Women´s football supremacy

Alexia winces, visibly bracing herself. “I want a joint birthday party. I think it will be fun, you know, sharing a birthday party with my daughter.”

You blink at her again, like you can’t believe what just flew out of her mouth, then your jaw drops. “You want to what?”

Alexia offers a sheepish smile that could only be described as “guilty but cute.” “Un cumpleaños conjunto, amor. A joint birthday. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You could swear your eye twitched. The masterpiece you had been crafting for months—two separate, beautifully coordinated, color-coded events—was being dismantled before your very eyes.

“Alexia,” you begin slowly, in the kind of tone one might use when trying to negotiate with a wild animal, “I have been planning your party since last year. Since last freaking year, Putellas. And Sienna’s since the moment she was basically showed up on our doormat. There are spreadsheets, Ale. Connected spreadsheets. Conditional formatting. Formulas. Budgets. Flowcharts. You name it, I have it.”

Alexia tries not to laugh. “I know, amor, I know—”

“No, no, no. You don’t know. I have timelines. Coordinated music playlists. Seating arrangements. A color palette for each event. Perfectly crafted balloon arches.”

Alexia winces again, looking like a kid caught sneaking out past curfew. “Amor, listen to me.”

You’re too shocked to move, so she simply picks you up, laptop cord yanking free, and takes your seat herself, pulling you right onto her lap.

“Alexia!” you protest, smacking her shoulder lightly.

She tightens her arms around you. “Relax, cariño. Deep breaths, in and out. That’s it.” Her hand slides under your shirt, rubbing calming circles on your back. “It’ll be fine. You love organizing. You’ll just… reorganize a little.”

You narrow your eyes. “Reorganize a little? Ale, this isn’t just reorganizing. This is a complete overhaul. I might as well start from scratch!”

“See? You already know what to do,” she says brightly. “And think about it—it’ll be adorable! Me and Sienna, both blowing out candles. Matching outfits maybe. You know you’ll love that.”

You open your mouth to respond, but something about her tone makes you suspicious. “…Why do I feel like there’s more to this?”

Alexia gives a guilty little laugh, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Well…”

“Well?”

“I might have… already canceled the venue for my party.”

You freeze. “…You what?”

“And the caterer.”

Your voice jumps an octave. “You what?!”

“And got a refund for the decorations. But I swear, I was thinking of us, amor! It just made sense! Why pay for two when we can have one big one?”

You stare at her, mouth open. “You canceled everything?”

“Sí…” she murmurs, shrinking slightly under your glare. “I think I just, um, acted on impulse?”

You throw your head back with a groan. “You think?”

“I mean, it would’ve been too late in the day for Sienna anyway,” Alexia says quickly, trying to reason her way out. “You know how she gets. She’d be snoring before the cake comes out.”

You stare at her for a long moment, and then sigh, rubbing your temples. “It would be cute, I suppose. And it would… cut costs.”

Alexia’s grin spreads slowly, triumphant and dazzling. “Soooo…”

You narrow your eyes at her but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m willing to merge the parties.”

“¡Gracias, amor!” Alexia cheers, immediately grabbing your face and kissing you soundly, twice for good measure.

You’re about to protest again when you hear a delighted squeal from across the room.

Sienna, gnawing on her teething ring from inside her playpen, giggles. “Mami. Mama.”

Alexia’s heart melts instantly. “That’s right, leoncita!” she says as she crosses the room to scoop her up. “We’re doing our birthday together!”

Sienna squeals again, tiny fists flailing as Alexia spins her around in a circle.

You lean back in your chair, watching the two of them laugh, your annoyance already dissolving. “Got to combine a one-year-old’s party with a twenty-eight-year-old’s…” you mutter under your breath. “What the hell did I agree to?”

Alexia twirls back to you, holding Sienna like she’s Simba in The Lion King. “The best decision of your life, obviously.”

You point a warning finger. “If there’s a single Minnie Mouse balloon next to your rosé bar setup, I’m going to lose it.”

Alexia smirks. “You mean our rosé bar setup.”

You squint. “You have no idea how lucky you are that you’re pretty.”

“Very lucky,” Alexia agrees immediately, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “And also very smart, because I just saved us a ton of money and made the cutest birthday ever happen.”

You sigh dramatically, opening a new tab on your laptop. “Fine. But if I have to color-code a new spreadsheet for this disaster, you’re staying up all night with me to help.”

“Deal,” Alexia says, grinning. “But only if we can put matching hats on me and Sienna.”

