Emergency situation. I’ll be back on Monday. Let’s talk then. I text her, but I can’t confirm if she’s seen it due to her outdated phone. But deep down, I sense she won’t respond.
I’m not fooled by her “school” excuse. I know Poppy. Pushing her now would be a mistake. Something’s spooked her, and I’m betting it’s the intimacy we’ve shared, the ease with which we’ve slipped into each other’s lives, and the implications of what that means. She confessed her love for me, a monumental step I sensed she wasn’t ready to take.
I have no qualms about making her mine publicly; I already have in many ways, but soon she’ll have to reciprocate. She can’t run around forever, and I will not remain her dirty little secret. I want a future with her, not a vague promise of a maybe.
I groan, rubbing my temples. I can almost hear Cole’s teasing voice, mocking me for admitting such vulnerabilities.
When my father called me this afternoon telling me that FIFA finally granted me a meeting to discuss my project and that it was tomorrow or nothing, I saw it as a sign. A chance to give Poppy the space she might need, even if it’s tearing me apart.
I sink into the jet’s plush seat. The cabin’s ambience is serene, with the engine humming and the faint glow of overhead lights highlighting the luxury within. But even this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity can’t distract me from thoughts of her.
She’s hesitant, and I get it. It’s far easier for me to claim her than it will be for her to admit to the world, to her mother, that she’s in love with me because no matter what—her mother will only see one thing—I’m a Hawthorne, and yet Poppy saw above all this and fell in love with me.
A grin spreads across my face. She loves me. I can see it in her eyes.
A hushed voice breaks through my thoughts. The hostess stands beside me, a tray of champagne and small appetizers in hand. “A congratulatory gesture from your father,” she explains.
Suspicion clouds my mind. This isn’t like him. He’s probably buttering me up for that damned box. His obsession with it is growing, even resorting to midnight calls. I won’t betray Poppy or hand over the box. Maybe I’ll tell him she destroyed it.
Part of me also wonders what could be so damaging, and maybe I should play karmic revenge and help take down my father.
No, even I’m not cunning enough to pull that one off, I silently refute.
Try admitting that you don’t want your name tarnished. My conscience bites, and I feel a little shame.
Maybe I can make amends another way. Maybe once Poppy and I are married—I freeze with the glass halfway to my lips.
Where did that thought come from? Poppy ran away from me because admitting she loves me is too much, and I’m thinking about putting my ring on her finger.
I’m getting as delusional as Cole.
I can’t help but laugh at the thought, earning a wary look from the hostess. Time, Ethan, she needs time. You’ve loved her for six years, and she’s barely loved you for six weeks.
I pull the cover over me and pop a low-dose sleeping pill. It’s a tactic I’ve used before to ensure I’m alert upon landing and to fend off the inevitable jet lag from such a brief trip. The hum of the plane’s engines lulls me into a restless sleep.
Waking up to the voice of the pilot, I immediately check my phone, hoping for a message from Poppy. Nothing. The empty screen amplifies my anxiety. I’m tempted to send another message, but I resist the urge as the plane begins its descent.
As the plane touches down, a sleek luxury car is already waiting for me on the tarmac. I descend the stairs, and the driver holds the door open for me. The car’s plush interior does little to comfort my agitated mind. As we drive through Zurich, it is unfurled below as the car weaves through its streets. The city is a blend of modern and historical elements, with sleek glass buildings reflecting the sky, standing shoulder to shoulder with centuries-old stone structures. The Limmat River flows serenely, its banks dotted with locals enjoying the day, while the distant snow-capped peaks of the Alps stand as silent sentinels. But it is all blurred into the background, my thoughts consumed by the proposal and Poppy.
Sunlight reflects off the FIFA headquarters’ modern facade. Inside, flags and iconic soccer photographs adorn the vast lobby. The murmur of conversations in multiple languages fills the air, a testament to the global nature of the sport.
Upon reaching the reception doors, a short, portly man greets me with a firm handshake. “Mr. Hawthorne, welcome. We’ve arranged your stay at The Grand Hotel, a five-star palace. We can review the slides for Monday’s meeting with the FIFA representative there.”
