I expected the champagne to calm me down a bit, but when we pulled into the road and the hotel came into view, my stomach ached with nerves. There wasn't much to be worried about: a short red carpet lined with a few photographers waited outside the hotel and stood at the end was Frank with his wife. All I had to do was pose for some pictures, sign some things for gathered fans, and greet my manager. Easy, right?
The dull roar from the crowd reached me inside the car and flashes of cameras lit up my dress as I stared down at my lap. Easy for someone like Kyle, maybe, who lapped up this sort of attention. Or for someone like Fran, who looked as natural behind a camera as she did tapping a ball on her feet. Easier for all of them, at least, because of their partners at their sides.
I lifted my head. Mason sat in the passenger seat, leaving me in the back with Fran and Guilio. His profile gave nothing away, but I wondered how he felt about all of this. Was there some kind of hope at the back of his mind that we'd walk down the carpet together, like there was in mine? I pictured posing for photographers alone, and then imagined being arm-in-arm with Mason in front of a camera lens. Both options seemed equally terrifying.
Why did I want to come to this again?
As our car pulled to a stop behind Kyle's one in front of us, my stomach flipped. Fran turned to Guilio and asked him something in French. The driver pulled the handbrake up. A voice boomed from a loudspeaker outside announcing Kyle's arrival.
I shut my eyes for a second and let out a slow breath. You'll be fine, I told myself. This is nothing compared to the 62 000 fans from last night.
Opening my eyes, I turned to stare out of the window. In front of his car on the pavement, Kyle stood at the edge of the red carpet with Natalie at his side. Ignoring the twist of jealously in my chest, I turned away from the flashing lights and smoothed out my skirt instead.
"Okay, everyone ready?" the driver asked.
Before anyone could reply, Mason threw his door open. Guilio followed suit, and within seconds I was alone in the car. Not for long, though, because the driver had stepped outside and now opened my door.
At once, sounds and sights and the chilly air overwhelmed me. Screaming fans, blasting music, shouting photographers. Camera flashes, laser lights, car taillights.
I glanced over my shoulder. What happened to Fran? Facing the hotel again, I saw her already just steps away from the carpet, clinging onto Guilio's arm, in conversation with Abby and Jess. My knees shook: too much champagne, too much adrenalin. Unsteady, I stepped forwards but wobbled on an uneven brick in the pavement two paces in.
Where is Mason? I thought desperately. My eyes flickered from one thing to the next, focusing just enough to make sure I wasn't staring at Mase before moving onto the next thing. A shiver crept up my spine. Why didn't I bring a jacket?
"Please give it up for London's finest Belgian, Fran Steiner!"
More cheers, more flashing lights. Panic gripped my chest. This is stupid, I cursed myself. You shouldn't be so â
"Hart?"
Hands came down on my shoulders, expelling every ounce of terror in my body. I looked up and almost melted. Mason's eyes lit up with the flash of a camera: so at ease compared to how I'd just felt.
"You okay?" He lowered one of his arms and stepped in front of me. A grin took over his face as I nodded, searching for my voice. "Carpet's over there, you know." He motioned to the carpet in front of us, where Abby stood waiting with Jess.
"Yeah, I was just on my way."
"Funny, so was I," Mason said, his hand tightening on my shoulder.
Butterflies reappeared in my stomach, but this time not because of the event. Holding Mason's eyes, I thought of us walking down the carpet again â imagined the pictures of us that would follow â and my head spun. Was this a good idea?
Mason dropped his other hand from my shoulder and my heart sunk. He must have had the same trail of thought. I swallowed back regret and was about to take another step when Mason cleared his throat.
"Do youâ uh." He straightened; shifted his tie. His eyes focused above my head, and then on the ground, before they settled on mine. "Walk with me?"
He raised his eyebrows, eyes wide with anticipation. Glancing down, my pulse leapt at the arm he offered out to me. Warmth spread across my face, but the grin that tried to do the same faltered. The habitual nagging voice in the back of my head reappeared, warning me that something bad would come of this.
"Maseâ" I met his eyes and trailed off. Mason's expression fell, but before he could lower his arm, I nodded. What was the worst that could happen, anyway? "Yeah, I'd love to."