You pause mid-typing. “…I hate how much I actually like that idea.”

From her arms, Sienna babbles, drooling on Alexia’s shoulder.

“See?” Alexia coos, kissing the baby’s curls. “Even she agrees. Joint party, joint chaos, joint fun.”

You groan, scrolling through venue options again. “Joint migraine, more like it.”

Alexia laughs and leans down to whisper against your ear, “You love us.”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh, smiling despite yourself. “Way too much.”

“So if I do colorful muted tones, that says adult and kiddie, right? And Winnie the Pooh has to be incorporated somehow, so if I—” you mumble to yourself, flipping through the twenty color palettes you’d printed and spread across your desk like they were classified government documents. “Then the cakes. But I have to plan the colors before the cakes. But the cakes give inspiration for the colors. But the…oh, god, this is a paradox.”

You scribble something, cross it out, sigh dramatically, then pick up your iPad again to open a new Pinterest board. “Okay, okay, so if I go with honey yellows, dusty pinks, and muted blues, that says ‘aesthetic toddler,’ but if I add cream tones, that’s too boho. But maybe Alexia could be boho? She has boho energy. Sienna has chaos energy. Oh no, what color is chaos?”

“Dios mío.”

You jump, nearly spilling your tea all over your precious spreadsheets. Alba is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips. “What is wrong with you?”

You look up with bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. “I don’t even know anymore.”

It looks like you’ve been camped out there for days. Blanket around your shoulders, three half-empty mugs beside your laptop, and a sticky note on the monitor that literally reads ‘don’t forget to breathe’ but you can’t remember the last time you took a breath.

“Meshing the parties is harder than I thought,” you whisper weakly, eyes still glued to your color samples. “I. Am. Struggling.”

Alba walks further in, scanning the chaos. “You look like struggle, babes,” she says, running a comforting hand through your curls. “You look like the physical embodiment of a mental breakdown.”

You point a trembling hand toward the papers. “There are too many tones, Alba. Muted, vibrant, primary, pastel. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Alba chuckles. “You’re someone who’s about two minutes away from crying over a color swatch.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your phone rings, interrupting you. You groan dramatically before answering. “Hello?”

Alba watches your face fall, your expression morphing from annoyed to horrified in real time.

“Okay. Alright. Thank you,” you say flatly before hanging up.

Alba tilts her head. “That didn’t sound like good news.”

You look up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. Before you can even speak, your phone rings again. You answer robotically. “Hello? Yes, this is she. Oh! Thank you.”

Alba raises an eyebrow. “You sound like a hostage.”

You hang up slowly, staring at the phone in silence for a long moment before whispering, “The caterer and the venue canceled. No place for the party. No food for the party. No party…” You trail off, looking like someone just told you Christmas was canceled.

Alba immediately places a hand on your shoulder. “Mi amor, everything is going to be alright.”

“No it’s not,” you croak, sounding borderline tragic. “I failed as a mother. And a… whatever I am to Alexia. I failed as a human being. I failed as an event planner. I failed.”

“Okay, melodrama,” Alba says gently, dragging an ottoman over so she can sit beside you. “Take a deep breath. We can save this. And yes, we. I am officially your co-planner now.”

You blink. “You’d… do that?”

“Do I have a choice?” she deadpans, gesturing around at the explosion of stationery. “I fear for your sanity.”

You let out a weak laugh, leaning your head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I wanted it to be perfect, you know? For Alexia and for Sienna’s first birthday.”

Alba nods, her tone softening. “And it still can be. You just need to let go of the control a little.”

You side-eye her. “You realize who you’re talking to?”

“Yes,” Alba grins, “and that’s why I brought your favorite snacks.” She pulls a small bag of chips from her purse and offers it like a peace treaty.

You take one with a sigh. “So what do we do?”

“Okay,” she starts, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “My Mami and your Mamãe can cook. They’re old and retired, and honestly, they live for this kind of chaos. Takes them back to our kiddie party days. They’ll love it.”

You perk up a little. “That… could actually work.”

“Right? And our old classmate, she’s a baker now—she gives me cakes half off. You’ve tried her stuff before, remember? That chocolate tarta at my cousin’s wedding? The one you said made you believe in love again?”

You nod slowly. “That was… divine.”

Alba grins. “Then it’s settled. We’ll order from her. And as for the venue—” she gestures dramatically toward the window, “—you have the perfect one.”

You frown. “The backyard?”

