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As he pulled away from the curb, the night stretched out before them—just the two of them, the city lights, and the promise of a good evening ahead.
As Francesco merged back onto the main road, the soft hum of the engine blended with the quiet atmosphere inside the car. The streetlights flickered against the windshield, creating a rhythmic pattern as they drove through the heart of London. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just enjoying the peacefulness of the drive. The night had that crisp, early spring chill in the air, but inside the car, it was warm and comfortable.
Leah shifted slightly in her seat, glancing at him. "So, where exactly are we going?"
Francesco smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. "I was actually about to ask you that. You picked the place, didn't you?"
Leah rolled her eyes but pulled out her phone anyway, unlocking it with a quick swipe. "Give me a second." She tapped on the GPS app and typed in the restaurant's name. After a few moments, she turned the screen toward him. "Here, just follow the directions."
He stole a quick glance at the map before nodding. "Covent Garden, huh? Not bad."
She set her phone down, letting the GPS voice guide them. "I figured Italian would be a safe choice. You probably need some comfort food after—" She hesitated just slightly before finishing, "—the match."
Francesco chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow. You really just had to bring that up, didn't you?"
Leah shrugged innocently. "I mean, I wasn't going to say anything, but you lost to an Italian team, and now you want Italian food. It's almost poetic."
He sighed dramatically. "It's not like I'm going to boycott pasta just because Juventus got the better of us. Besides, I need to keep my strength up for the second leg."
She gave him a pointed look. "And you think carbs are the way to do that?"
"Absolutely," he said without hesitation.
Leah laughed, shaking her head. "Us footballers and our diets."
"Hey," he shot back, "don't act like I don't know what I'm doing. Besides, if I was really strict about my diet, I wouldn't even be eating out tonight."
She raised an eyebrow. "So what you're saying is, I should feel honored?"
He grinned. "Exactly."
She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, settling back into her seat as they continued toward their destination.
The GPS directed them through the winding streets of London, past familiar landmarks bathed in the warm glow of city lights. The roads were still active but not overly congested, making the drive smooth and relatively quick. Francesco found himself relaxing more and more with each passing minute. He always felt like he had to be "on" when he was out in public—whether it was for fans, the media, or even just random people who recognized him. But with Leah, there was none of that. Just easy conversation, teasing banter, and the simple pleasure of good company.
Eventually, they pulled up near Covent Garden, where the restaurant was tucked away on a quieter street. Francesco found a parking spot not too far from the entrance, turning off the engine and glancing over at Leah.
"This the place?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yep. You ready?"
He smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Always."
They stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against their skin as they made their way toward the restaurant. The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses could already be heard from inside. Warm light spilled out from the windows, giving the place a cozy, inviting feel.
Francesco held the door open for Leah, following her inside. The restaurant was intimate but stylish, the kind of place that struck the perfect balance between casual and upscale. The air was filled with the rich aroma of fresh basil, garlic, and simmering tomato sauce—an instant reminder of his years in Italy.
A hostess greeted them with a warm smile. "Buonasera. Do you have a reservation?"
Leah nodded. "Yes, under Leah Williamson."
The hostess checked the list before gesturing for them to follow. "Right this way."
They were led to a quiet table near the back, away from the larger groups. Francesco appreciated that—it gave them a little more privacy, something that was always in short supply for him.
As they sat down, Francesco took in the menu, scanning the options with interest. "Alright," he said, "what's the over-under on this place actually being authentic?"
Leah smirked. "What, you don't trust my restaurant-picking skills?"
He lifted a brow. "I trust you. I just don't trust London's version of Italian food."
She shook her head, laughing. "You're impossible."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter, a middle-aged Italian man who greeted them in smooth, accented English. "Good evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Francesco glanced at Leah. "Wine?"
She nodded. "Sounds good to me."
He turned back to the waiter. "A bottle of Barolo, please."
The waiter nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice."
As he walked away, Leah raised an eyebrow. "You really are going all in on the Italian theme tonight."
He smirked. "Might as well. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."
Leah shook her head fondly. "You're lucky I actually like Italian food."
Francesco leaned back slightly, a playful glint in his eye. "Or maybe you're lucky you're on a date with someone who actually knows what to order."
She laughed, resting her chin in her hand. "Oh, so this is a date now?"
He paused for a beat before flashing her a grin. "You tell me."
She studied him for a moment before smiling. "Guess we'll find out."
As the waiter disappeared toward the bar to retrieve their wine, Francesco leaned back in his chair, flipping open the menu. The warm, golden light of the restaurant gave everything a soft glow, and for a moment, the hum of conversations around them faded into the background. Leah did the same, running her eyes over the neatly listed dishes, her fingers gently drumming against the wooden table.
"You've had proper Italian food in Italy," she said without looking up. "So, tell me, what's your go-to order when you want the real thing?"
