rosie | griezmann

6

"This is delightful, Antoine." Rosie smiled at the Frenchman as she finished her last bite of whatever on earth he'd cooked, something French that she couldn't pronounce for the life of her. "Where did you learn to cook so well?"

Antoine offered a small, bashful smile; Rosie was glad to see him at least appearing to be happy or content. "My mother taught me."

"What is she like?"

"My mom?"

Rosie nodded. Antoine sighed and shrugged a small shoulder. "I don't know. She loves me a lot."

"That's good."

"What is?"

Rosie offered a small simper. "That you have someone that loves you, of course."

"Oh." Antoine blushed a little. "Yes, it is."

Rosie smiled more. "I'd be happy to help you with cleaning, if you need to put Angel to bed. Or—"

"No, it's alright. You're the guest, you can't clean." He rose his eyebrows and stood. "I'll put Angel to bed, then I'll clean, and then we can talk."

Rosie glanced up at him and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You're the boss."

A spontaneous phone call from the Frenchman an hour prior to the present—asking Rosie if she had plans for the night and wanted to come over for dinner, since he'd missed his appointment due to sleeping in—resulted in this very moment. Antoine didn't know if it was appropriate for her to be at his house, but he didn't care. And since Rosie'd agreed, either it was okay with her, too, or she didn't care either.

Rosie watched Antoine take his small daughter into his soft, strong hands and whisper a few words of his native language to her before watching as she giggled softly and held a hand up to Rosie herself. "Buenas noches," she spoke, her voice small.

Rosie stood and went over to the two before Antoine allowed his therapist to take his daughter into his arms, watching in amusement at how smooth she was with the one year old. "Good night, Angel." She sealed her words with a soft squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before handing her back to Antoine, who smiled and disappeared into the hallways.

Rosie sighed and sat back down at her seat before creating a rhythm with her manicured nails against the polished mahogany of Antoine's expensive table. She wondered if her boss would, somehow, find out about the fact that she'd gone to Antoine's house; if he did, she would be fired for good.

She had already been warned after having been spotted with Antoine at the cafe, and no matter how many times Rosie tried to state that it wasn't a date—as that's what the press had made it seem—her boss wasn't buying it. Would her boss really believe that they'd scheduled an appointment inside of his apartment? At eight in the evening?

Antoine was back within ten minutes. An expert on doing such, it took him about three minutes to wash the plates and utensils; he would leave the other dishes for the next morning, and that way he would have something to look forward to doing during the night.

"Where in your house do you feel the most comfortable? I suppose that would be the best place for us to talk." Rosie stood and ran a hand over her thighs, something that Antoine had seen her do every time she stood. Today, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a white blouse. Antoine liked the way her jeans hugged her hips and, for the first time since he'd met her, he allowed the inappropriate concept of wondering what lie underneath to enter his mind without shame.

But, when put in other words—he wanted to undress her—he grew flustered, anxious, and bashful all at once. Did he like her? Did he want her as his girlfriend? He doubted the latter, but he still wanted someone to keep him company. She was just the closest thing he had to a trustworthy, easily accessible (Olivier was in England, and Fernando had a wife and three kids along with the team to worry about) friend.

"My bedroom, if you want the honest answer." He responded, more like murmured.

"Very well. Show me the way."

Antoine's lips parted in surprise as he nodded and followed her command, guiding her down the hallway, to the left, and then to the end of that hallway. He opened the door to his large bedroom and allowed Rosie to enter it first. She paused and looked at it in wonder. Antoine's bedroom was probably half the size of her entire apartment, but that's what you got when you made over four million euros a year.

Antoine even had a balcony that outlooked the scenic skyline of Madrid, since he lived in the penthouse apartment of the upscale building, along with a sitting area and a desk in the corner of his room and then a huge bed that was across from the large television. No wonder he was so lonely—his bed was way too big for just one person.

"The couch is actually rock hard," he spoke, watching Rosie place her hands on her hips. "But I guess it'd be weird for us to sit on the bed—"

Rosie turned around and offered a dazzling grin. "It's okay, Antoine."

Antoine drew in a breath and nodded. So, a minute later, they faced one another as they sat on his comfortable bed, and went about their discussion just as though they were in Rosie's office. When they were finished, not but an hour later, Antoine didn't want to leave that room. And neither did Rosie. "Any other concerns?" She inquired, biting her lip.

"I just have a question."

"Shoot."

Antoine pushed Rosie's hair out of her eyes, an action that she anticipated the moment she knew it'd fallen from behind her ear. She just thought it adorable, how he couldn't stand to have it there for more than thirty seconds. "Do you have a boyfriend?" He finally inquired, his face red. "And would he be upset about this? I didn't think to ask before—"

"No," She chuckled. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. I'm a bit..." She looked up at the ceiling, as though it would give her the word she was searching for. "...I'm not the best with relationships. Relationship advice, of course, but not relationships."

Antoine's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Why do you seem so shocked?"

"I-I didn't think you were single." He spoke, blushing. He stared down at his fingers, then glanced back into Rosie's brown eyes. "Can I kiss you? Would it be inappropriate?"

Rosie's face grew red. "It would be very inappropriate." She whispered, not even blinking as her hair fell before her eyes. She leant forward, however, and this time beat Antoine to it as she tucked the few strands behind her ear—so, his fingers ended up brushing against her cheek and nothing else—and she placed her hand on top of his, begging it to stay, and it did. Antoine's heart pounded at the speed of light and, before he crashed his lips upon hers, she spoke. "But that doesn't mean you can't do it."