“Sí, the backyard. It’s huge, gorgeous, and free. Plus, it’s supposed to be warmer than usual on the day of the party. It’s like the universe is saying, ‘chill out, Eloa.’”

You stare at her in disbelief for a moment before launching forward to hug her. “Albita, I will love you forever.”

Alba fake sniffles, patting your back. “I know, I know. I’m amazing. Stop crying, you’ll ruin your spreadsheets.”

You pull back, laughing. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this.”

“That’s because you were too busy color-matching honey tones to Alexia’s skin tone, babe.”

You gasp. “Don’t mock the creative process!”

“Oh, I will absolutely mock the creative process,” she teases. “Now come on, let’s finalize a menu. If your mamãe is cooking, I’m pushing for feijoada.”

“Only if we add your mami’s croquetas,” you counter, already reaching for your laptop.

“Done deal.”

You grin. “Help me pick out the menu and color scheme?”

Alba pretends to tear up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Don’t start crying, we don’t have time,” you tease, typing furiously as she starts flipping through your color swatches.

“Oh my god,” Alba gasps suddenly, holding up one. “This one! Muted honey yellow with pastel sage accents. It’s giving both ‘soft birthday’ and ‘baby’s first picnic.’”

You squint, then nod decisively. “You’re a genius.”

“I know,” she says smugly. “Now, let’s get this party saved before you start making spreadsheets for spreadsheets again.”

You groan. “Too late. Already did.”

Alba snorts. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You grin, already back to your planning mode but lighter now, your stress melting away. “I really really am.”

From the hallway, Alexia’s voice echoes as the front door opens. “Amor! We’re home!”

Alba sighs, standing. “And that’s my cue. You deal with your wife, I’ll start a group chat with the moms.”

“She’s not my wife,” you murmur automatically. “She’s technically not even my girlfriend.”

Alba smirks, already walking out. “Sure she isn’t, spreadsheet girl.”

Alexia has been a parent for quite some time now, but she will forever struggle with that stupid stroller you bought.

“Cochecito tonto. ¿Por qué no abres?” she mutters darkly, shaking the handle like it personally offended her. Sienna sits in her car seat, one hand clutching her teething toy and the other resting on her thigh like an unimpressed monarch. “Stop looking at me like that, leoncita,” Alexia grumbles, giving the stroller another yank. [Dumb stroller. Why won’t you open?]

Finally, after a frustrated kick and a muttered curse, the contraption pops open. “¡Por fin!” she huffs triumphantly, wiping her hands on her jeans like she’d just fought a wild animal. “You see, Sienna? Mami always wins.”

Sienna blows a raspberry in response. Alexia unbuckles her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before lifting her out of the car. “Vale, let’s get you in your silly little carriage so we can be late with style.”

Just as she’s about to set Sienna in, a voice calls out behind her.

“Alexia? Alexia Putellas? Is that you?”

Alexia freezes, shoulders tensing before she turns around, still holding Sienna in the air. The voice is familiar in that annoying way that makes her brain rattle.

“It’s me, Mila!” Oh. That Mila.

The woman struts toward her, looking exactly like she did years ago. Perfect hair, perfume too strong, and a smile just a little too confident… and evil. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. She sets Sienna in the stroller quickly, buckling her in and pulling the hood down over her face. “Right, Mila,” she says, trying to sound polite but firm.

Before she can step back, Mila throws her arms around her. Alexia stiffens, holding her hands awkwardly in the air. “Oh! We’re doing this,” she mutters under her breath, giving Sienna a helpless look.

The baby just stares at them, blanket in hand, before tugging it up over her face like she’s shielding herself from secondhand embarrassment.

Mila finally pulls away, her hands lingering a bit too long on Alexia’s forearms. “You look amazing,” she beams, giving her a once-over. “Like, wow. Have you been working out?”

Alexia forces a smile, her polite athlete mode kicking in. “It is, in fact, my job, so yes.”

Mila laughs, tilting her head. “Right, right. Still the same sense of humor. I always loved that about you.”

Alexia glances down at Sienna, who’s starting to wiggle impatiently. “Give me a second,” she murmurs to the baby before muttering under her breath, “Learn some patience. God, you are like your Mama.”

“Oh!” Mila leans in a little too close to peek into the stroller. “And who is this little cutie?”

Alexia instinctively moves the stroller back a step. “This is my daughter.”

Mila’s hand pauses midair. “Your daughter?” she asks, surprise flickering across her face.

“Yes,” Alexia says curtly, resting one hand protectively on the stroller handle.

