Chapter 244: So You're Also Attracted by Looks
After wrapping up their Premier League Round 27 match against West Bromwich Albion, Chelsea entered a full week of rest and preparation.
Originally, they weren't supposed to have such a long break.
But because the League Cup final was scheduled for the afternoon of March 2nd, their Premier League Round 28 match against Fulham on March 1st was postponed by the FA.
Add to that Mourinho already having rested most of the senior players in the last league game, and Chelsea's squad was in excellent shape physically.
So once Terry returned from injury and the team completed three days of high-intensity tactical sessions, Mourinho generously gave the first team a half-day off.
On February 26th at noon, after completing the day's only training session, the entire Chelsea squad gathered for a casual team lunch at Cobham.
With the afternoon free to relax or entertain themselves, the players were in high spirits. Even though the food wasn't anything special, the mood in the cafeteria was loud and cheerful.
"I was on a date with this girl the other day, and she kept insisting I take her home. I refused. But the moment we got to the hotel, she tried to get straight to it. I got dressed and drove off!"
Bertrand banged his water glass as he animatedly told the story of a recent "encounter" he'd had with a girl he met at a nightclub.
When he said he fled fully clothed without doing anything, the rest of the Chelsea players burst into laughter.
But Bertrand smugly pointed to a few of the younger teammates nearby.
"Don't laugh, lads. Take notes. Just because a girl throws herself at you doesn't mean it's good luck.
If she tells you not to use protection, it's not for your pleasure—it's so she can get pregnant and drain your bank account!"
The younger players sat stunned, eyes wide, as Bertrand offered up his "wisdom."
Some of the older players just smirked knowingly, offering no argument.
Leon didn't disagree either. He had witnessed this kind of thing during his time in Spain and Italy—teammates getting calls from women demanding money.
It wasn't uncommon in football.
Professional players had too much energy, and way too much money.
Even a benchwarmer in Europe's top leagues could earn more in a week than most people made in a year.
Top-tier starters were natural targets in the eyes of women frequenting nightclubs and parties.
For women who managed to get pregnant by a footballer, that was a golden ticket.
Leon had seen enough to be wary. He didn't despise these women—it was their way of survival, in a way. A lifestyle choice. He didn't approve, but he didn't judge.
He also believed that while there were many women with values that clashed with his, there were just as many who shared similar views on life.
For example…
As soon as he got a text from his assistant, Leon scarfed down the last of his lunch, headed to the locker room, and took a quick shower—styling his hair a bit while he was at it.
So while the rest of the team just rinsed off and left the training ground casually, Leon changed into a sharp winter outfit, hair neatly styled.
As he passed Bertrand and Hazard in the parking lot, he flashed them a devilishly handsome grin.
Hazard whistled with two fingers in his mouth.
Bertrand raised his eyebrows.
Since Leon's arrival at Chelsea, this was the first time he'd seen him leave training dressed this well.
"Hey, boss! Don't tell me you've got a date?"
Lukaku stuck his head out of Bertrand's backseat and called out.
He was joking, of course.
But to his surprise, Leon rolled down the window and smiled.
"This time, you're right."
And then he drove off.
The three of them stood there, staring at each other, speechless.
Thirty minutes later, Leon walked into a café by the Thames, wearing oversized sunglasses that covered half his face.
Inside, his assistant sat at a table with Anastasiya.
Leon's assistant had picked her up from the airport earlier that afternoon and brought her to this quiet café—not far from Cobham and a regular spot for the younger Chelsea players.
When Leon entered, he immediately spotted Anastasiya standing under a wall full of framed photos, curiously studying them.
They were all snapshots of Leon and his teammates posing with the café owner.
She wore a white puffer jacket, her hair tied in a ponytail, and a pair of sky-blue straight-leg jeans. She looked effortlessly fresh.
Leon seemed to forget this was only their second meeting.
He walked up to her calmly, grinning.
"You won't fill your stomach just staring at those photos."
