Chapter 122: Milan Fashion Week 2 (End)

The Milanese streets were alive with the energy of Fashion Week, but Tristan and Barbara were lost in their own world, their conversation flowing as smoothly as if they’d known each other for years.

Barbara glanced up at him, a teasing glint in her blue eyes. “Alright, Tristan. I’ve learned the basics—football prodigy, somehow fashionable despite protesting otherwise, loves coffee. But tell me something that would actually surprise me.”

Tristan tilted his head, thinking for a second before slipping his hands into his pockets. "I’m really into anime."

Barbara stopped mid-step, turning to face him. "You?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Barbara folded her arms, her expression amused. "You don’t seem the type."

Tristan scoffed, shaking his head as they kept walking. "And what does 'the type' look like?"

Barbara tapped her chin, pretending to give it serious thought. "Hmm… probably someone who spends their weekends on Reddit arguing about power levels. Not someone who plays in front of sixty thousand fans every week."

"Wow, stereotypes much?" Tristan shot her a look, but there was a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Barbara shrugged. "Just saying, I wasn’t expecting it."

"Well," Tristan smirked, "surprise."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Alright, let’s put this to the test. Naruto or One Piece?"

Tristan exhaled dramatically, rubbing his chin. "That’s a trap. There’s no right answer."

Barbara smirked. "There is for me."

Tristan side-eyed her. "You first."

Barbara sighed, dragging out the suspense. "One Piece."

Tristan gave a slow nod, making a show of pretending to consider it. "Good choice…"

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "Tristan."

"Naruto," he said with a straight face, just to mess with her.

Barbara gasped, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "This conversation is over."

Tristan laughed, holding up his hands. "Relax, I’m messing with you. One Piece wins."

Barbara exhaled, shaking her head. "You had me worried for a second."

"That serious, huh?" Tristan smirked as they crossed the street, stepping onto a quieter road.

"Absolutely," Barbara said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I can’t trust anyone who thinks Naruto is better."

Tristan chuckled. "Okay, but what about Dragon Ball?"

Barbara’s face lit up. "Grew up on it. Still doesn’t beat One Piece, though."

"Respectable," Tristan admitted. "You pass."

Barbara gave him a side glance, her lips twitching. "Barely."

Their back-and-forth was natural, they were in their own world, not realizing some bystanders who recognized the two started taking pictures of them. 

Tristan pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a flick of his thumb. "Since we’re already on the topic of nerd things, I gotta show you something."

Barbara shot him a suspicious glance. "If this is about your FIFA rating, I swear—"

"Please," Tristan scoffed, shaking his head as he scrolled through his gallery. "I have more self-respect than that."

Barbara smirked but didn’t argue. She waited as Tristan found the image he was looking for and turned the screen toward her.

A LEGO Millennium Falcon—or rather, half of one—sat on a table, surrounded by an absolute mess of scattered pieces.

She stopped walking, tilting her head. Then she looked at Tristan. Then back at the screen. And then, without warning, she burst out laughing.

Tristan frowned, glancing at the picture himself like he had missed something. "What’s so funny?"

Barbara tried to steady her breathing, pointing at the screen between giggles. "That’s tragic. That’s not a work in progress—that’s a crime scene."

"It’s progress," Tristan corrected, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a dramatic sigh.

Barbara wiped the corner of her eye, still grinning. "How long has it been a ‘work in progress’?"

Tristan muttered something under his breath, barely audible.

Barbara leaned in slightly. "Sorry, what was that?"

Tristan sighed, rubbing his jaw. "...A month."

Barbara stopped in her tracks. "A month?" She turned fully to face him. "And it still looks like that?"

"You say that like it’s a small project," Tristan shot back, throwing his hands up. "Do you know how many pieces this thing has?"

Barbara crossed her arms. "Enlighten me."

Holding up a single finger, Tristan deadpanned, "Seven thousand."

Barbara blinked. Then, after a long moment, she let out a deep exhale. "And you thought that was a good idea?"

"At the time, yeah," Tristan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Now it just sits there, mocking me every time I walk past it."