“Well, you always were good with kids,” Mila says, stepping closer again. “I remember how you used to talk about wanting one someday…” Her voice softens, almost wistful, before she gently touches Alexia’s wrist. “It suits you. Motherhood. You look…happy.”

Alexia exhales slowly, her tone steady. “I am happy. Very.”

“Hmm,” Mila hums, her smile too sweet, too knowing. “You deserve that. Really. Whoever the lucky one is… she’s lucky.”

Before Alexia can respond, Mila gives her arm a little squeeze and smiles wider.

Alexia steps back, forcing a polite laugh. “We’re actually late for her baby yoga class. Good seeing you.”

Mila opens her mouth to say something else, but Alexia is already turning the stroller around. “Take care,” Alexia calls over her shoulder, briskly walking away before the conversation can stretch into dangerous territory.

Unbeknownst to her, across the street, a camera clicks quietly behind a row of parked cars. A few shots of Mila’s hand on her wrist. A few more of the hug.

“Where were you?” Vicky groans the moment Alexia reaches the park, hands on her hips like a tiny exasperated coach. “I was doing baby yoga with no baby! Do you know how ridiculous I looked?”

Alexia deadpans. “You could’ve just waited for us.”

“And miss warm ups? No, ma’am,” Vicky says, crossing her arms dramatically. “I am an athlete, for goodness sakes.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, handing Sienna over. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

Vicky sits Sienna down on the mat beside her, adjusting her tiny headband. The baby looks around curiously before getting into her version of downward dog: hands planted, butt in the air, hair puffing as she giggles at herself.

“Look at her go!” Vicky says proudly. “She’s better at this than half the adults here.”

Alexia kneels beside them, watching her daughter with a soft smile. “That’s my girl.”

“So,” Vicky says slyly, “what made you late anyway?”

Alexia exhales. “Ran into an old ex of mine from when I was younger.”

Vicky blinks. “Wow. That must’ve been, like… a thousand years ago.”

“Watch it,” Alexia warns.

“I’m just saying! You’re ancient in football years,” Vicky teases, helping Sienna transition into another pose. “Was she cute?”

Alexia gives her a side-eye. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, curiosity!” Vicky insists, grinning. “Was she flirting with you?”

Alexia looks up in thought. “I suppose she was. I didn’t even notice. It felt uncomfortable.”

“Uh-huh,” Vicky drawls, clearly unconvinced.

“What?” Alexia frowns.

Vicky points a finger at her like she’s making a grand accusation. “You better not be cheating on my mother, Alexia Putellas. Or else it’s me and you in a boxing ring. You have gloves, I have a knife.”

Alexia blinks. “You realize how concerning that sentence is, right?”

“As much as that statement was cute and horrifying,” Alexia continues dryly, “I am a bit upset that you even think I’d cheat on Eloa.”

“True,” Vicky shrugs. “You spent years, years, chasing after her. Honestly, it must’ve been exhausting. You’re lucky she finally looked your way.”

Alexia narrows her eyes. “You are walking home.”

Vicky grins, unbothered. “Joke’s on you. Salma’s picking me up. We’re going shopping and she’s dropping me off.”

“I will change the locks.”

“Eloa will let me in. She loves me more anyway.”

Alexia groans. “Help the baby with her yoga.”

“I’ve been doing that,” Vicky says innocently.

“Shut it.”

“Wow, Mami’s cranky,” Vicky teases under her breath, tickling Sienna’s foot as the baby giggles.

Alexia pretends not to hear her, though the corners of her lips twitch. She glances at Sienna, who’s babbling happily to herself, blissfully unaware of the photos already spreading online. Alexia Putellas, caught smiling with an ex, stroller in frame, baby unseen but heavily implied.

Vicky keeps joking, her voice a welcome distraction, but there’s a flicker of unease in Alexia’s chest that she can’t quite shake. She pushes it down, convincing herself it’s nothing.

“Abril, you are an actual lifesaver,” you gush, showing her the printed inspiration boards for the cake. “Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Abril laughs, waving her hand modestly. “It’s no problem at all. You’re saving me, actually. I’ve been dying to do something fun and colorful instead of another minimalist wedding cake. Plus, it’s nice to see you again.”

You grin, a genuine warmth spreading through your chest. Abril had always been one of those people whose presence made any space feel lighter. “You haven’t changed a bit,” you say fondly. “Still too good for this world.”

“I try,” she teases. “Just text me when you’ve finalized the color palette. I’ll mock up a few test tiers.”

