Miss Piqué | Sergio Ramos

Chapter 7 - The Truth

The day after the Granada match, around 7, Marcelo appeared on her doorstep with James trailing behind.

"My two favourite Madridistas," she greeted them, this time getting a hug from James as well as Marcelo. She was informed that there had to be a third party to ensure no foul play. Looking at the list, Marcelo was down in 11th place out of the twenty odd squad members. She laughed as she saw Bale at the top - she guessed he had nothing better to do while injured.

She was handed a bag of cheese puffs as a 'house warming gift', very thoughtful from the two millionaires she thought, amused. They sat down to play and she couldn't help but notice how at ease she felt with both of them - they were two of the friendliest people she'd ever met.

Choosing teams, Marcelo bagged Real Madrid as he was the challenger so she took Arsenal, avoiding the blaugranas. Half time and it was still goalless, Eleanor felt herself getting more invested in the game than was probably healthy.

70th minute and Marcelo used the game version if himself to tee up Bale who slotted it in clearly.

"I miss Frank.." She heard him mumble after he was done celebrating and running it in her face and assumed he was talking about Bale. But in the 81st minute it was her turn to celebrate as Chambo blasted a ball into the net with an assist from Hector.

Eventually there was the stoppage time goal, but instead of Ramos it was Özil, chipping Navas. She leapt up, chanting "We've got Mesut Özil!" as the whistle blew. She didn't hesitate to return the favour and rub it in the Brazillian's face but he just smiled, ruffled her hair and said,

"You're good, hermanita, but I'll get you next time," he poked her in the side and she yelped.

"I'm suck at football, so I compensated with Fifa," she admitted. "You'd beat my ass on the pitch I'm afraid."

James took a picture of the screen for proof and she entered the competition at 11, just above Marcelo. Then they just chilled for a while, chatting about the team.

"Any guys that you like?" James questioned, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily.

"Sexist," she commented jokingly, "and no, you're all gross." She laughed at their offended expressions as she chucked a cheese ball at him. Unfortunately, he ducked and it flew straight into Marcelo. Into his hair. His sacred hair.

"You did not." He said turning to stare at her. Eleanor's subsidence in fear as he drove for her, tickling her until she couldn't even breathe while James threw cheeseballs at them, being extremely helpful. Just as she was allowed to escape, they heard the door open and the unmistakable voice of Neymar travelled through the house.

"Bitch! Your favourite person is here," he called.

Eleanor cursed at his awful timing, but replied, "In here, you puta."

Neymar entered the room before stopping short, "shit."

"Wait, you're friends with him?" James asked, not quite comprehending what was going on. But that wasn't the problem; her problem was the way that Marcelo kept looking between her and her best friend, a look of realisation slowly making its way onto his face.

"Oh my god. You're Piqué's sister, the one Neymar dated." He looked at her rather accusingly, and she looked at Neymar who had a pained expression on his face, clearly regretting a lot of things.

She didn't see a reason to lie about it so she just said, "Yes,"

"So we've been working with a culé?"

"No! I mean, obviously I was, but shit happens.." She gave Ney a pleading look which he understood perfectly as he proceeded to explain what had happened. After he'd finished, Eleanor still hadn't looked up from the ground, knowing that they'd hate her but instead, a tattooed arm wrapped around her.