Chapter 70: By The Pool
By the poolside, the chaos had dulled into laughter and slow conversation. The kind of buzz that lingers after the party has passed its peak but refuses to die out completely. The air was thick with the smell of chlorine, mixed with the cool night breeze, and the bright lights that once spotlighted the post-match celebration now hummed gently, like distant stars softening into the horizon.
Alex still sat by the edge of the pool, his legs dangling into the lukewarm water. He hadn’t moved much since Isabella had come to sit beside him, and honestly, he didn’t want to. His body ached in all the places it always did after a high-pressure game, even though he hadn’t set foot on the pitch. It was the mental grind that weighed on him now, the decisions, the substitutions, the pressure of ninety minutes plus stoppage time. And yet, in this moment of stillness, he felt... okay. Maybe even happy.
The gentle splashing and occasional echoes of water against tile were the only signs of life around them now. A few players had wandered off to their rooms. Others, too tired to talk, simply lay on sun loungers, staring at the night sky with content smiles. Banda had long abandoned his whistle and was probably asleep in a corner somewhere, wrapped in a towel like a child who had partied too hard at summer camp.
Isabella drew in a breath, stretching her legs out over the pool’s edge, mirroring Alex’s posture.
"Alright," she said softly, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her tone was light, but her eyes carried something deeper. "You wanted to know about me, yeah?"
Alex turned his head toward her, arms stretched behind him, palms pressing into the cold tiles. "Go on, I’m listening."
She gave him a small smile, one that barely curled the corners of her mouth, and looked out across the water. The pool shimmered with reflections of the overhead lights, quiet ripples catching every flicker of movement.
"I was born in Florence," she began, her voice calm but threaded with something nostalgic. "Proper city girl. Grew up near the stadium actually. My dad was the type who watched every Fiorentina game like it was his last day on Earth. I think I learned to shout at referees before I even learned how to spell my name."
Alex chuckled. It was an image that came easily, a little girl on a worn-out couch, waving her arms and screaming at the TV like her life depended on it.
"Sounds like he’d have made a good coach," he said with a smile.
She burst into laughter. "God no. Too emotional. He once broke the remote when we lost to Inter. Mum banned him from watching away games on the TV after that. He used to sneak off to the pub with my uncle and come back sulking like a teenager."