Page 20

Chapter Eleven

G eorge huffed out a breath as he let the feel of holding Myst’s hand again sink into him, his lips quirking into a faint, self-deprecating smile.

“This is ridiculous, you know. I mean, look at us. You’re this…

superstar!” He gestured vaguely at her with his free hand.

“With a million people screaming your name every night, and I’m just some bloke who chases an oval ball around a field for a living. ”

“Just some bloke?” Myst raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. “You’re the bloke, George Dennis. Captain of your country. Australian Player of the Year. Pretty sure you’ve got a decent number of people screaming your name too.”

“Not quite the same,” George said, shaking his head.

“No one’s writing stories about what I’m wearing to training or speculating about who I’m dating.

” His smile faded slightly, his gaze dropping from hers.

“And no one’s tearing apart everything I care about just because it doesn’t fit their idea of how my life should look. ”

“George…” Myst gripped his hand. “I don’t care what they say. Not the tabloids, not my PR team, not anyone. You’re the one I want to be with. You . Not the guy they think you are, not the version of you they might write about someday. Just you.”

Her words hit him like a shove to the chest, knocking something loose inside him that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto. He met her gaze, his throat tightening. “You say that now, but what happens when the headlines get worse? When being with me makes things harder for you?”

“Let them,” she said fiercely, her small frame practically vibrating with determination.

“I’ve spent years letting other people dictate how I live, always trying to strike this impossible balance between being myself and being what they want me to be.

But I can’t do that anymore, not when it comes to you. I won’t.”

“Bloody hell, Myst.” George ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing at the back of his neck as if he could ease the tension building there. “You deserve better than this, better than me. Someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage.”

“Stop it.” She reached out, her fingers curling gently around his wrist, grounding him. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, George. That’s my choice, and I choose you. Complicated, messy, perfect … you.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

All he could do was stare at her, this tiny, brilliant force of nature who had somehow chosen him despite all the reasons she shouldn’t.

And then, slowly, he brought his free hand up to cover hers, his grip firm but careful, as though she might slip away if he held on too tightly.

“Alright,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I need to do better. For you, for us. I’ll work on it. The jealousy, the insecurities… all of it. I’ll figure it out. Even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone.”

“Good,” she said simply, her smile softening. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”

“Never,” he murmured, his heart thundering in his chest as he leaned forward, closing the space between them. Their foreheads touched first, the contact delicate yet electric, and then his lips were on hers, tentative at first but quickly deepening as the weight of the past weeks melted away.

In that moment, nothing else mattered, not the tabloids, not the schedules, not the impossibly high stakes of their lives. It was just them, tangled together in a quiet garden in Toulouse, choosing each other despite the chaos swirling around them.

George wasn’t entirely sure how they’d made it back inside.

One moment, they were in the garden, her lips soft and insistent against his, her small hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as though she could pull him closer just by sheer will.

The next, he found himself stumbling backward through the hallway of Tommy’s house, Myst’s laugh spilling into the quiet air like music played just for him.

“Careful,” she teased as his shoulder bumped against the doorframe, her voice carrying that lilting melody that always managed to undo him.

Her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, tugging him down for another kiss before he could find a response.

Not that he minded, words seemed wholly unnecessary when she was this close, her presence filling every corner of his focus.

“Your fault,” he muttered between kisses, his own hands finding the curve of her waist, fitting there like they belonged. “You’re distracting.”

“Good,” she murmured against his mouth, her breath warm and sweet as her fingers tangled in the short hairs at the back of his neck. “I’m aiming for completely irresistible.”

“Mission accomplished,” George said, his voice low and unsteady, before he finally managed to maneuver them up the stairs and through the doorway to his room.

His hand fumbled behind him to push the door shut, and then they were alone again, the world outside retreating to some far-off place neither of them cared to think about.

Myst was on him in an instant, her arms looping around his neck as she pressed herself flush against him.

He bent slightly to meet her height, his larger frame enveloping her delicate one, a contrast that somehow felt as natural as breathing.

The scent of her, something floral with just a hint of spice, wrapped around him, intoxicating, grounding.

“Still think we’re too different?” she asked softly, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, teasing.

“Not here,” George replied, his grin breaking through as his hands slid up her sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of her ribs.

“Never here.” He dipped his head closer, his lips almost on hers again before he paused, his voice shifting into something lighter, teasing now.

“Actually, I don’t think we’ve ever had any differences here.

Might be the only place we’ve always agreed. ”

Myst pulled back just enough to look at him, her pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement, her lips curving into a smile that was both mischievous and utterly disarming.

“Oh, is that right?” she asked, tilting her head in mock consideration.

“Well, at least we’ll always have this, huh?