“You’ll be hearing from me tonight,” you promise, shaking her hand before giving her a quick hug. “Thank you again, really. You’ve saved my ass.”

As you and Alba step out of the bakery, your friend lets out a long, content sigh and immediately slides into your car’s passenger seat like she owns it.

“I’m calling it,” Alba declares, adjusting her sunglasses dramatically. “I am officially the designated passenger princess. Don’t argue.”

You snort, pressing the button. “You only want to be passenger princess so you can take selfies with my car.”

“Obviously,” she says, already snapping pictures. “If I don’t post at least one story pretending this is mine, what’s even the point?”

You roll your eyes but smile. The drive home feels peaceful with the soft hum of the radio, Alba humming along, and you feeling like maybe everything was finally under control.

Then Alba gasps, loudly.

Your heart jumps. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” You pull into your childhood home’s driveway so abruptly Alba lurches forward.

“Nothing,” Alba blurts out too fast. “Absolutely nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “Alba.”

She looks away, fiddling with her phone. “Eloa, trust me when I say this. Don’t check your phone.”

You freeze at the chilling tone of her voice. You glance at your phone sitting in its holder on the dashboard, then back at her. You both move at the same time, her lunging across the console, you snatching the phone first.

“ELOA!” Alba yelps, scrambling out of the car as you bolt for the front door. “DON’T—”

Your fingers fly over the screen as you type your name into Google. The first article pops up, timestamped just twenty minutes ago.

“Alexia Putellas Spotted with Mystery Woman! Trouble in Paradise?”

Your stomach drops and the photo loads slowly, like it’s taunting you. Alexia standing beside Sienna’s stroller, head tilted slightly, laughing at something the woman beside her said. The woman’s hand is on Alexia’s arm, just barely brushing it, but it’s there.

And then another photo of Alexia smiling faintly, polite but soft. The sight alone made your heart clench.

You stare at the screen, frozen, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Alba catches up, panting. “Okay, first of all,” she starts, “wow, you are fast. No wonder defenders cry when they play against you. I’m winded. I’m suing.”

You don’t laugh, you can’t.

“Elita?” Alba says carefully, peering at the screen. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Alexia wouldn’t dare.”

You swallow hard, forcing your voice to stay even. “Yeah. I know.”

You lock the screen, your reflection staring back at you, calm but too calm for a situation of this nature. “Let’s go ask about the food,” you murmur, brushing past her.

Alba blinks, watching you disappear inside. “Okay,” she mutters, trailing after you, “definitely compartmentalizing. That’s not good.”

You push open the door and call out a distracted greeting to your mother, slipping off your shoes and pretending like your world hadn’t just tilted.

Behind you, Alba’s muttering under her breath, barely audible but every word dripping with protective rage.

“How does that gilipollas manage to fuck this up?” she hisses, glaring at the floor as though Alexia’s face were printed on the tiles. “She bagged the woman of her dreams, the love of her life, and all she has to do is not be an idiot. But no, Alexia Putellas always finds a way to mess it up.” [Dumbass]

She exhales sharply. “Puta madre. I swear, if she hurts her…”

You ignore the burning behind your eyes, forcing your voice into something bright and steady. “Mamãe!” you call out, stepping into the kitchen. “Alba and I were thinking, maybe you and Eli could cook for the party?”

Your mother beams, immediately distracted by the idea, and Alba sighs, nodding, slipping seamlessly into your lie of pretending everything’s fine.

“Amor? We are home!” Alexia calls out as she shuts the door behind her, her voice still bright and sing-song from baby yoga. The soft shuffle of Sienna’s tiny socks follows as she pushes the stroller in, her curls bouncing under her little hat. “We had a very fun time at baby yoga. Oh, and Vicky went out with Salma, she’ll be back later, in time for dinner.”

Sienna babbles happily, kicking her legs in excitement, her pacifier half falling out of her mouth as she squeals. Alexia leans down to fix it, smiling fondly.

“Mi amorcita, you were the best baby yogi there, sí? Even the instructor said so.”

The faint sound of your steady, low, and focused voice carries from the kitchen. “We’re in the kitchen, Alexia,” you call, tone neutral but clipped.

Alexia’s smile widens, oblivious, as she walks in with Sienna on her hip. The warm smell of roasted vegetables fills the air. She sets Sienna in her high chair, pulling her bib over her head. “Bona tarda,” she greets cheerfully. “Guess who got the award for best downward dog?”