He saw her ears twitch slightly. Startled, she turned and took two steps back when she saw him.
Leon lowered his sunglasses slightly, and when she realized it was him, her guarded expression melted into a surprised smile.
He put a finger to his lips, motioning toward the other patrons—at least a dozen of them were scattered around the café.
Anastasiya nodded, a bit embarrassed, and followed Leon to a window seat.
Leon's assistant, who had been keeping her company, quietly slipped away as soon as Leon arrived.
"Justin told me you skipped lunch and only had coffee. Is that true?"
Leon's first words weren't about how she'd been or how London felt.
He casually picked up the menu and immediately asked why she hadn't eaten.
"We have upcoming evaluations. I… I need to lose a little weight."
Her explanation eased some of her initial nervousness.
"Then I'll run with you tonight—gym or outdoors, you choose. Burn off whatever we eat. But starving yourself isn't the way."
Leon then asked if she could eat seafood.
She hesitated, her face turning adorably pink as she fought the urge to refuse.
But in the end, she gave in.
Leon ordered a small portion of seafood fried rice and Galician-style octopus.
The familiar aroma instantly took him back to Spain.
And Anastasiya?
She ate heartily.
Even though just three minutes ago she had nervously asked if they could cancel her food order from the café's kitchen, there was now no trace of hesitation in her expression.
After finishing the entire portion of seafood fried rice and more than half the Galician-style octopus, Anastasiya finally set her fork down.
"Pretty good, right? The owner of this place is Spanish. I found out about it from some local fans—turns out they opened a coffee shop here that also serves Spanish food."
Leon smiled as he explained, picking up his fork and finishing off the remaining half portion of octopus.
He didn't notice the growing smile in Anastasiya's eyes as she looked across at him.
Once Leon popped the last piece of octopus into his mouth, he ordered two coffees, and they sat for another ten minutes or so before he paid the bill and led her out.
Leon had originally thought that today's meetup might feel a little awkward, that it would take some time for them to get comfortable with each other like they had while chatting over text.
But after lunch, all of Anastasiya's initial shyness had disappeared.
From the drive into central London to their stroll around St. Paul's Cathedral, she was far more open and animated than Leon had expected.
Still, with pleasant company came a bit of trouble.
Anastasiya's beauty drew a lot of attention from passersby.
Leon had only worn sunglasses. In England, footballers rarely went out in full disguise—hats, glasses, masks… that kind of thing wasn't a trend here.
So it was no surprise when Leon was recognized by fans.
He'd known his popularity among Chelsea supporters was sky-high.
What he didn't expect was that even a young man wearing an Arsenal jacket in the crowd would excitedly ask him for an autograph.
Leon didn't just oblige—he laughed, shook his head, and signed for him.
In fact, once they were surrounded, Leon started asking people not to take pictures while simultaneously giving autographs to nearly 40 fans.
But as the crowd grew larger, Leon started to feel uneasy.
He pulled Anastasiya into his arms, shielding her from the swarm.
She hadn't even realized what was happening before she was wrapped in Leon's embrace.
As he apologized to fans and made a quick call to his assistant, Leon whispered down to her:
"There are just too many people. I don't know if there are reporters mixed in. I'm sorry, Anastasiya…"
She understood.
Leon wasn't worried about his own photos getting out—he was concerned about her.
He didn't want Anastasiya to get dragged into a media circus just because of him.
Don't underestimate The Sun—those guys would twist even nothing into scandal, just for clicks.
Anastasiya tucked her face into Leon's chest.
By the time Leon's assistant and security team arrived and escorted them away, the paparazzi had only managed to snap a few photos of Leon protecting Anastasiya as they got into the car.
But even that was enough.
The rumors spread instantly.
Even though The Sun didn't get a clean shot or the girl's name, the people who had seen Anastasiya in person were more than willing to describe her in vivid detail.
The next morning, The Sun's scandal piece on Leon sold out across London.