Weaving my arm through his, my heart swelled. The fabric of his suit was soft under my fingers; I couldn't help running them along his upper arm. His chest rose and fell in a sigh against my side. We walked together along the pavement, his presence calming the insane nerves I'd felt in the taxi.
"You good?" Mason murmured, moving his head next to mine.
"I'm good." I nodded and turned my head to the side. "Thanks for being here, Mase."
"Wouldn't be anywhere else."
I couldn't contain my smile as we came to a stop at the beginning of the carpet. At the entrance to the hotel, Frank and Christine came into my view. Kyle already stood in front of them, Fran not far behind. Abby stood off to the side, in the midst of a crowd of fans, while Jess waited diligently at her side.
All of it seemed less overwhelming now. The cries from eager photographers blurred together with the pop song that played into a white noise that lacked the hostile edge from minutes ago. I clutched onto Mason's arm tighter and wrapped my right hand around his forearm. Our names caught my attention over the blanket of sound, and before I had time to second-guess myself again, Mason and I stepped in front of the first group of photographers.
My crutches from the previous year offered a good excuse to skip the red carpet almost entirely, and the year before that I'd been way too much of a nervous wreck to enjoy the attention at all. Now, though, my ego inflated more than I'd expected. Sure, attention during games was one thing, but the rows of people snapping pictures of me and Mason gave me a feeling of importance I hadn't felt before. And I drank it in, unashamedly.
With my wrist hidden behind Mason's back, I smiled and flicked my hair behind my shoulders and smiled again, and then took a few steps further towards the hotel and stuck my leg out more than before and laughed at a side comment from Mason and smiled more, and before I could blink we'd signed balls and jerseys and posed for pictures and ended up in front of Frank and Christine Straus.
"Evening, Boss," Mason greeted Frank ahead of me. "Mrs Straus."
My heart pounded; adrenalin spun my head. Compared to his usual professionalism, Frank looked at ease: a relaxed smiled donned his face as he held out a hand for Mason to shake. Mase removed his arm from where it hung over my shoulders and took hold of it, before reaching for Christine's outstretched hand, too.
"Mason, Rebecca," Frank said as I shook his hand, too. "Good to see you both."
"Yes, it's been a while," Christine added, her face lit up in a grin. "You look stunning, Beck."
Warm hands took hold of mine, a stark contrast to the chill of the air. I'd always admired Christine: besides from being as supportive and lovely as they came, she always looked effortlessly classy. And even though she'd probably said the same to every girl she'd greeted, the compliment heated my cheeks.
"Thank you, Mrs Straus. So do you."
Frank and Mason laughed at my side, and I turned to catch a glimpse of Mason's scrunched up eyes and bright smile. My cheeks grew even warmer.
"You two make a good pair, you know." Eyes wide, I jerked my head back towards Christine. She motioned between me and Mason.
"Oh, no," I replied, face on fire. My uninjured hand waved in front of me as I shook my head. "No, that'sâwe're not."
Christine's smile wavered. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry." She let out an awkward laugh. "It's justâyou two look soâ"
"Beck, how's the wrist doing?"
Frank's question came as a grateful exit from Christine's stammering. Trying to repress my rising panic, I held up my casted wrist for Frank to see. With all the distractions of the last while, I'd barely noticed the ache from my hand.
"It's alright, thanks." Frank nodded, his laidback expression melting into a frown. "More of a nuisance than anything else."
"Good to hear." With a joking grin, Frank looked to Mason. "Mase, take care of her tonight, yeah? No more injuries, please."
Mason and Christine's stares burned into the sides of my head, but I kept mine on Frank, chuckling as he looked expectantly at me. My chest tightened. Did Frank assume the same as his wife? If he did, could he possibly be as relaxed as he seemed? There was no venom in his gaze, no extra pressure in his handshake, sure, but I'd seen the effectiveness of Frank's poker face before.
My body jolted in fright as Mason's hand rested in the small of my back. Heat soared through me at his touch.
"I'm on it," Mason said. "Enjoy your night, gaffer. You too, Mrs Straus."
"Yeah, same to you," Frank replied. "And thanks for coming, guys. I really appreciate it."
"Don't forget to bid at the auction," Christine joked.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I called over my shoulder as Mason started ushering me inside.
