My phone rang incessantly somewhere on the bedside table. The piercing noise broke through the lazy haze of the morning. I groaned, reaching for it blindly and placing it against my ear without looking at the screen. It was set on DND, which meant only emergency contacts would come through. Namely Pippo, Teo, Lollo, Chiara, Lucy, and Nonna's hospice.

"Pronto?" I said, without looking at the screen. I glanced at Elliot, whose face was hidden under the white sheets, the top of his messy blond hair poking out from between. I felt a stupid smile climb to my face, memories of last night washing over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. The way he had sounded, how much he had trusted me, how he had come apart in my arms. 

"Hello?"

The female voice made me realize I was still on call. I cleared my throat, my voice hoarse from the misuse. "Si?"

I rubbed my eyes, glancing at the curtains that were slightly pulled open to reveal the sun almost overhead. I had slept till noon for the first time in what felt like a decade.

"Luca Giovanni Moretti?" A curt voice that sounded vaguely familiar spoke on the other side. I propped myself on my elbow, my senses slowly dawning on me.

"Sì?"

"Buongiorno," the woman spoke in curt, crisp Italian. "I am the matron of Residenza Maria Luigia."

My heart sank. Lucy's hostel. Calling from her phone. I shot up straight in bed, as Elliot stirred beside me, turning slightly to peer up at me.

"Buongiorno, che sta succedendo? È tutto a posto con Lucy?" I spoke urgently, rising to my feet and pacing around the room, already pulling on my discarded T-shirt as Elliot sat up straight in bed.

"Well," she responded. "She is okay. Unfortunately, the student she punched—is not."

My heart sank. "What happened? She got into a fight?"

"Yes, with a high school senior," the woman answered. And I felt an odd sense of pride at her throwing hands with someone two years older than her. "The girl had to get stitches; it was... it was not ideal. She has been suspended for two weeks. We take violence very seriously at this school, Mr. Moretti."

"Is Lucy okay?" I repeated.

"Sì, she has a few bruises, but minor. We have taken care of it. I think... I think her behaviour is more of a concern here, Mr. Moretti."

"I'll get her—" I glanced at the clock. If I left now, and got a last-minute flight, I would reach the hostel by nightfall. "I'll get her tonight. I'm out of Italy currently."

"Yes, of course," the lady answered.

Lucy said something behind her, her voice muffled.

"She would like to speak with you," the lady said, and I braced myself as Lucy's voice answered next.

"Luca!" she exclaimed, inappropriately happy considering the state of affairs.

"Lucy! What the hell are you doing? Throwing punches at people?"

She groaned loudly. "Ugh, I'll tell you later. She totally deserved it. You trust me on that."

Before I could respond, my phone started beeping loudly, signalling another incoming call. I glanced at the screen: Pippo. And the call log showed this wasn't the first time he was calling me since that morning. What the hell was going on today?

"I gotta call you back. I'll pick you up tonight, be ready, keep your head down, and don't let me hear you started some shit again," I hung up without waiting for her reply, pacing around the heavy carpet as I picked up Pippo's call.

"Fra—" he spoke breathlessly the second I answered. "Have you seen... have you seen the news?"

"What?" I reached for the remote on the mantelpiece, immediately switching on the large TV and flicking to the news channel.

"It's... it's probably gonna blow up after a bit—" Pippo murmured something else, but I couldn't hear it. The floor slid away from under me as I gripped the mantelpiece with a deathly grip to hold my suddenly weak legs together.

MORETTI & HAYES: MORE THAN TACTICAL PARTNERS?

That was the headline flashing in bright red on top of a photo of Elliot and me, walking close on the streets of Inverness.

Another line flashed below it.

SECRET SCOT ESCAPE: ARE SERIE A'S GOLDEN BOYS CLOSER THAN WE THOUGHT?

Hayes feeds him goals and walks him home — tactical partnership, or something the cameras weren't meant to see?

I massaged my throbbing temple, the back of my eyelids burning as Pippo spoke in rapid Italian.

"Fra, you there? Where are you? Don't pay too much attention to it. They are just looking—"

I hung up, slumping onto the suddenly cold mattress, my entire life flashing in front of my eyes. I covered my face with both hands, taking ragged breaths as my worst nightmare materialised right in front of me. It was my fault. I had been ay too careless. Way too open. 