Barbara shook her head, trying not to laugh. "You need serious help."

"Then help me," Tristan said, shooting her a grin.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Help you finish a seven-thousand-piece LEGO spaceship?"

Tristan shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets as they started walking again. "Next time you’re in England."

Barbara eyed him suspiciously. "You’re just gonna make me do all the work, aren’t you?"

Tristan didn’t even pretend to deny it. "Absolutely."

Barbara exhaled, shaking her head. "Fine. But if I do all the work, I’m keeping it."

Tristan slowed his pace, pretending to think. "Deal."

"That was too easy," Barbara said, narrowing her eyes.

Tristan smirked. "I’m a footballer. I know when to make a good trade."

Barbara nudged him lightly, shaking her head as she laughed. "You’re something else."

Tristan grinned, walking beside her. "Took you long enough to realize."

As they kept walking, their conversation never lost momentum. Neither of them was in a rush to let it end.

 She hadn’t expected him to be like this from the moment they started talking. She thought he would be a lot like other celebrities she met but from she could tell so far he was just a loveable nerd, a really pretty one, she could get lost in his eyes and curls. 

About twenty minutes later, they arrived at the venue. 

he entrance to the venue was a controlled spectacle—sleek, exclusive. Security guards in dark suits stood like statues, checking invitations against their list, only granting access once identities were confirmed. A velvet rope separated the crowd from the who’s who of the fashion world, flashing cameras capturing every recognizable face.

As Tristan and Barbara approached, one of the guards immediately clocked Barbara. He barely needed to check before stepping aside. But then his gaze landed on Tristan, lingering for a moment longer before recognition flashed his eyes.

"Invitation?" the guard asked in heavily accented English.

Tristan reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the VIP ticket Kendall had arranged for him before handing it over to the guard who barely checked it out before stepping aside.

 "Welcome, Mr. Tristan. Enjoy the show."

As they walked past security and into the venue, Barbara glanced at Tristan with an amused smirk. “Front row seat? Kendall must really like you.”

Tristan adjusted his Leicester City cap and shrugged. “She’s a good friend, that’s all.”

Barbara gave him a teasing look, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm. Just friends?”

Tristan chuckled. “Nothing more.”

She hummed, still smiling as they made their way inside. “If you say so.”

The grand hall of the venue was unlike anything Tristan had ever experienced. 

Guests were dressed in the finest designer pieces, their conversations a soft murmur of French, Italian, and English blending in.

Tristan exhaled slowly, adjusting his Leicester City cap as his eyes took in the scene. "Alright, this is way out of my comfort zone."

Barbara, walking beside him, nudged him playfully. "Relax. Just think of it like a football match—except instead of goals, we judge outfits."

Tristan let out a small chuckle. "So, a high-stakes game of FIFA?"

Barbara tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "Kinda. But with better-dressed players."

Tristan glanced around again, still feeling slightly out of place. "So… where do we sit?"

Barbara shot him a knowing smirk. "We don’t sit. Well, I don’t. You do."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "You? Modeling? No way."

Barbara scoffed, taking a step back toward the backstage entrance, her grin playful. "You're lucky I have to go. Otherwise, I'd make you pay for that comment."

Tristan smirked. "I’ll be sure to cheer when you don’t trip."

Barbara laughed softly, already turning away. "Just don’t fall asleep in the front row."

Tristan chuckled as he watched her disappear behind the curtains.

For someone he’d met just an hour ago, Barbara had already made an impression. A pretty good one.

Tristan made his way toward his assigned seat, positioned directly in front of the catwalk. He had a perfect line of sight, unobstructed by the woman in front of him, who was draped in fur and barely came up to his shoulder.

Seated beside him were a well-dressed middle-aged woman and a man in a sharp suit. As soon as Tristan sat down, the man gave him a quick once-over before speaking.

"Ciao, Jiligulu—" A string of rapid Italian followed.

Tristan blinked, catching absolutely none of it.

He hesitated, then smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. "Sorry, only English."