Alba looks up from her glass of water, smile tight, eyes flickering between the two of you. “Hey, Ale.”

“Hi, germaneta,” Alexia leans in, kissing Alba on the cheek before turning toward you, her entire expression softening into something tender. “Hey, mi amor.” [little sister]

She steps closer, tilting her head to brush her lips against yours but at the last second, you turn. Her lips land on your cheek.

Alexia freezes, her body going rigid. A chill crawls up her spine. “¿Pasa algo?” she whispers, her breath brushing your ear. “Did I… do something?” [What happened?]

You don’t look up from the cutting board, knife working mechanically through a pile of herbs. “I should start on dinner,” you say flatly. “Alba, are you staying?”

Alba pauses with her glass of water in her hands. She sets the glass down with extra emphasis. “No, no,” she says quickly, voice higher than usual. “I should go. I have work early tomorrow.”

Alexia blinks, confused. “That has never stopped you before—”

Alba cuts her off immediately. “My dear, germana, will you walk me out?” she says pointedly, her tone all but screaming get your ass up now. [sister]

Before Alexia can respond, Alba leans over to kiss Sienna’s cheek. “Tía loves you, peque,” she coos, and then grabbing Alexia by the wrist, she drags her out of the kitchen, muttering a stream of rapid fire Catalan curses that would make even the hardest sailor blush.

“Alba, ¿qué pasa? Why are you—”

“Oh, shut up!” Alba hisses, spinning to face her as she jams her feet into her sneakers. “Seriously, your voice is irritating me right now.”

Alexia stares, bewildered. “What the hell is wrong with you? What happened?”

“You need to fucking fix it, idiota,” Alba snaps, stabbing a finger toward the kitchen. “Whatever you did—or didn’t do—you better figure it out fast. Because my Elita is in there, trying not to fall apart, and it’s killing me to watch her pretend she’s fine.”

Alexia’s jaw drops. “Wait, what? What did I even do? I haven’t done anything!”

Alba glares like she’s speaking to a toddler. “You haven’t seen it?”

“Seen what?”

“Man, where is your PR team? Fire them. Like, yesterday.”

Alexia rubs her forehead, stress flooding her body. “Alba, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Alba throws her hands up. “Just open any social media app in existence, Captain Oblivious. You’re a public figure. People are already throwing virtual tomatoes at you.” She yanks open the front door, halfway out before tossing one last line over her shoulder. “When you fix this—and you will fix this, buy me new shoes. Preferably Prada.” Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Alexia stands in stunned silence for a long moment, pulse thrumming in her ears. She quickly pulls out her phone with a deep frown and her pulse quickening. Numerous articles pulled up within seconds. “La Reina has a new jester?” Alexia mumbles the article title. “What the fuck?”

Photos popped up of her and Mila at the parking lot. Snapshots of Mila’s hand on her arm, the hug, and the goddamn laugh she hadn’t even realized looked that bad.

“Oh, mierda,” Alexia breathes, voice breaking. “No, no, no…”

She feels her stomach drop, dread creeping up her throat.

Without thinking, she sprints back to the kitchen. “Cariño! Amor, wait!”

You’re crouched beside Sienna’s high chair, placing a small plate of fruit and cheese in front of her. The baby claps her hands, signing “thank you” with a proud grin. You smile gently at her, your expression soft only for Sienna.

“Amor,” Alexia says softly, her voice trembling. “Please, look at me. Por favor.”

You glance up briefly. “I’m doing chicken and pasta for dinner,” you say simply. “The chicken’s in the oven, pasta’s boiling. I hope that’s alright.”

“Forget dinner,” Alexia pleads, stepping closer. Her chest feels like it’s caving in. “I saw it. The pictures. Amor, it’s not what it looks like, I swear. I didn’t reach out to her, I didn’t—she just showed up. I would never—I could never do that to you.”

You nod once, mechanically. “I know.”

Alexia’s heart lurches. “You… you know?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, turning to drain the pasta. Steam rises, filling the tense silence between you. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. I know you didn’t seek her out. I know it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because I also know how the world works,” you cut in, your tone low but sharp. “How our world works. I know people will twist it. I know what it feels like to watch everyone speculate about your relationship. And right now, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to sit here and make sense of it for you, or for me.”

Alexia steps forward, voice breaking. “Mi amor, please, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. We can handle this like we always do, together.”

You turn then, finally meeting her eyes. They’re glossy but cold, as though you’re holding the door shut from the inside. “I’m fine, Ale.”

