Distance
2052 Words
Barcelona.
7:10 A.M.
The city had barely opened its eyes.
Vian Laurent had already finished his first training session.
Recovery.
Ice bath.
Breakfast.
Film review.
Gym.
Media interviews.
Two sponsorship meetings.
A contract review with his financial advisor.
His schedule was planned down to the minute.
There was no room for mistakes.
No room for distractions.
No room for slowing down.
At twenty-three...
He was no longer football's rising star.
He was football's biggest attraction.
Every week another record.
Another goal.
Another trophy.
Another endorsement.
Another investment.
Another headline.
His face covered billboards across Europe.
Nike.
Adidas.
Luxury watches.
Cars.
Energy drinks.
Documentaries.
Everyone wanted a piece of Vian Laurent.
Everyone...
Except the one person who had never asked for anything.
Nearly two thousand kilometers away...
Norway was quiet.
The lake behind the estate barely moved beneath the morning breeze.
Valeska Romanova sat near the kitchen window with a cup of coffee, reading through architectural drawings spread across the dining table.
The estate was enormous.
Modern Scandinavian architecture.
Floor-to-ceiling glass.
Natural stone.
Warm oak.
It was easily worth millions.
Yet somehow...
It never felt extravagant.
Because Valeska had turned it into a home.
Fresh flowers stood on the kitchen island.
Books covered almost every shelf.
A piano overlooked the lake.
Blankets were folded neatly beside the fireplace.
Nothing about the house looked like it belonged to the world's biggest footballer.
It looked...
Lived in.
Peaceful.
Warm.
Very much like her.
By nine o'clock...
Romanova Studio had already come alive.
It wasn't a global corporation.
It wasn't backed by celebrities.
It wasn't worth billions.
Valeska preferred it that way.
Twenty-six employees.
An architecture and interior design studio specializing in sustainable Nordic homes.
Everything they designed was built to last.
No trends.
No unnecessary luxury.
Just timeless spaces.
She greeted everyone herself.
"Morning, Erik."
"Morning, Liv."
"Good morning, Sofia."
Every employee smiled when she walked in.
Not because she owned the company.
Because she never behaved like she did.
"Coffee?"
Her assistant placed a mug on the desk.
"Thank you."
"And congratulations."
Valeska looked up.
"For what?"
"The Copenhagen project."
She smiled.
"We haven't won it yet."
"You will."
Valeska laughed softly.
"I appreciate your confidence."
At eleven...
The weekly presentation began.
Architects.
Engineers.
Interior designers.
Contractors.
A young architect from Oslo had joined today's meeting to present structural revisions for one of their projects.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing personal.
Simply work.
The presentation lasted almost two hours.
Professional.
Focused.
Efficient.
As everyone packed their laptops away, the architect smiled.
"I've read your Oxford thesis."
Valeska looked surprised.
"You have?"
"It helped me during my master's."
She laughed.
"I wrote that years ago."
"Good research doesn't expire."
"Thank you."
"You explained sustainable timber procurement better than any professor I had."
Valeska smiled politely.
"That's very kind."
They shook hands.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Lunch was planned for the entire team.
A restaurant overlooking the harbor.
Twelve people.
Architects.
Designers.
Project managers.
The Oslo architect included.
Barcelona.
Vian finally left the training ground.
His driver opened the rear door.
Before getting in...
His phone rang.
Valeska ❤️
A smile appeared almost instantly.
He answered.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"You done?"
"Just finished."
"How was training?"
"The usual."
She smiled.
"That's a very footballer answer."
He laughed.
"What are you doing?"
"We're heading to lunch."
"With who?"
"My team."
"And?"
She frowned slightly.
"And... the architect who came in from Oslo."
Silence.
"What architect?"
"I told you about today's meeting."
"I thought he was joining online."
"He came in this morning."
Another pause.
"Where are you going?"
"A little Italian place near the harbor."
"Who's sitting with you?"
Valeska blinked.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"We haven't even reached the restaurant yet."
"I mean..."
His tone remained calm.
"...who are you sitting next to?"
She laughed awkwardly.
"I have no idea."
"Sit next to Ingrid."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"Vian..."
"I'm serious."
She stopped walking.