The man looked momentarily surprised before nodding, clearly deciding not to pursue the conversation further.

With that interaction settled, Tristan leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling.

He had no idea what to expect from the show itself.

But one thing was certain—

He was definitely looking forward to seeing Barbara walk that runway.

The bass-heavy music pulsed through the speakers, signaling the start of the Fendi show. Conversations faded into silence as the spotlights shifted, illuminating the runway.

Tristan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed as the first model stepped onto the stage. Their movements were sharp, calculated, confident. The way they commanded the room reminded him of stepping onto the pitch before kickoff.

Next it was Barbara who stepped onto the runway, and Tristan sat up slightly.

She wore a sleek black silk trench coat, cinched at the waist, paired with thigh-high leather boots. The outfit was bold, powerful, and she carried it with effortless confidence. Each step was precise, her posture flawless, her expression cool and unreadable.

At first, she was all business—eyes forward, exuding professionalism.

Until she got closer.

Without breaking stride, her gaze flickered toward him, and—just as smooth as her walk—she lifted her hand and gave him a quick, playful wave.

Tristan smirked.

He raised his hand in response, just enough to match her energy.

Barbara’s lips curved ever so slightly before she turned her focus back to the runway, not missing a beat.

Tristan shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. He hadn’t expected that—but he liked it.

The show continued, model after model walking with the same practiced grace. Then came Kendall, draped in an elegant Fendi dress, effortlessly commanding attention. Tristan barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—on someone who, just hours ago, had been standing in a Milan café in SpongeBob slippers.

He exhaled, dragging a hand across his jaw. What the hell is wrong with me?

Then, Kendall reached the end of the runway.

The moment she spotted Tristan in the front row, a smile formed, she threw him a wink, as a joke.

Tristan, still half-lost in thought, barely reacted.

He lifted a hand in an absentminded wave, nowhere near as smooth as usual.

Kendall’s focus faltered. What the hell was that?

Her gaze flicked sideways—just in time to catch Barbara stepping off the runway.

And suddenly—it clicked.

No way.

She glanced between the two of them, replaying the moments from earlier—Barbara’s little wave, Tristan’s shift in posture, his distracted expression.

Something had happened.

But when? And how?

She didn’t know, but she was definitely going to find out somehow.

As the show neared its end, the models returned for the final bow, lining up under the bright runway lights. Applause filled the venue, camera flashes igniting like fireworks.

Tristan clapped along, but his focus had already drifted.

His eyes searched for Barbara one last time, lingering a second too long.

As the lights dimmed and the music faded, the audience rose—some heading for the exits, others diving into post-show networking.

Fashion Week wasn’t just about the clothes.

It was about connections. Power moves. Status.

The moment the show ended, the venue transformed into a whirlwind of movement. Guests rose from their seats, conversations sparked, and the air buzzed with the familiar chaos of post-show networking.

But Tristan wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

His eyes were already scanning the crowd.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Barbara had barely stepped off the runway before she started looking for him. She moved through the clusters of designers, executives, and fellow models with effortless grace, offering polite nods and automatic smiles. A Fendi director had just complimented her walk, and she had responded with a vague “Thank you” that she barely registered.

Her mind was somewhere else.

Or rather—on someone else.

Then, through the blur of flashing cameras and designer suits, she saw him.

And at the same time, Tristan spotted her.

Their eyes met across the room, and Barbara’s lips parted slightly in recognition before curling into a smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t my unexpected coffee companion.”

Tristan smirked right back, closing the distance between them. “Told you I’d blend in.”

Barbara gave him an exaggerated once-over, then tapped the brim of his Leicester City cap. “Hmm. Not bad. But let’s be real, it’s the hat doing all the work.”

Tristan let out a laugh. “Hey, this hat is Premier League fashion at its finest.”

Barbara arched an eyebrow. “Premier League fashion? That’s a thing now?”

“Only for the elite.”

Their banter picked up exactly where they had left off.

Barbara tilted her head slightly. “So, how was your first fashion show experience?”