Francesco smirked. "Depends on my mood. But if I had to pick, I'd go for something simple. Spaghetti aglio e olio, maybe a good risotto. You don't need to overcomplicate Italian food—it's all about the ingredients."
Leah glanced up at him, amused. "So, no chicken Alfredo?"
Francesco let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over his heart. "Blasphemy. Any real Italian would be offended just hearing that."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, alright. No chicken Alfredo." She went back to scanning the menu. "I think I'm in the mood for seafood. Maybe the linguine alle vongole."
"Solid choice," he nodded approvingly. "I think I'll go for the ossobuco. Can't go wrong with slow-braised veal."
Leah raised an eyebrow. "Going for something hearty, huh?"
"I deserve it," he said with a grin. "Long flight, bad result, emotional damage."
She rolled her eyes. "Poor you."
Before he could respond, the waiter returned, expertly carrying a bottle of deep red Barolo. He placed it gently on the table, uncorking it with practiced ease. "Would you like to taste?" he asked, directing the question to Francesco.
Francesco nodded, accepting the small pour into his glass. He swirled it slightly, bringing it to his nose before taking a sip. Smooth, rich, just the right balance of tannins. He gave the waiter an approving nod. "Perfect."
The waiter filled both of their glasses before setting the bottle down. "Are you ready to order?"
Leah gestured toward Francesco. "Go ahead."
He closed the menu, setting it aside. "I'll have the ossobuco."
"And for you, signorina?" the waiter asked, turning to Leah.
"The linguine alle vongole, please," she replied with a small smile.
"Excellent choices," the waiter said warmly, jotting their orders down. "Would you like anything else to start? Perhaps some antipasti?"
Francesco glanced at Leah, who gave a small shrug, leaving the decision to him. He turned back to the waiter. "Let's do a burrata to share."
"Very good. I'll be back shortly," the waiter said, taking their menus and walking away.
As soon as he left, Francesco took another sip of his wine, letting it settle over his tongue. But before he could say anything, he noticed something—an odd shift in the atmosphere.
People were staring.
It wasn't blatant, but it was noticeable. A few stolen glances from neighboring tables, hushed whispers that stopped just as soon as he turned his head. Even the occasional flicker of a phone being lifted, as if someone was trying to be discreet about taking a photo. He sighed, setting his glass down.
Leah noticed immediately. "What?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly.
He gestured subtly with his chin. "They're staring."
She turned her head slightly, as if casually stretching her neck, before glancing back at him with an amused smile. "They're just curious."
"Or nosy," he muttered.
Leah smirked. "Well, you are Francesco Lee. England's rising star. Arsenal's next captain. The golden boy. People notice."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Golden boy, huh? You sound like one of those pundits."
She took a sip of her wine, still smirking. "Just saying, you can't really expect to go anywhere without people recognizing you."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't mind it most of the time. It just gets… tiring, you know?"
She nodded, her expression softening. "I get it. Constantly being watched, analyzed, talked about—it has to be exhausting."
"It is," he admitted. "Sometimes, I just want to go somewhere and not feel like I'm on display."
Leah tilted her head slightly. "You know, if it helps, I can pretend to be some crazed superfan and cause a scene. Give them something actually worth staring at."
That made him laugh. "Oh yeah? What would you do?"
She set her glass down dramatically. "I could 'accidentally' trip while walking to the restroom, then make a big deal about how you heroically saved me."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "That would only make things worse."
"Or," she continued, eyes gleaming with mischief, "I could just start loudly asking you questions about your 'secret love child' and pretend to be a journalist."
He nearly choked on his wine, laughing. "Jesus, Leah."
She grinned. "I'm just saying. If you want a distraction, I can provide."
He looked at her, warmth settling in his chest. "You're ridiculous."
"But I made you laugh, didn't I?"
He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Yeah. Yeah, you did."
Their conversation drifted into easier topics after that—her recent training sessions, his upcoming fixtures, random stories about their friends. Every now and then, Francesco would catch another glance from a nearby table, but it didn't bother him as much anymore. Leah had a way of making things feel normal, even when they weren't.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned with their burrata, placing it between them with a small smile. "Enjoy."
Francesco picked up his fork, cutting into the soft, creamy cheese. "Alright, let's see if this place actually knows what they're doing."
Leah watched as he took a bite, waiting for his verdict. He chewed thoughtfully before nodding. "Not bad. Not the best I've had, but solid."
She rolled her eyes. "Such a critic."
He smirked. "I have high standards."
As they ate, the restaurant continued to hum with quiet energy around them. The occasional whisper, the quick glances—they never fully went away. But Francesco found that he didn't mind as much, not with Leah sitting across from him, effortlessly making him forget about everything else.
Maybe that was what he liked most about her. With Leah, he wasn't just Francesco Lee, the footballer. He was just… him.
As the night wore on, their plates gradually emptied, the lingering traces of sauce and breadcrumbs the only evidence of the meal they'd enjoyed. The burrata had disappeared quickly, the soft cheese paired perfectly with the warm bread they'd been given on the side. Leah's linguine alle vongole had been just the right amount of light yet flavorful, while Francesco's ossobuco had been rich and comforting, exactly what he'd needed after the past few days.