And the news wasn't just local—it spread across Europe, sweeping through the sports media world like wildfire.
For once, they all dropped their match recaps and tactical breakdowns and turned full tabloid:
Leon's first romantic scandal.
It was perfect timing too. With most major leagues on a break, fans had nothing else to talk about.
And Leon? The famously clean-living midfielder suddenly became the internet's favorite mystery.
Nobody believed he was being reckless. What people wanted to know was:
Who was this girl that finally caught him?
With the attention growing to such an extreme, Leon had no choice.
He could no longer appear in public with Anastasiya.
But he also didn't ask Mendes to step in with a PR denial.
Instead, he brought her directly back to his villa in Surrey, not far from Chelsea's training center, and quietly apologized.
Anastasiya told him she understood.
Seeing the calm expression on her face—no shame, no discomfort—Leon finally relaxed.
Their relationship was in a strange place.
You could call them friends, sure.
But Leon couldn't very well go out and publicly say:
"We're just friends."
So he didn't ask Mendes to clean up the rumors.
Originally, he'd planned to spend more time getting to know Anastasiya, to see if their feelings aligned.
But today's incident made everything painfully clear.
With his current status, slow and quiet development just wasn't possible anymore.
The media wouldn't allow it.
He didn't want to interfere with her life, but being under constant media scrutiny meant that anyone close to him became a target.
Even if The Sun hadn't dug up details today, they'd find them soon.
What would happen the next time they met for coffee? Would they need disguises and secret rendezvous every time?
Leon didn't want that life.
And no normal person would want that kind of relationship either.
Right now, with the media in a frenzy, he couldn't even have his assistant drop Anastasiya off at a hotel.
His car, his assistant's car, even every person on his team—every movement was being tracked.
If he dared let his assistant escort her to a hotel, The Sun would post headlines the next morning:
"Leon Secretly Meets Unknown Beauty in London Hotel!"
So, even though it didn't feel quite right, Leon had no choice.
He brought her home.
After dinner, as promised, they ran lightly on the treadmill in his private gym to burn off the calories.
They talked. Laughed. Everything felt easy and normal.
Anastasiya wasn't uncomfortable. Leon had been a great host.
But once he returned to his room for the night, Leon found himself unable to sleep.
"This is only our second time meeting. Even with today, we've spent less than 12 hours together.
She enjoys talking with me—I can feel that.
When I hugged her earlier, she didn't pull away. She didn't resist.
I brought her home, and she trusted me completely, not even questioning it…"
Countless fragmented thoughts flashed through Leon's mind. These logical analyses were the very thing preventing him from falling asleep.
But he also understood—when it came to many things, women didn't always process or react logically.
"Maybe I need to look at this from a different angle?"
Leon murmured to himself in the dark, unlit room.
"Even if European girls have more open views on relationships, it's still unlikely for someone to casually agree to stay overnight at the home of a man she's only met twice, right?"
That thought made him suddenly throw back the covers and switch on the light.
"At the very least, she's not against spending time with me. She flew from Paris to London to visit me, and now she's staying at my house.
If she does like me, then she's shown way more courage than I have!"
He threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants, picked up his phone, and walked out of the bedroom.
"Even if she doesn't have feelings for me, I still can't let an eighteen-year-old girl get boxed into staying here just because of media pressure.
What if the tabloids really do twist this into something it's not? I'll be fine, but what about her and her family?"
His thoughts became increasingly clear.
Leon didn't have much experience with relationships, but he had always known how to handle people and responsibility.
Either he made his intentions clear and confronted the media head-on…
Or he addressed the confusion now, publicly clarified they were just friends, and gave her back her freedom.
Letting a young girl stay at his house under ambiguous circumstances, while the media ran wild with speculation, would be the real irresponsibility.
If she got hurt by public scrutiny, it would be his fault.
Having made up his mind, Leon felt his confidence returning.
He stood outside Anastasiya's guest room door for a few seconds, then decided to send a text first.