Tristan exhaled, pretending to think. “Not bad. The outfits were interesting, the crowd was fancy…” He smirked. “But the highlight was definitely some model waving at me mid-show.”

Barbara gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over her chest. “Excuse me? That was a VIP-level acknowledgment.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Felt more like a ‘Hey, you owe me another coffee.’”

Barbara’s lips twitched. “Well, now that you mention it…”

Before Tristan could fire back, a voice cut in smoothly.

"Barbara."

A petite woman with sharp features and shoulder-length dark brown hair strode toward them, dressed in a tailored black blazer and perfectly pressed trousers.

Her Spanish accent cut through the noise of the crowd.

Barbara sighed before even turning around. "Sophia."

Sophia barely glanced up from the phone in her hand, her fingers tapping rapidly on the screen as she spoke. "We need to leave in an hour for the next show. And you still need to get ready."

Barbara groaned, tilting her head back dramatically. "Ugh. This schedule is killing me."

Sophia finally looked up, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. "Yes, well, you can sleep when Fashion Week is over."

Tristan smirked. "Tough boss."

Sophia turned her gaze on him, studying him for half a second before replying smoothly, "Someone has to keep her in line."

Barbara scoffed. "I'm very responsible.”

Sophia gave her a look. "You disappeared for an hour before the show."

Barbara shrugged. "I was networking."

"Networking?" Sophia repeated, her eyes flicking to Tristan with the faintest hint of amusement. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Tristan chuckled. "Best kind of networking, if you ask me."

Sophia let out a short breath that might have been a laugh, shaking her head before focusing back on Barbara. "The car will be here soon. We need to leave on time."

Barbara sighed in defeat before turning back to Tristan. "See? My life is nothing but back-to-back schedules."

Tristan leaned in slightly, smirking. "Must be exhausting having someone keeping you in check."

Barbara huffed. "You have no idea."

Sophia cleared her throat. "If we're done complaining about me doing my job…"

Barbara rolled her eyes but then hesitated—just for a second—before reaching into her small designer bag.

"Give me your phone."

Tristan raised an eyebrow but handed it over without hesitation. Barbara tapped in her number quickly before handing it back.

"Text me later," she said, her voice casual, but her expression wasn’t. "When I’m finally free, let’s actually hang out."

Tristan smirked, saving the contact. "Looking forward to it."

Barbara pointed a finger at him. "And don't ghost me. I hate when people do that."

Tristan scoffed, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Ghost? I don’t even bench players. I’m reliable."

Barbara grinned. "Good. I’d hate to have to hunt you down."

Sophia sighed dramatically, already moving toward the exit. "Alright, Romeo, wrap it up. We’re on a schedule."

Barbara turned to leave but threw one last glance over her shoulder.

"Enjoy the rest of Fashion Week, but don’t go anywhere.."

Tristan tilted his head. "Oh? Why’s that?"

Barbara smirked. "Because I still owe you that coffee."

And just like that, she walked away with Sophia.

Tristan stood there for a second, shaking his head with a small grin before trying to find Kendall.

He spotted her across the room, effortlessly commanding attention as she chatted with a group of models. He made his way over, slipping into her line of sight with a casual nod.

"Yo, Kendall."

She turned around, "Look who finally decided to say hi. Thought you might’ve left already."

Tristan chuckled. "Come on, I wouldn’t do that. I had to at least check in with my gracious host."

Kendall gave him a skeptical look. "Uh-huh. And let me guess—Barbara had nothing to do with you sticking around?"

Tristan laughed hearing that. "Pure coincidence."

Kendall scoffed, crossing her arms. "Right. So the wave, the smirking, the fact that you suddenly looked very interested in a runway show—just fate?"

Tristan shrugged, unbothered. "Could be."

Kendall narrowed her eyes, clearly amused. "You two got friendly fast."

"What can I say? Some people just have good chemistry."

Kendall rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she gave him a once-over, tilting her head. "Well, whatever happened, I’ll give you this—you clean up well for someone who claims to have zero interest in fashion."

Tristan just smiled hearing that.