Her chest constricts painfully. The tiny, polite smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and she’s seen it before. When the press tore into you both the first time. When you smiled through panic because that’s what strength looked like to you. But never, not once, had you smiled like that at her.

“Amor…” her voice cracks. “Please don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m a stranger.”

You swallow hard, patting her arm gently, like you’re the one comforting her. “Really, Ale. We’re all good.”

You turn away, scoop up Sienna, who giggles as if none of it matters, and rest her on your hip. “Come on, leoazinha. Let’s get you cleaned up before dinner, huh?”

You disappear up the stairs, your soft voice filling the hallway as you hum to your daughter.

Alexia stands frozen, hands trembling. The kitchen feels hollow, too quiet. The ticking clock on the wall feels deafening.

She finally sits down on a stool, elbows on her knees, staring blankly at the wall. Her jaw clenches as the first tear slips down her cheek, her breath uneven.

She knows this isn’t just about the photos. It’s something deeper. Something fragile inside you she’d accidentally cracked open.

Usually, Alexia had the ability to crawl inside your mind and figure it out. But this time she seemed to be drawing a blank. And quite frankly, it was eating her alive.

“Alright,” Lucy says, swirling her mixed drink and eyeing Alexia over the rim of her glass. “What’s the matter? You look like this isn’t your amazingly planned birthday party.”

It really was amazing. You had gone all out, blending muted tones of gold, honey, and pastel colors into a Winnie the Pooh theme that somehow managed to be classy and whimsical. There was one large cake for everyone, and a smaller one just for Alexia and Sienna to blow the candles out together, also for Sienna to gleefully smash afterward.

Your moms, Maite and Eli, had gone overboard with the food, renaming every dish with some kind of Winnie the Pooh reference. The coxinhas were ‘Hunny Drops,’ fideuà was ‘100 Acre Noodle Nest,’ and brigadeiros had been renamed ‘Tigger’s Truffles.’ Every table had wildflowers in tiny honey jars, and the backyard twinkled with fairy lights.

Sienna was dressed in the cutest pink and cream dress with tiny bear ears on her headband, and you matched her with a pink dress of your own. Alexia wore a cream button up with matching bear ears on her head. The picture perfect family scene.

Except Alexia couldn’t focus on any of it. Her eyes kept wandering to you. You were standing near her aunt, laughing lightly but with that smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Eloa’s mad at me,” Alexia mumbles, her voice low as she stares at you. “Stupid pictures.”

Lucy hums, stirring her drink. “I don’t think she’s mad about the pictures.”

Alexia’s head snaps toward her. “You don’t? I didn’t think so either. She didn’t even yell. She just… shut down.”

Lucy takes a sip, eyes flicking toward you. “Yeah, that’s not anger, mate. That’s her building a wall so high you’re gonna need a whole construction crew to climb it.”

“I tried,” Alexia groans, dragging a hand through her hair. “I keep trying. But she keeps giving me that… PR voice.”

Lucy grimaces. “Oh yeah. She’s got the best media training I’ve ever seen. It’s terrifying, actually.”

“I know,” Alexia groans louder. “It’s like she’s talking to the press, not me.”

Lucy pats her arm. “Go inside. I’ll get her in there for you.”

“How?” Alexia asks skeptically.

Lucy smirks. “Gonna lie my ass off, duh.” She sets her drink down and strides off toward you.

You’re standing with your mother now, chatting softly.

“Hey, Mum,” Lucy greets, pulling Maite into a hug.

“Lúcia!” Maite beams, kissing her cheek. “Como você está, meu amor?” [How are you doing, my love?]

Lucy fake winces dramatically, pressing a hand to her stomach. You immediately side-eye her because you know that look, it’s the one she makes when she’s getting you into something. She’s used it before, more times than you can count.

“Mãe, acho que minha menstruação vai chegar. As cólicas estão me matando,” Lucy says smoothly, giving Maite a quick, subtle wink that you miss. [Mom, I think I’m getting my period. My cramps are killing me.]

Maite gasps softly and turns to you. “Filhinha, vá buscar analgésicos para a Lucy. Agora!” [Daughter, go get Lucy some painkillers. Now!]

You frown. “Mas mãe, ela é—” [But mom, she’s—]

“Eu disse agora, Eloa Marianna!” Maite scolds, smacking your arm lightly and pointing toward the house. [I said now, Eloa Marianna!]

You groan but start walking toward the door anyway, glaring at Lucy, who just grins smugly and blows you a kiss as you pass.