” And before he could come up with a clever retort, she tugged him forward with surprising strength, pulling him down onto the bed with her.

His laughter rumbled low and unrestrained as they landed in a tangled heap of limbs. “You’re trouble,” he said, but the grin splitting his face betrayed how little he meant it.

“Maybe,” Myst admitted, her voice softer now, her teasing replaced by something warmer, deeper. She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw as her expression softened. “But you seem to handle me just fine, George Dennis.”

“More than fine,” he whispered back, leaning down until there was no space left between them.

It felt different, this time, as he undressed her, taking his time and kissing every inch of skin he exposed.

Almost like the first time between them all over again, but without the awkwardness, the fear of getting things wrong.

Full of wonder and tenderness and passion…

like a fresh start, George thought, at least until Myst lost her patience with him going so slowly and wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging him down to her, and then he had no brainpower left for any thoughts at all.

George’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Myst’s back, the tips of them barely skimming over her skin like he was memorizing every curve, every dip.

Her dark hair spilled across the pillow and onto his chest, a cascade of waves tangled from where his hands had been gripping it not so long ago.

The room hummed with the kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, their breaths slow, their bodies still pressed close, fitting together like they were made for this exact moment.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Myst murmured, her voice muffled against his collarbone but warm with amusement.

“Like what?” George asked, his lips twitching upward as he tilted his head to glance down at her.

“Like you’re trying to figure out if I’m real or not,” she teased, lifting her face just enough for him to see the faint smirk playing on her lips. “I promise, I am.”

“Jury’s still out,” he replied. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face so he could see her more clearly. Her pale blue eyes met his, and something in his chest tightened, not unpleasantly, but in a way that made him wonder how he’d ever thought he could live without her.

“Well, if you keep staring, you might scare me off,” she joked lightly, though her own gaze didn’t waver.

“Not a chance,” George said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He let the words hang there between them, unspoken promises and everything else they hadn’t yet figured out. And then he kissed her again, slow and lingering, like he had all the time in the world.

The smell of coffee hit him first when George wandered into the kitchen the next morning, barefoot and still tugging on his shirt.

Tommy was already seated at the table, a mug in hand and a knowing grin plastered across his battered face.

Elisa, stood by the stove flipping pancakes while their two kids giggled over something incomprehensible at the far end of the table.

“Morning, lover boy,” Tommy said, his grin widening as George froze mid-step.

“Don’t start,” George warned, though the corner of his mouth quirked up despite himself.

He glanced over his shoulder just as Myst appeared in the doorway, her hair piled messily on top of her head and one of his oversized rugby shirts hanging loosely off her petite frame.

She looked completely out of place in the humble chaos of Tommy’s kitchen, and yet somehow like she belonged.

“Good morning!” Myst chirped cheerfully, sliding past George to grab a mug from the counter. When she turned to flash a bright smile in Tommy’s direction, George swore his old teammate nearly choked on his coffee.

“Is that your shirt she’s wearing?” Tommy asked, his tone mock-serious as he pointed at George.

“Looks better on her, doesn’t it?” George shot back smoothly, earning a delighted laugh from Myst and a groan from Tommy.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Elisa interjected with a good-natured eye roll, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. “Let them eat before you start grilling them like it’s an interrogation.”

“Thank you, Elisa,” Myst said sweetly, taking a seat beside George and nudging him playfully under the table. “And I’m sorry for, ah, disappearing on you yesterday afternoon.”

George couldn’t help but admire the way she handled herself, effortlessly charming, even when thrown into the deep end.

As breakfast continued, the teasing softened into easy conversation.

Tommy’s kids peppered Myst with questions about her music (“What’s your favourite song you’ve ever written?

” “Do you know Taylor Swift?”), and George found himself watching her again, marvelling at how seamlessly she fit into this little pocket of normalcy.

It wasn’t glamorous or staged, but it was real.

And maybe that was why it felt so important.

“Hey,” Myst said softly, nudging him out of his thoughts. Her expression shifted, more serious now, though her eyes still sparkled with the warmth that had drawn him to her in the first place. “So, I’ve got a few days before my next concert… Rome, actually. Would you come with me?”

“Rome?” George repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean, like... Italy?”

“Yes, George,” she said, laughing. “Italy. You’ve heard of it, right?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, though a smile tugged at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, considering her for a moment. “You really want me to come?”

“Of course I do.” Her voice softened, her hand reaching for his under the table. “I want us to have more than just... stolen moments, you know? Even if it’s just for a few days.”

He stared at her for a beat longer, then nodded, his decision feeling as natural as breathing. “Alright. Let’s go to Rome.”

Her grin lit up the entire room, and George couldn’t help but feel like he’d just made the best choice of his life.