She eyed him for a moment, then smirked. "Alright, enjoy Milan. And try not to get too distracted."

Tristan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah… definitely too late for that."

…….

The Milan night was alive, its streets glowing under the golden haze of streetlights. The cool breeze carried the distant hum of vespas, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses from sidewalk cafĂŠs. Tristan leaned against the railing of a rooftop bar near the Duomo, hands in his pockets, his Leicester City cap tilted slightly forward as he checked his phone.

Barbara: Finally free. Where are you?

Tristan: Rooftop bar near the Duomo. You up for it?

Barbara: As long as they serve food. I'm starving.

Tristan: Noted. I'll order you a plate of paprika with a side of paprika.

Barbara: Very funny, English boy. I'm on my way.

Tristan smirked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Twenty minutes later, a black car pulled up near the entrance.

Barbara stepped out, looking effortlessly put together despite what had to be a grueling day. She wore a fitted black leather jacket over a cream-colored sweater, paired with skinny jeans and ankle boots—a simple but striking look. Her hair was loosely tied up, a few strands framing her face, and those blue eyes——stood out even more under the Milan lights.

Tristan let out a low whistle as she approached. "You seriously just worked all day and still show up looking like that?"

Barbara smirked, adjusting her jacket. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised," Tristan said, leading her toward the entrance. "Just impressed. And a little suspicious. Are you even human?"

Barbara huffed a laugh. "I could say the same about you, athlete. You train like crazy, then have the energy to be out here past midnight?"

"I pace myself," Tristan replied smoothly, holding the door open for her. "Besides, I’m not drinking, just a mocktail. Recovery and all that."

Barbara raised an eyebrow as she stepped inside. "Very professional."

Tristan grinned. "I like to think so."

The rooftop bar was elegant but relaxed, the perfect blend of upscale and intimate. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. From their private table near the edge, Milan stretched out before them—the Duomo’s gothic spires bathed in golden light.

Barbara exhaled as she sat down, sinking into her chair. "You have no idea how exhausting today was."

Tristan leaned back, smirking. "Oh, I don’t know. Walking in a straight line seems pretty easy."

Barbara narrowed her eyes at him. "Try walking in heels, under a hundred cameras, while people analyze your every move."

Tristan held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Point taken."

Barbara smirked, picking up the menu. "Good. At least you learn fast."

A waiter arrived, and they placed their orders—Barbara choosing pasta and a cocktail, while Tristan went for steak and a mocktail.

As they waited for their food, their conversation drifted, eventually landing on something unexpectedly amusing.

"Wait, your assistant's name is Sophia?" Barbara asked, tilting her head.

Tristan nodded. “I was laughing in my head when you called out her name. I wanted to tell you but you left.”

Barbara let out a short laugh. "Oh, this is too good. We should introduce them and see if they glitch out."

Tristan smirked. "Imagine the confusion. ‘Sophia, book my flight.’ ‘Which one of us?’"

Barbara grinned. "Or, ‘Sophia, cancel my meeting.’ And then neither of them does it because they both assume we meant the other one."

Tristan chuckled. "Honestly, I feel like your Sophia would win in a fight."

Barbara sat back, considering. "Yeah… mine could probably take yours. She’s terrifying when she’s on a schedule."

"Mine just judges me quietly," Tristan said. "Like when I told her I was flying to Milan for Fashion Week. I could feel the disapproval."

Barbara snorted laughing. 

As the food arrived, Tristan dug into his steak while Barbara barely touched her pasta, occasionally twirling a forkful but never actually eating much.

Tristan arched an eyebrow. "That’s all you’re having?"

Barbara waved him off. "I’m just not super hungry."

Tristan frowned slightly but didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he casually used his fork to scoop a bit of steak onto her plate. Then, for good measure, he added a small portion of potatoes.

Barbara blinked, looking down at her plate before glancing up at him. "Are you trying to make me fat?"

Tristan tilted his head in confusion. "How is this making you fat? You already look like a goddess."

Barbara rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. "That was smooth."

Tristan smirked. "Was it? I was just stating facts."

