A Place for My Heart

chapter 1

“Are you alright?” I heard a voice above me say.

I was sitting on a random park bench, somewhere in Madrid, Spain, with tears streaming down my face.  Of course I wasn’t alright.

“Sure. Besides the fact that I’m lost and have nowhere to sleep tonight, except this bench.” I replied, without looking up. I really didn’t need a random stranger asking about my day. Unfortunately, this stranger wasn’t going away. He sat down next to me. He looked down at the roughly packed bag at my feet, then looked up at my face.

“What happened?”

“Look, I’m tired, and stressed out, and I really don’t feel like talking about it with some strange man in some strange city.”

“What happened to your face?” He asked, pulling back my hair. I hadn’t looked at my face in a mirror yet, but I imagined it was blotchy and bruised.

“Why the fuck do you -“ I started to say, but stopped midsentence as I saw who I was talking to. I gasped. There, sitting in front of me, asking me how my day was going, was my idol. The man I stalked religiously for years, the man I was convinced I was going to marry when I was a teenager. It was Cristiano Ronaldo.

“Oh my god…” I whispered. I had been trying to see him in the flesh ever since I moved to Madrid with my boyfriend when I was 21.

“Hi,” he said with a cute little half smile. He obviously knew I recognised him. “Do you want to get a drink, and tell me what happened?”

“No drink, but I really could use a coffee.”

“Sure, there’s a twenty-four hour coffee shop around the corner. Shall we?” He said getting up, grabbing my bag and offering me his hand.

“Thanks,” I took his hand to get up, then followed him to the coffee shop.

We sat down and I told him what to order, then I went to the bathroom to see what level of a mess I was. I looked in the mirror and sighed. I was definitely Britney-post-head-shave mess. There were tear marks, blood and big blotchy bruises on my face. I threw cold water on my face, trying to wash it off, but it didn’t make much of a difference. Great. I met Cristiano Ronaldo on a night like this. Oh well, its not like I could compare to his girlfriend anyway.

I walked back to our table, where he was waiting with his water and my coffee. The place was empty except for the guy working the counter. I sipped on my coffee, trying to think of something to say to break the awkward silence.

“So…do you really have nowhere to stay tonight?” he asked, breaking it first.

“Not really. I live with my boyfriend, well, I guess ex-boyfriend now. I don’t want to go back to that house right now.”

“Why not?”

“I um, I can’t talk about it. Not yet. I’m sorry.”

“Its okay. Don’t you have any family or friends or anyone?” he put his hand over mine on the table.

“No. I moved out here with him from Australia last year. I have no friends here, all my money is back at the house, and I have no family here.” I dropped my head as tears threatened to emerge again.

“Spend the night at my house.”

“What?” My head shot up. “You don’t even know my name.”

He smiled, “Do you want to tell me?”

“Rose.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Cristiano. Do you want to sleep at my house for the night?”

“How do I know you’re not some kind of crazy rapist?”

He started laughing, “Rose, if I was a crazy rapist, the Spanish press would have found out by now.”

“You could be a really good at hiding it.”

“Well, it’s either trusting me, or sleeping on a bench. Which sounds better to you?”

“What about your girlfriend and kid? Won’t they think it’s weird, you bringing a girl home?”

“They’re on vacation with my mother, I figured Irina needed to bond with my mother, and Junior needed to bond with Irina.”

I sighed. He was right, it was between trusting the famous footballer, whose every detail of every move was printed in the papers, or sleep on the curb with the homeless.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Great,” He said with a smile, then stood up, offering me his hand again. I took it, holding on this time. Don’t judge me, how many times will you get to hold Cristiano Ronaldo’s hand? He led me to his car, where I stopped dead in my tracks.

“You’re letting a stranger get in your Lamborghini?!” I exclaimed.

He smiled and opened the door for me, while I tried to get in as lady-like as I could. Which for me, probably made me look like a retard.  Good thing I didn’t bring my coffee with me, I would have spilt it like the klutz I am.

“Buckle up,” Ronaldo said with a grin.