ꜱᴛʀɪᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

twenty three

I watched Micaela get out of her Jaguar Sports, her dark hair and sunnies matching the colour of her car. The woman had a passion for convertibles the same way she had for football.

When she stepped out, as always, every eye turned to her, mine included. She wore a sleek, tailored black blazer paired with matching tapered trousers, a look that balanced boardroom authority with runway edge. Underneath, a black bodysuit hugged her figure, subtle but bold, just enough to make you look twice.

In her hand was a compact black handbag with gold detailing, the kind of accessory chosen with intention, not for attention. Her nails, French tipped and flawless, matched the clean sharpness of her outfit, her fingers adorned with minimalist gold rings and a vintage styled watch that caught the light.

On her feet, delicate black heels, open toe, showing off a perfect white pedicure. She moved like she had nothing to prove, like every step was already part of the plan. And knowing Micaela, it probably was.

I watched Micaela make her way up the stairs and to the doorway of Harry Densley's studio. My interview was scheduled in two hours but Micaela insisted that we come early. She ever so Micaelaly, declined my offer to pick her up.

"You have a driver. I have style. See you there, superstar." She hung up the phone this morning.

Inside the studio, cameras were already being prepped, producers pacing, makeup artists gliding. Micaela slid into her seat beside me in the green room like she wasn't in head to toe black or pulling the attention of every intern who dared to look her way.

"You ready?" she asked, crossing one leg over the other. Her tone was casual, but her eyes scanned me with the focus of someone reviewing a contract.

"Born ready," I muttered, adjusting my shirt. "You sure this show's worth it?"

"It's Harry Densley. It'll be clipped everywhere in two hours," she said, leaning back. "You're building a brand now, remember?"

When I finally sat down across from Harry, the lights hot, the audience prepped, I slipped easily into the routine. Talked about the season, the goals, the game. The lads. I joked about being terrible at cooking, and teased my teammates. Harry asked about pressure, legacy, fame.

Then, inevitably, he asked about my personal life.

"You've been linked to a few people recently, Gianni. Social life still active off the pitch?"

I laughed. "The press always have their own stories, mate. I keep it quiet. Nothing serious."

I could feel Micaela watching from behind the camera, unreadable.

"Alright, so still single. You heard it here first, ladies and gents," Harry grinned. "And before you go, your agent, Micaela Fernandez, she's become quite the icon herself. You two must be close?"