"They got my bad angle."

My head snapped up at Elliot, who was standing beside me, studying the television with a frown. There was another blurry shot of the two of us having lunch at Chez Roux. You could barely make out our faces through the windows, but anyone who had seen us close enough would recognize us in an instant.

"My nose does not look like that—" He tapped a finger on the screen, on his nose. "And my hair? It looks completely unruly from the back."

"What the fuck are you on about?" I asked finally, resisting the urge to pull out my hair. He glanced at me, blinking. I clicked my tongue and repeated myself, "What are you talking about? Do you not see what this is?"

He shrugged. "Speculations and rumours. I assume two people are allowed to enjoy a walk and a lunch. What is the problem?"

"The problem, Elliot—" I said, rising to my feet. "Is that this is my entire fucking career put on blast. Right after the Champions League. How do you think it looks? Two international rivals, set to compete at Worlds, competing against each other for every individual title—"

"And?" he raised an eyebrow. "I do not comprehend. We are both great at football, so of course we are—"

"Elliot—" I groaned. "This is not good. Can you imagine? They will use this against me—against us, every time we make a mistake."

"Use... what? Exactly?" he asked, infuriatingly calm.

"Mio Dio—" I took a deep breath, speaking in a surprisingly stable voice. "That it's a distraction, that we are selling out, weak, whatever the fuck. You know how these things go! Plus—I—" I gulped. "I told you I'm not out yet. And now, this—" I pointed a finger at the screen.

"We are simply walking—" he stated.

"HAND IN HAND, ELLIOT!" I yelled before biting my tongue. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he pointed at the hearing aids still sitting on the bedside table before turning back to me. Before he could say anything else, though, my phone buzzed again, and I glanced down.

MIRA: CALL ME LIKE YESTERDAY

I sighed and called her back.

"What have I told you about putting your agent's number on your emergency list, Luca?" she answered on the first ring.

"Good morning to you too, Mira," I said. "Yes, I just saw the news."

"Okay, so—" she took a deep breath. "We need to do some damage control. We cannot let this spin out of control. Two top players in Serie A—your sponsorships, especially with Lumera will be in serious jeopardy if the media is able to spin this their way. So here is what we will do—stay normal. Okay? Do not change. Whatever you do, do not act like you are guilty of something. It's just two teammates, celebrating a victory. Okay?"

"Sì," I answered, turning to another channel that was showing fan art of Elliot and me, beaming at the camera like from the cover of a yaoi magazine. "Holy fuck, they work fast—" I mumbled, my fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline as Mira continued.

"Where are you right now, actually? I need to see you face-to-face. Like... right now. This is serious business, Luca. This will alienate your conservative fanbase—which is half of Serie A fans. And you know as well as I do there are a lot of people who would love that change of favour."

"I know, I know—" I sighed, shutting my eyes. "Okay. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tonight," she stated firmly. "Come to my apartment. You have my address."

"I... I won't be in Milan till tonight. I have to pick up Lucy."

"Lucy? I thought she didn't have her holidays till—"

"It's a whole other thing," I responded, slapping a hand over my burning face. "But I won't be free till midnight."

"You have training tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Euros, remember?"

"Holy shit, talk about—" I heard her sigh. "Okay, it'll have to do. I'll come to your place. Around twelve-thirty. We will make a rapid-fire plan, and tomorrow morning first thing, I'll call my connections. Works?"

"Like we have a fucking choice," I groaned as the news article started playing multiple clips of Elliot and me on the pitch, gesturing, secretly smiling, and touching in a way that even I had to admit would make it very, very easy to speculate something was going on between us.

"How is Hayes handling this?" she piped up suddenly.

I glanced at Elliot, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his mouth slightly open as he stared up at the television screen. His phone lay silently on his bedside, untouched.

"I don't fucking know," I told her quietly. "He's... I don't know where he is."

"So there isn't really anything—"

"Mira? Really?"

"Luca—you have to tell me the truth if you want me to—"

"I need a plane ticket for Milan tonight," I said firmly. "Actually, make it right now. When is the earliest?"

"Hm, there is one leaving in an hour."

"It needs to be at least three hours from now," I said, recalling how long it took us to get here.

"There's one at four-thirty, that's a little more than four hours."

"Works," I said earnestly.

