Meu Amor

Chapter 19

"Is everything ok?"

"My agent just texted me. He wants to talk. Asap."

"At this time in the night?"

We are out for dinner with Taylor and Charlie, who are free from the little one for the first time since she was born. Grandparents, what would we do without them.

"Yep. I'm going outside to call him, I'll be back in a minute" Rúben says as he leaves the table.

"Did something happen?" Taylor asks.

"His agent wanted to talk. It seemed serious."

"Could it be something about his career? What if PSG or Real Madrid have asked about him?" Charlie asks.

A few minutes later, Rúben comes back, his face letting us know that something bad has definitely happened.

"What is it, Rúben?" I ask, holding his hand when he sits down. Or when he lets himself fall on the chair. He is always composed, especially in public, and seeing him like this is making me worry a lot more.

"We... Someone... Urgh" he says, clearly distressed. "The Daily Mail is publishing an article about us tomorrow."

"They are doing what?" I say, definitely raising my voice, the people around us giving me a disapproving look.

"Someone has apparently sold them the story, and they have photos."

"But... How? Have you been followed or something?" Taylor asks.

"I don't know. I don't think so" Rúben says.

"Can we stop them from publishing it?" I ask.

"No, we can't. My agent said that depending on what they have and share on that article, we can ask them to take it down and then maybe sue them. But right now, there is nothing we can do. We should be grateful that they warned us about it."

"Yeah, but they did it when you can't do anything to stop them" Charlie says.

"So... That's it, then? We just wait until they share our relationship with the world? Without our consent?" I say, trying not to cry. This is not right. We should be the ones choosing when to be public if that's what we want to do.

"I'm afraid so" Rúben says, kissing my hand and trying to make me relax. But I can't. I am so angry.

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That night I barely sleep. I'm constantly turning and twisting in bed, thinking about what the Daily Mail could have about us, and who could have sold it. Rúben is as restless as I am, and even though he stays still, I can feel that he is awake, his body tense. Just what he needed before a Champions League game next week.

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At one point we must have fallen sleep, exhaustion taking over us. When we hear his phone ring, we both instantly wake up.

"Hey" Rúben says, answering it. "No, not yet. Yes. I see. Ok. What now? Ok, we will. Thank you."

"So?" I ask. "Is it bad?"

"Whoever sold the story, got photos and videos from your Instagram from these past months, like from Christmas with our families or during the summer."

"Then I have a mole among the people who follow me?"

"Looks like it. Any idea who could it be?"

"I don't know, I'll have to check. What does the article say?"

"He sent me the link. Do you want to read it? Maybe there is a detail that will tell us who did all this."

"Ok."