In the Game of Love

Chapter 13

Note: Thank you for your waiting! This chapter is the longest so far by a mile. Hoping to update more regularly from now on.

I sometimes make small edits in previous chapters, mostly very small things, like grammar or descriptions, that don't matter too much in the grand scheme of things. But this time I made a more substantial change, explaining Bella's stance more clearly, so it might make sense to reread Chapter 11 and Chapter 12, definitely not essential for the story to make sense though.

Also, in case you are wondering what the quokka business is about, search for '손흥민 쿼카' on google.

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The early morning sun filters through the tall hedges that line the narrow inroad behind the Tottenham Hotspur Training Grounds. With a quiet word of thanks to Sonny's assistant, who drove me here from home, I take small, steady steps towards the sleek grey Mercedes coupe parked in a recessed driveway.

I round the corner and face the car. The windows are slightly tinted, but I can still make out Sonny's silhouette in the driver's seat, hands resting on the wheel. A shiver passes down my spine – he's so visibly exposed, waiting for me in broad daylight.

What is he playing at? What if we get caught?

But I guess that's why we picked this as the rendezvous spot. This is somewhere he can drive to without arousing any suspicion and then pick me up unnoticed in an area hidden from outsiders.

Steeling myself, I approach the car, the click of my sandals sounding impossibly loud against the asphalt in the quiet morning air.

Sonny leans over to push open the passenger door, his face breaking into that heart-stopping smile that never fails to devastate me.

He walks over, with broad confident strides, his eyes never leaving my face. Dressed in a crisp white t-shirt and well-fitted black pants, with a sand-colored cotton overshirt thrown on top, he looks like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ.

'Good morning,' he greets me, voice warm and slightly husky. 'You got here okay?'

I manage a small smile and nod, before heading to the passenger side.

He closes in behind, reaching around me in one smooth motion to grab the door handle.

For an infinitesimal moment, we're frozen there with his chest gently pressing against my back, the casual intimacy of the gesture addling my senses.

Then, as quickly as it began, the moment passes. Sonny takes a step back, holding the door open for me silently.

'Thanks,' my voice croaks embarrassingly.

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I slip into the buttery leather seat cool against my skin. While he rounds the car to the driver's side, I take a second to myself for a deep breath.

What kind of black magic does this man possess to reduce me into a complete mess in under five minutes?

The scent of the interior wraps around me - a blend of the leather, Sonny's signature vanilla, and a subtle note of cedar.

He slides into his own seat, and with a twist of the key, the engine hums to life – a low, steady vibration that echoes the pounding of my heart. I don't know much about cars, but the deep, throaty purr reminds me of fancy sports car ads on TV.

We pull out to the main road and soon we are off to the races. The city fades away in the rearview mirror, and the open motorway stretches out before us. We wind our way through the ribbon of asphalt cutting through the green. Clusters of trees line pop up here and there, their leafy branches swaying in the wind.