"Iverness, right?" she said quietly.

"Yes."

"And... you don't know where Elliot Hayes is—"

"Mira—"

"Okay, so—" she steamrolled over me. "—there are no direct flights. Let me get a charter."

"Right, thanks—"

"I know Elliot Hayes has an estate at—"

"I'm not doing this. I'll see you tonight. I gotta go." I hung up, shoving my phone into my pocket and getting to my feet. "Elliot—" I started as he slowly looked at me. "I have to go."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "You look extremely tense. Is this the news articles?"

"Water is wet, Elliot," I groaned. "Of fucking course it is! Plus, I need to go pick up Lucy from the hostel."

"I am not sure what states of matter have to do with the situation, Luca," he said in his usual staccato, like his entire world wasn't crumbling to his feet like mine. "What happened?" he asked, placing the remote on the mattress and rising to his feet.

"She got suspended for two weeks." I shook my head. "I need to leave. Now."

"Oh." He blinked. "I can make arrangements to leave at the earliest. My mum has a friend who owns a private jet—"

"A fucking private jet?" I spluttered.

"Well, yes. Friend is a stretch. More of an acquaintance, but she should be helpful," he said. "Would you prefer that?"

I glanced at the time again; it was twelve-thirty. I felt like an hourglass had shattered at my feet, everything I had built slipping away like sand. "No. Its... It's fine. I got my agent to get me tickets."

"I have to leave as well..." Elliot said softly. "We got... Euros."

"We... got Euros," I repeated, the gravity of the situation landing on me like cold water. In a few months, I will be competing against him for the biggest title of my life. I couldn't do it with all this stuff hanging over my head like a guillotine.

"Let me come with you," he said softly, placing his palms flat on my chest, frowning when he felt my pulse. "You are extremely anxious. Let me come with you. I will fly out early tomorrow morning."

I thought about his offer. Thought about Mira's words. Thought about how completely and utterly fucked I was.

"No, that's fine," I said. "Thanks. You go. Focus on training." I reached for my jacket, pulling it on. "I'll return the rental."

I walked out quickly before looking at him for too long changed my mind. I pulled my duffel bag from where it was kept near the foyer, curtly nodded to the butler, and opened the front gate. I could hear Elliot's soft footsteps following after me.

"Luca!"

I ignored him, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping he would take the hint. I didn't want to yell at him, I didn't want to lose my shit at him, I didn't want the beautiful fairytale of the weekend to scatter into shards of a nightmare.

"Luca—"

Just as I opened the door to the rental car, he appeared behind me, his expression pained, his grey eyes hollow. His hair sparkled gold under the noon sun, his skin pale.

"It... you will be okay," he said softly. "The media forgets about this kind of stuff—"

"Right."

I glanced up at the mansion looming behind him. The thick gilded walls, the meticulously trimmed hedges, the many servants on the sprawling grounds.

"Luca..." he said again, his voice trembling slightly as he took a step towards me, placing his hands on my chest. "I feel... I think you might be shutting down again."

"I've just got a lot on my mind right now, Elliot," I said, forcing myself to look at him. "This... this was great. I had fun."

"It... it was the most beautiful two days of my life," he said softly. "I... Luca... I—"

"Elliot," I placed my hands on his, gently taking them off the zipper of my jacket. "I have to go, Elliot. I told you. I don't have time."

"When do I see you again?" he asked. "Before Euros?"

"I... I don't know," I said. "Maybe. I'll..." I took a deep breath. "We should probably not be seen together for a while. In public. So those photos can just be two teammates celebrating a victory."

"That... is not what that was, though," he whispered, standing so close to me that I could smell his intoxicating vanilla musk. "It... it wasn't, right?"

"I told you I had fun," I said, tapping my fingers against the hood of the car and using every ounce of strength to lie to his face. That it was fun. That it wasn't the most soul-baring days of my life.

"We... we made love," he said, his eyes glistening. "It was... it was not two teammates celebrating, Luca."

"I told you... it was fun," I repeated like a moron. "Now we go back on the pitch and fight for our countries like we are supposed to. Don't... you're overanalysing this."

My heart slid to the bottom of my soles as I slid inside the car, shutting the door with too much force. He stood still, watching me drive away as I swallowed the scream that seemed to be making its way up my torn chest.