When you reach the door, you’re greeted immediately by a voice that makes your breath hitch.

“Amor?” Alexia calls from inside, her tone soft and cautious. Your body does rigid. “No, none of that. Please? We need to talk.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “Ale—”

“But it’s my birthday party!” Alexia half whines, stepping closer. There’s a hopeful grin tugging at her lips.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Seriously? You’re pulling that line right now?”

“If it works, it works,” Alexia shrugs. “I just… I know you’re not mad about the pictures. I know you’re not fine either. If I did something, please tell me, amor. I can’t fix what I don’t know.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “You didn’t do anything. It’s me being in my own head.”

Alexia’s brow furrows, her voice softening. “Then talk to me. Please, mi amor.” She steps forward, taking your hands gently in hers, pressing them to her lips before holding them to her chest. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

Your throat tightens. “What are we, Alexia?”

Alexia blinks. “What?”

“What are we?” You repeat, your voice trembling. “Think about it. We never officially put a label on us again. Which is fine. I mean, we don’t need labels. I’ve never really liked them. But for some reason… it’s bothering me this time. Because if we don’t have one, what’s stopping us from ending up back at square one? And I just can’t go through that horrible abyss again, Ale, I—”

“Amor, slow down,” Alexia whispers, squeezing your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Do you not hear how batshit crazy I sound?” You laugh shakily, tears welling in your eyes.

“No,” Alexia says firmly. “You don’t sound crazy. You sound human. And I didn’t realize how much this meant to you.” She swallows thickly. “I’ve been calling you my girlfriend to everyone who’d listen. Maybe I should’ve said it to you, too.”

You groan softly and let your forehead fall against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just got in my head. I kept thinking maybe you didn’t like me like that anymore. That you were just holding this together for Sienna. And then those pictures came out and… I don’t know, it just all spiraled.”

Alexia freezes before cupping your face and gently forcing you to look at her. Her eyes are wide and intense. “What? Amor, no. No, no, no. Now you sound crazy.”

“See!” you try to pull back but she holds firm.

“Listen to me,” she says quietly, voice trembling. “I have been pining after you for years, Eloa. Years. I have loved you in silence, in pain, in joy and every version of you. I’m not holding it together for Sienna. I’m holding it together because I can’t imagine a life without you.”

You blink up at her, completely undone.

“I’m never letting you go. Like ever. ¿Me oyes?” [Do you hear me?]

Your lips tremble, but you nod, whispering, “I hear you.”

“Good,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to yours.

There’s a moment of silence before you whisper, “Ale?”

“Yes, amor?”

You take a deep breath, your lips brushing hers. “Be my girlfriend?”

Alexia breaks into a grin so wide it makes your heart ache. “God, finally you got the balls to ask.”

You roll your eyes, shoving her lightly. “You’re horrible.”

She laughs, looping her arms around your waist to pull you back in. “Yes, amor. I’ll be your girlfriend. And for the record, I already was.” She kisses you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper back against her lips. “Now come on. We’ve got candles to blow out.”

You both make your way back outside, and before you open the sliding door you narrow your eyes. “Hold up. Did Lucy help you with this?”

Alexia sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I knew it! That faker!” you exclaim, pushing the door open.

You hand Sienna over to Alexia, quickly lighting the candles on the smash cake. You turn to walk away and join everyone else on the other side. Alexia is quick to grab your wrist and pull you to her side.

Vicky holds up her phone. “Everyone ready? One, two, three—”

Maybe she should’ve clarified, because everyone starts singing “Happy Birthday” in different languages. Spanish, Portuguese, Catalan, and English all at once. The cacophony is hilarious, and Sienna claps happily, squealing with delight.

“Blow the candles, bebita!” Alexia coos, leaning forward with Sienna. The baby scrunches up her face, trying to blow but only managing a puff of spit. Alexia laughs and helps her, the two of them finally blowing the candles out together. Everyone cheers.

Eli and Maite immediately swoop in to cut the main cake for everyone.

“Happy birthday, linda,” you murmur, kissing Alexia’s cheek.

“Thank you, amor,” she smiles, radiant and relieved.

Sienna holds out her frosting covered hands toward you, eyes sparkling. “Cake, mama?”

You chuckle, leaning down to playfully bite her tiny hand. “Thank you, aniversariante.” [Birthday girl]

Sienna giggles wildly, smearing frosting on your nose as Alexia laughs, tucking her face into your shoulder.