If she was awake, they'd talk now. If she was asleep, he'd wait and talk before training in the morning.
But to his surprise, instead of a reply text, his phone started ringing.
Anastasiya was calling him.
The ringtone shattered the hallway silence, and Leon's heart jumped as he hurriedly answered.
Before he could say anything, her flustered voice burst through the speaker.
There was a pause—two, maybe three seconds—then she spoke.
"I… I'm not asleep. Are you outside my door?"
She had clearly heard the ringtone through the wall.
Leon flushed with embarrassment. Standing outside a girl's door this late, texting her like some stalker—it was a bit creepy, wasn't it?
"I… I just came over, really!
I was thinking if you were still up, I'd talk to you. If not, I'd go back and wait until tomorrow."
His face was burning, but he forced himself to stay calm and explain.
He'd thought it might take her a while to come to the door.
But just seconds after ending the call, Anastasiya opened it.
She was fully dressed. It seemed she hadn't gone to bed yet.
After their evening workout and showers, she had long since wiped away her light makeup, but she looked even more fresh and radiant.
Her ponytail from earlier was down now, and her soft, dark hair fell over her shoulders, with a few strands clinging to her fair, rosy cheeks.
She looked far less confident than she had during the day—more shy, more delicate.
She didn't turn on the main light in the guest room, only a small lamp that cast a soft, warm glow.
She stood silently inside the doorway, her eyes downcast, not saying a word.
Leon didn't speak either. He was gathering his thoughts and trying to appear… well, normal.
"First of all, thank you for understanding what happened earlier today, Anastasiya."
He took a deep breath, then looked at her directly, speaking with clarity and sincerity.
"But I feel like this whole situation is unfair to you.
You shouldn't be dragged into all this media chaos..."
Just as he was about to continue, she suddenly spoke.
Her brow furrowed slightly, and her voice carried a faint trace of frustration.
"So? What are you saying? Are you asking me to leave now?"
It was the first time Leon had heard such a tone from her.
He quickly shook his head.
"No, absolutely not!"
Her eyes dropped again. She clutched the edge of the door.
"Then what is it that you want to say?"
Seeing this, Leon braced himself—literally. He twisted the side of his thigh hard.
The pain jolted him into full focus.
Then the words came smoothly, just as he had prepared.
"I haven't really been in a relationship before, but I think you probably already know how I feel…
I'm sorry for what happened today. But I also don't want you caught in this situation without clarity."
Leon exhaled slowly, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.
"So, Anastasiya, tomorrow I'll give the media one of two answers.
Either you're my girlfriend… or you're my friend. You…"
Before he could finish the sentence with, "take your time and let me know in the morning," Anastasiya looked up.
Her gaze pierced straight into him.
"You have to be honest. Don't lie to me."
Her voice was soft, but steady—calm and powerful.
Leon nodded instinctively.
"Do you… really like me?"
"Yes. I like you. I really like you."
"Why? We've only met twice. Is it because of our texts?"
"No."
Leon coughed awkwardly but answered truthfully.
"The first time I saw you, I thought you were beautiful. I couldn't stop myself from asking your name."
He had dressed it up as politely as he could, but it was still essentially an admission:
He had been attracted to her looks.
And yet, the judgment he expected… didn't come.
Instead, her face lit up with a dazzling smile.
Then, without warning, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him.
Leon froze.
He didn't know what to do with his hands.
He could clearly hear the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his chest.
Still dazed, he asked softly,
"Then you… why?"
"Same as you."
She tightened her arms around his neck and whispered mischievously into his ear.
The playful tone, the warm breath—it made his ears tingle.
In that moment, everything made sense.
Why she had shyly told him her name.
Why she'd kept texting him daily.
Why she'd so readily agreed to come to London, using her aunt as a convenient excuse.
Why she hadn't pulled away when he held her earlier today.
Leon finally wrapped his arms around her waist, all hesitation and uncertainty gone.
"So… you fell for my looks too, huh?"
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