We stepped into the hotel foyer, a rush of cold air following behind us. It was quieter as soon as the doors shut, but the welcome relief from the noise lasted only seconds.
"Mitch! Becks!"
Abby's shout came from my left. Leaning forwards to see past Mason, the crowd we'd arrived with came into view. Champagne glasses already in their hands, they stood in a huddle to the side of a backdrop where another photographer stood picturing a couple. Abby waved us over and motioned to the setup.
"God, not more pictures," Mason mumbled.
"Don't act like you don't secretly love it."
Mason grinned down at me. "Fine, but only because they'll do well on Instagram."
I was laughing when I came to a stop beside Fran. Mason dropped his hand from my back and reached across the circle for Kyle's champagne glass. Abby met my eyes and lifted her eyebrows sassily. Worry crept into the back of my mind again, so I followed Mason's actions and slipped my fingers around Fran's glass.
When finally Kyle called the end of our photo-shoot, we entered proper venue. It was growing late, and more people milled around in the foyer, sipping champagne and posing for the roaming photographer. But my bruised foot ached and my tired legs cried out for a break. I abandoned Mason and Abby as they went to chat up an ex-Chelsea player and instead followed behind Kyle into the ballroom.
Round tables filled most of the floor space, but a large dance-floor decorated the area in front of the stage, a sure hint at how the night could progress. On the stage itself, a lectern stood on one side, a huge flower arrangement on the other, and in between, a large table displayed the prizes to be won in the raffle: a pair of David's gloves, a signed home shirt, and a painting of Stamford Bridge among the most notable.
Natalie, after checking the seating chart, lead us across the room to a table one away from the dance floor. Diego, Elena, Marta and Valentina sat at the table beside ours, and on the other side of them, right beside what I assumed would be Frank's table, sat Emil, Rodri, David, and Thomas.
"I better win something in that raffle," Kyle said as he sat down. "I brought, like, fifty tickets."
"I told you to save it for the auction," Natalie replied. I slipped into the seat next to Kyle and grinned as he rolled his eyes. "I saw the raffle prizes: what the hell would we do with David's gloves?"
Kyle scoffed. "I don't know? Give them away or something?" He reached forwards for the jug of water in the middle of the table. "I just want to win something."
"We should bid for that weekend in the Alps," Guilio said, turning to Fran. The Belgian frowned.
"When do I have a free weekend to go to Switzerland?" Fran lowered herself into a seat, but grabbed onto the sleeve of Guilio's jacket before he could sit between us. "Save that one for Mase."
Shaking my head, I tried to ignore the snigger that came from Kyle on my left. "Did he tell you to save him that seat, too?"
Now, I slapped him on his arm. "Shut up."
"Come on, can you really expect us not to make fun of you now?"
"Yeah, I can," I huffed, shaking my head.
"But you're making it so easy," Kyle said. His attention shifted to my side. "Oh, speak of the devil."
Mason's laugh sounded behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him and Abby a few steps away, both of them grinning animatedly.
"Yo, how was Sarah Wilkins?" Kyle asked when the pair stopped at the table.
"She's so cool," Abby gushed, moving around to take her seat between Jess and Natalie.
Mason made a sound of agreement above me. Fingers brushed my shoulder from where he laid his hand on the back of my chair, and a moment later he sat down next to me, hand remaining. His brown eyes lit up, bringing a smile to my face.
"I want to be her so bad," he said.
"You'd look great with blonde hair," I replied. Mason puffed up his chest. "And boobs."
"I'd also look pretty good with 150 Chelsea goals."
"You'll get there." His expression softened.
"You really think so?"
I nodded. "Yeah, Mase. Maybe."
We stared at each other in silence for a second, Mason's eyes unreadable once again. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything more, Abby called my name.
"Becks?"
"Huh?" Turning away from Mason, I found the table all staring at me. Blushing, I bit the inside of my mouth.
"I said, any of the auction items catch your attention?" Abby asked, a knowing grin on her face.
"Um." My stomach lurched as Mason's hand that had been touching my shoulder seconds before came to a rest on my knee. "What are they again?"
I barely heard Abby as she listed off all of the luxury items available for us to bid on. My focus was stuck on Mason's hand, and just on Mason in general, from that moment up until the emcee for the evening took to the stage and welcomed us to the event. God, this was going to be a long night.