People from the office continued ahead.
"I don't understand."
"I don't want you sitting next to another man."
She looked around to make sure no one had heard.
"It isn't a date."
"I know."
"It's a work lunch."
"I know."
"Then why does it matter?"
"Because I don't like it."
She sighed quietly.
"It's thirty degrees outside and you're worrying about seating arrangements."
"I'm worrying because I care."
"No..."
Her voice softened.
"You're worrying because you're imagining something that isn't happening."
"I'm asking one simple thing."
"What?"
"Sit next to Ingrid."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
"...Okay."
His expression relaxed.
"Good."
"And Valeska?"
"Yes?"
"What are you wearing?"
She looked down.
"A white shirt."
"And?"
"A skirt."
"What kind of skirt?"
"A linen skirt."
"How short?"
She hesitated.
"...Above the knee."
Silence.
Then—
"Change."
Her eyebrows drew together.
"What?"
"I said change."
"Vian..."
"It's thirty degrees outside."
"I don't care."
She looked out across the harbor.
People walked past in summer clothes.
"It's just a skirt."
"No."
"It's inappropriate."
She almost laughed.
"For a business meeting?"
"For you."
"Everyone else is dressed the same."
"I don't care what everyone else wears."
"Vian..."
"Wear the navy trousers."
"They're too warm."
"Wear them."
She stared at the phone.
"I like this skirt."
"I wasn't asking whether you liked it."
The words landed heavily between them.
Neither of them spoke.
Finally...
Valeska whispered,
"...Fine."
"I'll change."
"Thank you."
He ended the call first.
Ten minutes later...
Valeska walked back into Romanova Studio.
Ingrid looked up from her desk.
"I thought we'd already left."
"I just..."
Valeska forced a smile.
"I need to change."
"You look lovely."
"I know."
She disappeared upstairs anyway.
Five minutes later...
The white linen skirt was gone.
Replaced by tailored navy trousers.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Nothing was wrong with the outfit.
Nothing at all.
Yet she couldn't stop wondering...
Why changing her clothes suddenly felt less like getting dressed...
And more like asking permission.
Why changing her clothes suddenly felt less like getting dressed...
And more like asking permission.
The drive to the harbor was unusually quiet.
Normally, Valeska would be the one filling the silence.
Pointing out old buildings.
Talking about new projects.
Asking Ingrid about her weekend.
Today...
She watched the Norwegian coastline disappear beyond the car window.
"You okay?"
Ingrid glanced over from the driver's seat.
"Hm?"
"You've barely spoken."
Valeska smiled faintly.
"I'm just tired."
"You've said that a lot lately."
"I know."
"You should take a holiday."
She laughed.
"With what time?"
"You own the company."
"Exactly."
Barcelona.
At that exact moment...
Vian Laurent sat at the head of a twelve-seat dining table inside one of Barcelona's most exclusive private restaurants.
No photographers.
No fans.
Only footballers.
Agents.
Club executives.
A few long-time friends.
And several women who seemed to know almost everyone in the room.
The table was loud.
Champagne glasses clinked together.
Music floated softly through hidden speakers.
Laughter echoed against the glass walls overlooking the Mediterranean.
Marc Casadó leaned back in his chair.
"You know what today calls for?"
Vian didn't look up from his phone.
"What?"
"A day off."
"You know Flick would kill us."
"So don't tell him."
The table burst into laughter.
A waitress placed another espresso in front of Vian.
Before he could thank her...
Someone wrapped an arm around the back of his chair.
"Congratulations, Golden Boy."
A brunette in a black dress leaned down just enough to kiss his cheek.
He smiled politely.
"Thank you."
"You've been impossible to reach."
"I've been busy."
"You always are."
She squeezed his shoulder before walking toward another group.
No one at the table reacted.
They'd seen it hundreds of times.
Pedri looked at him.
"Still planning to come over tonight?"
"I said I would."
"My place."
"Eight."
"Just us."
Marc laughed.
"By 'just us,' he means twenty people."
Pedri grinned shamelessly.
"And maybe a few extra."
"How many?"
"I stopped counting after twelve."
Everyone laughed again.
Vian's phone lit up.
Valeska ❤️
He looked at the screen for a second.