Leah took a sip of her wine, settling back into her chair. "I have to admit," she said, tapping a finger against the rim of her glass, "this place isn't bad. You were skeptical at first."
Francesco smirked. "I wouldn't say skeptical. Cautiously optimistic, maybe."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mhm. And yet, you've basically licked your plate clean."
He glanced down at his plate, where only a few remnants of his meal remained, and shrugged. "Fine. I'll give it to you. Good choice."
Leah grinned triumphantly. "I'll remember that."
He chuckled, taking another sip of wine. The restaurant was still buzzing with quiet conversation around them, but by now, Francesco had mostly tuned it out. Between the food, the wine, and Leah's effortless ability to keep him engaged in conversation, the initial tension from being watched had faded into the background.
"So," Leah said, tilting her head slightly, "tell me something most people don't know about you."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's vague."
She shrugged. "I mean, people know you as a footballer. The prodigy. The next big thing. But what about the stuff no one sees? Something random. Something only close friends would know."
He thought for a moment, drumming his fingers lightly against the table. "Alright… I can't sleep without some kind of background noise. Usually a podcast or an audiobook."
Leah blinked. "Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Silence messes with me. I need something to focus on, or my brain just won't shut off."
She considered this, then smirked. "So, what do you listen to? Motivational speeches? Tactical analysis? Or do you fall asleep to your own highlight reels?"
Francesco laughed. "Yeah, right. No, usually history podcasts. Or, weirdly enough, cooking shows."
Leah burst out laughing. "Cooking shows? You don't even cook!"
"Exactly," he said, grinning. "No pressure to learn anything, just people talking about food I'll probably never make."
She shook her head, still laughing. "I don't know if that's brilliant or ridiculous."
"Both," he said with a smirk. "Your turn. What's something people don't know about you?"
She thought for a moment before smirking. "I have a playlist specifically for pretending I'm in a dramatic movie scene when I'm driving."
Francesco stared at her for a beat before laughing. "Of course you do."
She grinned. "What can I say? Sometimes, the moment calls for it."
He shook his head, amused. "And what's on this playlist? Give me an example."
"Depends on the mood," she said, sipping her wine. "Rainy day? 'Holocene' by Bon Iver. Late-night drive? Something like 'The Night We Met.' And if I'm really feeling dramatic… some orchestral movie score."
Francesco chuckled. "So, if I ever see you staring intensely out of a car window, I should just assume you've got something moody playing in the background?"
"Exactly," she said, nodding seriously.
He smirked. "Good to know."
Just as they were finishing their conversation, a hesitant presence loomed near their table. Francesco looked up to find a young couple standing there, both looking slightly nervous but excited.
"Sorry to interrupt," the guy said, shifting on his feet. "But… you're Francesco Lee, right?"
Francesco offered a small smile. "Yeah, that's me."
The girl, holding onto her boyfriend's arm, beamed. "We're huge Arsenal fans. We just wanted to say how much we admire your game."
Francesco felt a warmth spread through him. No matter how exhausting the attention could be, moments like this—where he could see the genuine excitement in people's eyes—made it worth it.
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
The guy hesitated before pulling something from his pocket—a folded-up Arsenal match program. "Would you mind signing this? Only if you're okay with it."
Francesco nodded. "Of course."
The guy handed him a pen, and Francesco quickly scribbled his signature, adding a small message of appreciation. As he handed it back, the girl grinned. "We were at the game against United. That assist you had? Incredible."
Francesco chuckled. "Glad you enjoyed it."
"More than enjoyed it," the guy said. "We can't wait to see what you do next."
Francesco nodded, appreciating their enthusiasm. "Hopefully, something even better."
The couple thanked him again before stepping away, clearly still excited. As they left, Leah smirked. "See? Not all attention is bad."
He exhaled, shaking his head. "I know. It's just… weird, sometimes."
She studied him for a moment before nudging his foot under the table. "Well, for what it's worth, you handle it well."
He glanced at her, the warmth from the wine and the conversation settling in his chest. "Thanks."
Their waiter returned just then, asking if they'd like anything else. Francesco glanced at Leah, who shook her head, before asking for the bill.
As they waited, Francesco leaned back, looking around the restaurant for a moment before returning his attention to Leah. "So… was this a good choice for the night?"
She smirked. "Yeah. I'd say so."
"Good," he said, finishing the last sip of his wine. "Because next time, I'm picking the place."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So there's a next time?"
He met her gaze, smirking. "I guess we'll find out."
As the night drew to a close, the two of them shared a comfortable silence, each content in their own way. The world outside the restaurant, with its flashing lights and bustling streets, felt miles away. In that moment, it was just Francesco and Leah, and that was enough.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : None
Match Played: 26
Goal: 31
Assist: 12
MOTM: 8