Barbara sighed, shaking her head before reluctantly taking a bite of the steak. "Fine. But only because I love steak."

"Uh-huh," Tristan said, sipping his mocktail. "Nothing to do with me, of course."

"Absolutely nothing," Barbara deadpanned, but the way she nudged a potato across her plate suggested otherwise.

Tristan simply grinned.

By the time they finished eating with Tristan paying after a little fight, it was well past midnight. Milan still buzzed below them, but up here, everything felt quieter.

Barbara stretched, groaning slightly. "Alright, footballer. As much fun as this has been, I need sleep."

Tristan smirked. "Can’t argue with that. Got another show tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but in the afternoon." She raised an eyebrow, casually swirling the ice in her empty glass. "I’m free in the morning."

Tristan caught on, matching her look. "Breakfast?"

Barbara pretended to think. "Hmm… depends. You picking the place?"

"Of course."

Barbara grinned. "Alright, but if you’re late, I’m ordering without you."

Tristan placed a hand over his heart. "I would never be late for food."

As they stepped away from their table, the night air of Milan crisp around them, Tristan found himself hesitating for half a second.

Barbara was adjusting the sleeve of her jacket, tucking her hair behind her ear as she glanced down at her phone, probably checking her schedule for the next day. The glow of the streetlights caught the soft strands that had escaped her loosely tied-up hair.

Without really thinking, Tristan reached up, took his Leicester City cap off his head, and placed it on hers.

Barbara blinked, caught off guard as the slightly oversized cap slipped down just enough to shadow her eyes. She pushed it back slightly, giving him an amused look. "What’s this?"

Tristan smirked, stepping back. "Consider it a loan. Return it next time you're in England."

Barbara tilted her head, adjusting the cap so it sat more comfortably. "Oh? And what if I decide to keep it?"

Tristan shrugged. "Then I guess I’ll have to come and steal it back."

Barbara let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "You’re ridiculous."

"Maybe," Tristan admitted. "But you pull it off."

Barbara exhaled, rolling her eyes playfully before tugging the brim lower. "Fine. Guess I have a reason to come back, then."

Tristan didn't say anything, just had a happy smile on his face.

Tristan slid his hands into his pockets. "Want me to call you a car?"

Barbara shook her head. "Nah, my driver’s already waiting." She paused, glancing up at him. "Tonight was fun."

Tristan nodded. "Yeah. It was."

Barbara smirked. "Alright, football star. Try not to be late for breakfast."

Tristan chuckled. "No promises."

With one last playful roll of her eyes, Barbara turned and slid into her car.

Tristan stood there for a moment, watching as it disappeared down the street.

……

Tristan lay stretched out on the hotel bed, one arm resting behind his head, the other lazily holding his phone. 

Out of curiosity—just curiosity—he typed her name into the search bar.

Barbara Palvin.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe just a few magazine covers, some runway highlights. But as he scrolled, he realized just how much she had already accomplished.

Born in 1993. Twenty years old. Just a “year older” than him. He died when he was around 24 years old. 

[A/N: I'm pretty sure I included what age he died in one of the chapters before this.] 

She had been discovered at 13 in Budapest. By 16, she was walking internationally for brands like Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Prada, and of course, Victoria’s Secret. In 2012, she became a L’Oréal Paris ambassador.

Tristan let out a low whistle. "Damn, she’s been doing this longer than I’ve been playing professionally."

Then, naturally, came the personal life section.

Kristof Somfai. A high school relationship—one year.

Justin Bieber. Tristan raised an eyebrow. That one lasted a month or two.

Leonardo DiCaprio? He frowned. No real photos. Just tabloid rumors. Probably nothing.

Then—Niall Horan.

This one was real. A few pictures. They dated for a few months off and on.

Tristan smirked slightly. "Ah… this must’ve been when she was in England."

It made sense now—when she mentioned hearing his name all the time in England, it wasn’t just football chatter. She had been dating one of the biggest pop stars in the country.

He exhaled, setting his phone down for a moment.