Then answered.
The noise around him barely faded.
"What happened?"
"I changed."
"Good."
She smiled, though he couldn't see it.
"We're about to eat."
"Who are you sitting next to?"
She looked around the table.
"Ingrid."
"And?"
"The architect's across from me."
He nodded.
"Good."
"You really didn't have to worry."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
A voice interrupted him.
"Vian!"
One of his friends waved a bottle across the room.
"We're ordering."
"Coming."
He returned his attention to the phone.
"I'll call you tonight."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The call ended.
He placed the phone face down.
Almost instantly...
Another woman slid into the empty chair beside him.
"You always smile like that when she's on the phone?"
He looked at her.
"Usually."
"You must really love her."
"I do."
She studied him for a moment.
Then glanced around the crowded table.
"And yet..."
She gestured toward the room filled with beautiful women laughing with footballers.
"...you're here."
Vian picked up his coffee.
"This is lunch."
She smiled knowingly.
"Sure."
Norway.
Lunch had just arrived.
The team talked through construction timelines.
Material costs.
Planning permissions.
Future projects.
Nothing about the conversation felt personal.
The architect sitting opposite Valeska presented revised drawings.
"I actually preferred your original entrance."
Valeska smiled.
"So did I."
He laughed.
"I knew it."
"You changed it anyway."
"My client insisted."
"The client was wrong."
The table laughed softly.
It was harmless.
Professional.
Exactly the sort of discussion that happened every day.
"Ingrid."
One of the designers stood.
"Can we get a team picture before everyone leaves?"
"Of course."
Everyone gathered near the harbor.
Someone handed a phone to a passerby.
"One..."
"Two..."
"Three."
Click.
Another.
Click.
Someone immediately uploaded it to i********:.
Successful project lunch. Great ideas, even better people.
No one thought twice about it.
Barcelona.
As lunch ended, Vian climbed into the back of a black Mercedes.
His security detail followed behind.
The destination wasn't home.
Pedri's villa overlooked the sea.
The afternoon had slowly turned into another gathering.
Music.
Friends.
Swimming pool.
Cards.
Good food.
People coming and going without invitation.
The gates remained closed to cameras.
Inside...
No one cared who was famous.
Only who had brought the best wine.
Halfway through the drive...
His phone buzzed.
Instagram.
He almost ignored it.
Then...
He saw the preview.
The team photograph.
His eyes found Valeska instantly.
She was smiling.
Standing beside the Oslo architect.
Their shoulders almost touching.
The man was looking at her.
Laughing.
Vian's jaw tightened.
Without thinking...
He pressed Call.
Valeska answered on the second ring.
"Hi."
"Who posted the picture?"
"What picture?"
"The one from lunch."
"Oh..."
She looked around.
"I think Erik did."
"Why are you standing next to him?"
She frowned.
"There were twelve of us."
"You could've stood somewhere else."
"It was a team photo."
"I don't like it."
"Vian..."
"I'm serious."
She lowered her voice and stepped away from her colleagues.
"You're upset over a photograph?"
"I'm upset because another man looks very comfortable standing next to you."
"He works with me."
"I don't care."
"He was talking to everyone."
"I don't care."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"You're making something out of nothing."
"No."
His voice stayed calm.
"You are."
A long silence followed.
Then he said quietly,
"Remove him from LinkedIn."
She blinked.
"...What?"
"I don't want him contacting you."
"He's a professional contact."
"You don't need him."
"I work with him."
"You'll work with someone else."
"Vian..."
"I don't like him."
"You've never even met him."
"I don't need to."
Across the table at Pedri's villa, laughter erupted as another group of friends arrived.
Someone called Vian's name.
"Come on!"
"We've started without you!"
He glanced toward the pool.
A handful of familiar faces waved him over.
Among them were several women he'd met through football circles over the past year.
They greeted him with easy smiles, as though this was routine.
It was.
He turned back to the call.
"We'll talk tonight."
Before Valeska could answer...
He ended it.
Standing only a few steps away from the pool, Vian slipped his phone into his pocket.
Then he walked toward the crowd.
The conversation with Valeska already fading into the background...
As another round of laughter welcomed him in.
- Writer
