear me?” he asked after a moment. He’d moved to sit in the chair in the corner.
“What? No, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m trying to prepare this lecture.”
He laughed a little, shaking his head. She was constantly over prepared.
“Mesut’s birthday is coming up. We’ve been invited to the party the weekend.”
“This weekend?” Mia thought for a moment. The professor she was assisting was giving an exam on Friday. “I’m going to have to grade exams this weekend.”
“You can manage to go out for a few hours. Grading can be done all day on Sunday.”
“Don’t you have a match on Saturday?” she turned to him, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. We’re going out after the match. Come on, you like Mesut. I think we should go. Who knows, you might have fun.”
“As long as I don’t have to put up with one of Ramos’ hoes or drunk Gonzo, then fine.”
“This time Gonzo has promised to be on his best behavior,” he assured her, moving to her. He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. “And we can leave early if it gets crazy.”
Karim pulled his girlfriend into his body, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. He placed a light kiss on her nose before capturing her lips. Instantly, Mia was putty in his hands.
*****
In 2005 I lifted the trophy in Istanbul.
They say success changes you. I’m going to tell you that it does. Some people can go about their lives with some form of normalcy. I’ve never been one of them. I’ve come to crave more.
I’ve held both the Champions League trophy and the World Cup. And I want more. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t miss Liverpool. But I know that the only way I’ll win that trophy again is by being here.
And they need me here.
There was an aroma of cinnamon coming from the kitchen as Xabi Alonso made his way through his home. Coming to a stop at the entrance, he smiled at the brunette standing in front of the oven.
“Who are you and what did you do with my Isabella?” he asked.
“Very funny Alonso,” she smirked, stepping toward him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, placing a kiss on her lips.
“How was your morning?”
“We averted a Disney Princesses crisis. It’s a good thing too because I think it may have started World War 3.”
“Demanding. Just like her mother,” Xabi’s voice got low as he ran his hands up her sides.
“And greedy,” she breathed next to his ear. “Just like her father.”
Xabi didn’t say a word before attacking his wife’s lips. Being away with the national team had made him need her even more than he usually did.
He began to lift her top over her head. He’d gotten it almost over her head when they were interrupted by crying from the baby monitor.
“Your daughter has impeccable timing,” Isabella sighed, tugging her top down.
“She’ll go back to sleep,” he said, pulling her close once again.
“Xabi, she’s crying.”
“I hear her. But she’ll go back to sleep.”
“She’s not-“ Isabela stopped when she noticed that the crying had stopped. She listened hard for a moment, waiting for another sound.
“Now where were we?” he asked, pressing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. He lifted her off the ground and carried her to the lounge.
“This isn’t where we were,” Isabella smirked, sliding her hands under his training top.
“We can do it in the kitchen if you really want to. But you remember what happened last time.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, as his hands explored her body. “I remember.”
A/N: Thoughts so far? I'm hoping to have the next part up tomorrow... 
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