He wasn’t sure why he even looked her up. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe he wanted to know more about the girl who had been making him laugh all day.

Maybe… he liked how easy it felt being around her.

Before he could dwell on that thought, his phone buzzed with a new notification.

Tristan sat up, expecting a text. But instead, his screen still had Barbara’s search results open. His eyes flicked over a few articles—then stopped.

"Barbara Palvin: Too ‘Curvy’ for High Fashion?"

"Victoria’s Secret Model Faces Criticism for ‘Not Being Thin Enough.’"

"Barbara Palvin’s Weight Sparks Online Debate."

Tristan frowned, his jaw tightening as he clicked on one of them. It was filled with ridiculous commentary—some calling her a "plus-size model" in the high-fashion world, others debating whether she was "too big" for certain runways.

What the hell?

He thought back to dinner. How she barely touched her pasta, how she kept twirling her fork but never really eating.

It clicked.

She wasn’t skipping the meal because she wasn’t hungry.

She was skipping it because of this.

Tristan exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

It wasn’t like they had known each other for long at all. He wasn’t about to start prying. But still… he hated that this was even a conversation.

Because if Barbara—who looked the way she did—was considered anything other than stunning, then people were just insane.

He shook his head, locking his phone and lying back against the pillows. That’s some bullshit.

In a different hotel suite across the town, Barbara sat cross-legged on the couch, still dressed in an oversized hoodie and shorts. Her hair was damp from a shower, and she absentmindedly twirled Tristan’s Leicester City cap between her fingers.

Across from her, Sophia—her assistant—was curled up in a chair, laptop open, typing out a last-minute email.

"So… are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you and the footballer?" Sophia asked without looking up.

Barbara blinked. "What?"

Sophia finally closed her laptop and smirked. "Oh, please. You know exactly what I’m talking about."

Barbara sighed, tossing Tristan’s hat onto the couch beside her. "We just hung out. That’s all."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Hung out? You looked pretty cozy."

Barbara rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she picked up her phone and typed a name into Google.

Tristan Hale.

The search results flooded in instantly.

"England’s Crown Jewel: The Rise of Tristan Hale."
"Leicester City’s Young Star Taking Over the Premier League."
"Is Tristan Hale England’s Next Great Midfielder?"

Barbara’s eyebrows lifted slightly. "Wow. I knew he was famous but I didn’t realize I had dinner with England’s golden boy."

Sophia leaned over, scanning the headlines with her. "Yeah, he’s kind of a big deal right now. England’s favorite wonderkid."

Barbara kept scrolling until she landed on a different article—one with a photo of Tristan and Kendall Jenner at dinner.

She clicked on it, skimming through. The article speculated about them dating, but there was only one picture—just the two of them sitting at a restaurant. No hand-holding, no affectionate gestures.

Barbara exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "They’re not together."

Sophia glanced at her, curious. "That didn’t sound like a question."

Barbara shrugged. "I saw them interact. They’re just friends and from what Tristan told me, just friends."

Sophia smirked. "And that doesn’t bother you at all?"

Barbara shot her a dry look. "What am I, sixteen?"

Sophia laughed. "Hey, I’m just checking. You have a habit of jumping into things too fast."

Barbara paused for a moment, picking up Tristan’s hat again and absentmindedly adjusting the brim.

"Not this time," she said quietly. "I’m not rushing anything. I just… want to see how it goes."

Sophia watched her for a beat before nodding. "Alright. Just don’t get caught up in something that’ll make headlines again."

Barbara smirked, finally putting the cap down beside her. "I think I can handle myself and I'm pretty sure they were pictures of us taken so that's out the window."

Sophia leaned back, stretching. "Alright. Just remember—you have a busy day tomorrow. Try not to stay up thinking about a certain footballer."

Barbara rolled her eyes still playing with the hat in her hand.

……

The warm morning sun spilled over the Milan streets as the city slowly woke up. CafĂŠs were already filling with locals sipping their espressos, conversations flowing in melodic Italian.

