la vie en rose, trent alexander-arnold

x

pink roses

"could i get a picture too?" asks maisie innocently as trent finally shows up in front of the belrose shop, eight o'clock having just struck.

her search was successful: no sooner had she typed 'trent' into her search bar than an entire wikipedia page on the man —who turned out to be a world-famous footballer— appeared under her nose.

several strange moments came to her mind and maisie was finally able to explain them to herself; such as the woman with her mouth wide open in front of him, his expensive clothes, or his three-week absence due to the world cup.

it was a strange feeling, but in just a few minutes maisie learned more about the boy than she had in weeks of conversations. from the names of his parents to the many interviews of him detailing his favourite songs or the next match he would play, maisie took care to go through everything. well, one tab in particular was analysed in detail: the pictures.

especially the ones of him shirtless, but she would never tell him that.

in the meantime, she watches his face contort into a confused expression, then a veil of guilt passes over his eyes before he begins to explain himself, "look about that, i was meaning to tell you-"

"were you really?" maisie arches an eyebrow; trent doesn't know it, but she's just messing with him.

a desolate expression flashes across his face, "yes, i promise, it's just that—"

"relax," she cracks a laugh, "i was just joking."

trent's shoulders then automatically relax and he shakes his head in laughter, relieved that she wasn't mad at him for keeping a big part of his identity to himself. deep down, he has to admit that he was greatly enjoying talking to maisie as a regular person without all of his success being important to her.

fortunately for him, the girl's gaze does not seem to have changed, even though she is now aware of his public status.

"sooo, you're a football star then?" she dances her eyebrows, and trent chuckles, a warm feeling spreading in his chest at the sight of her smile.

"a star," he shrugs nonchalantly, "i don't think so. i'm just someone who buys white roses every week in the shop of a pretty girl," his words thrown in, trent knows the immediate effect they will have on maisie who starts to blush. "a footballer, yes," he resumes, "i definitely run after a ball."

"it's okay, i talk to plants like they're humans, that's not any better," maisie jokes and they smile like two idiots for long seconds, standing facing each other even though the cool air freezes their blood.

they can't seem to take their eyes off each other, and with good reason; the black suit, perfectly tailored to the young woman's waist with a neckline that leaves little to the imagination, distracts trent perfectly, or is it her flawlessly shaped lips? he doesn't know anymore.

either way, she is sublime.

maisie is equally enthralled by the shirt trent is wearing and the folds created by his muscles stretching under it, giving her a little hot flash that she quickly wipes off. he has unbuttoned the first two buttons for a more relaxing effect and she imagines many things with the little bit of skin he is letting in.

the tension between them is so strong that anyone walking on the pavement would be obliged to change, at the risk of being electrocuted by the currents exchanged of their bodies.

opening the passenger door, trent finally breaks the intensity of the moment and leaning over the seat, stands up with a bouquet of pink roses more modest than the one of white roses he had sent her anonymously.

maisie's mouth twists into an 'o', then into a beaming smile that makes the boy's heart skip a beat as he offers her the flowers gently. circling her hands delicately around the stems, she sniffs a couple of roses, stars in her eyes as she thanks him shyly. a memory finally pops into her mind, and her smile widens right before her eyes.

'pink roses evoke attachment, tenderness, and softness.'

maisie is definitely filled with tenderness and softness at the sentimental gift of the boy who has been admiring the girl with the bouquet in her hands for quite some time —pink looks awfully well on her. the girl is also definitely getting attached to trent —if she wasn't already.

the choice of flowers is perfect, as has been trent since she met him.

finally, and after more than a few sensitive glances at each other, trent invites her into his car, feverishly grasping her fingers in his. he tries to ignore the leap his heart has just made in his chest, but it's no easy task.

as they finally drive to the restaurant that trent had reserved for the occasion, he glances at maisie and asks jokingly, "any interesting articles about me during your research?" he thinks that if they are going to talk about it, they might as well do it now.

she throws her head back as a laugh breaks through her lips, "yes, there were some about your lifestyle with your three girlfriends, your two jetplanes, and the gigantic villa you live in," she declares ironically.

"shit," he puts his hand on his forehead in a dramatic way, "how could i forget to tell you about my three girlfriends? my bad," he apologizes and maisie goes into a fit of giggles as if he just made the joke of the century.

they continue to laugh about the british press and their articles full of misinformation that trent never bothers to read. the atmosphere is relaxed and light; the stress felt by the girl before the date is gone and all the knots are untied in her belly. maisie is having a great start to the evening.

she can't wait for it to continue.

— notes.
we've moved on
from white roses
to pink roses🤭💞

thanks for 2k❕