Tristan, hands tucked in the pockets of a blue hoodie, walked down the cobbled street toward the café they had agreed on last night. A small, family-run place, nothing flashy—just good food and quiet. He liked spots like this.

As he approached, he spotted Barbara sitting outside, already waiting. She wore a simple black hoodie, leggings, and sneakers—a far cry from the high-fashion world he’d seen her in last night.

And yet, somehow, she still looked effortlessly put together.

Barbara glanced up from her phone just as he reached the table, smirking. "Well, look who’s actually on time."

Tristan pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. "Told you I’d never be late for food."

She arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, but I half-expected you to roll in half-asleep."

Tristan smirked, reaching for a menu. "I’m a professional, Barbara. Peak discipline."

Barbara hummed like she wasn’t convinced, but before she could throw another jab, the waiter appeared. They ordered—Barbara going for French toast and coffee, while Tristan got a full English breakfast and orange juice.

When the waiter walked away, Barbara leaned her elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. "So, this is your last day in Milan?"

Tristan nodded, stretching his arms slightly. "Yeah. Got a flight back to England later today. Training starts again tomorrow."

Barbara exhaled, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "Back to being England’s golden boy, huh?"

Tristan smirked. "Something like that."

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

Then, Tristan noticed something.

Barbara wasn’t eating much again. She was picking at her food, taking small bites here and there, but never really going for it.

He didn’t comment at first, just casually cut a piece of toast from his plate and placed it onto hers.

Barbara looked up, raising an eyebrow. "We’re doing this again?"

Tristan shrugged. "You need to eat properly."

Barbara sighed but picked up her fork anyway. "You realize you’re bossy, right?"

Tristan smirked. "I just don’t like wasting food."

Barbara rolled her eyes, but she still ate.

After they finished breakfast, Tristan leaned back in his chair, checking his watch. "I should probably get going soon. Gotta pack before heading to the airport."

Barbara nodded, but she didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a black baseball cap.

She leaned forward, placing it on his head without warning.

Tristan blinked. "What’s this?"

Barbara smirked. "Consider it a loan. Return it next time we meet."

Tristan adjusted the cap slightly, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Oh? And what if I decide to keep it?"

Barbara leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Then I guess I’ll have to come and steal it back."

Tristan let out a short laugh. "Fair enough."

As they walked out of the café, Tristan pulled out his phone. "So… where are you off to next?"

Barbara tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "Paris, then New York for work. But I’ll be back in London in a few weeks."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "London, huh?"

Barbara gave him a pointed look. "Yes, London."

Tristan smirked. "Must be fate than."

Barbara laughed lightly, shaking her head. "We’ll figure something out."

Tristan nodded, stepping back slightly. "Yeah. We will."

She glanced at the black hat now sitting on his head. "Take care of that, Tristan."

Tristan adjusted the brim. "You’ll get it back. Eventually."

Barbara just smiled. "I’ll hold you to that."

…….

Wow okay, this is one of the longer chapters, not sure how I did, it’s 6k and it’s a original one as well. Took a lot of effort to actually write this shit.

Now according to what I find from her interviews, she said she wasn’t eating healthy and not listening to her body at all for a long time to that point Dylan, her now husband had to bring her food and remind her to eat something. Now she said she was doing this for a long time, and around 2012 to like even now people call her a plus size model, which is just stupid in my opinion. That’s why I included that scene of her not eating. 

Now as for the rushing thing, this is more of a guess looking at her dating history. It’s probably not accurate but it’s the best I got looking at it. She did say she wasn’t in a relationship for six years from like 2014 I believe so I’m guessing she was dating just to see if anything could work out until she met someone she really liked which in real life is Dylan but this is a story and so thats going to be Tristan here.

Also she’s really into anime as well from the interviews I could find. She liked them as a  kid, so yeah I wasn’t pulling that out of my ass and a video I watched, she did have a assiatant named Sophia but I’m not sure if she’s a important, just thought it would be funny to include her. 

I could be wrong about all of this but this is what I found and write this chapter based on them. 

Anyway I would love to hear you guys comments and thoughts. And other than that, peace.