I frown. “There must be some mistake. I’m flying back today.”
He looks genuinely confused and hands me an agenda. “This was approved by Fitzgerald Hawthorne,” he says, pointing to the week-long schedule filled with meetings, including some with Premier League team leaders.
I scan the document, my heart rate quickening. This isn’t what I agreed to. I had planned a quick trip, not an entire week away from Poppy. I force a smile, not wanting to show my growing anger. “Is there an office I can use momentarily?”
He nods, leading me to a spacious room with a large desk and a view of the city. The room is bathed in gentle natural light filtering through the large windows, offering a panoramic view of Zurich. A massive oak desk sits in the center, its surface gleaming. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with trophies, footballs, and framed photos of iconic moments in soccer history. The room exudes power and prestige.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I sit and dial my father’s number. It rings twice before he answers.
“Ethan,” his voice oozes a mock innocence that sets my teeth on edge.
“What’s your game, Dad?” My voice is sharp, edged with frustration.
“Just ensuring you make the most of this opportunity.”
“This isn’t what we discussed. I told you I’d be back today.”
“You need to build relationships, Ethan. This is how business is done.”
“I had other plans,” I snap, my mind flashing to Poppy.
“You always do,” he retorts. “But sometimes, you need to prioritize.”
I exhale, trying to rein in my anger. “You could’ve informed me.”
“And risk you declining? I know you too well.”
I clench my fist, anger bubbling. “I’ll find a way back.”
“How? You don’t have access to the plane if I don’t want you to, and let me guess, I’m pretty sure your passport is still in the safe there.”
I tighten my hand in a tight fist. “Watch me!”
My father sighs. “She had… conditions, Ethan. Conditions that involve you.”
“Who?” I ask breathlessly, already knowing the answer but hoping against hope that I’m wrong.
“Poppy Donovan.”
“You’re lying.” But my tone lacks vehemence because I felt from the moment I woke up that something was wrong with Poppy. I just didn’t know how bad it was.
There’s a pause, and I can almost picture my father’s smug expression. “She came to my office, Ethan. Brought that damned box I’ve been chasing. Said she wanted to close the chapter. To move on. And she made me promise to keep you away.”
I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “Why would she do that? She hates you.” That’s just one of his antics to mess with my head, I realize.
“Yes, she does, but she knew I was her only option.”
“You are trying to break us up. You never approved of her.”
“Quite the contrary, actually,” he replies with satisfaction in his voice. “As I told you, she brought me the box and knew she was outmatched. She is smart; I’m not that opposed.”
“No!” I hang up, frustration mounting. I dial Poppy, but deep down, I sense she won’t answer. And she doesn’t. “Poppy, it’s me,” I start, then halt. Pouring my heart out on voice mail feels futile. “Seems you’re occupied. We’ll talk later.”
I put the phone back on the table and glare at it. My father’s right; without my passport, I can’t go anywhere, and even if I go to the US embassy, it will take the better part of a week to get a new one anyway.
I slam my fist down, battling a surge of emotions. My father’s deception, Poppy’s silence—it’s overwhelming. Without my passport, I’m trapped. And the realization that Poppy might’ve overheard my conversation with my father dawns on me. She thinks I’ve betrayed her.
A knock interrupts my thoughts. The man from earlier peers in, clearly puzzled. I gesture for him to wait a moment, then dial Cole. “Need your jet. Now.”
He groans, “Dude, it’s early. And why?”
“I need you to send your jet to get me in Switzerland.”
“In Switz—” I hear him grunt, probably standing up. “What the hell are you doing there?”
“The project with FIFA is moving along.”
“That’s awesome, man!” His voice has lost a little of its sleepiness.
“Yes, no…” I pause, feeling the urgency. “I need to leave now.”
Cole chuckles. “You’re loaded. Rent one.”
I glower at the wall and at the foolishness of leaving all my papers in the plane’s safe. “You need your ID for that, and mine is in my father’s jet.”
“Okay, I know I’m only waking up, but bro, you don’t make any sense.”
I roll my eyes, not in the mood to retell the whole story that’s probably a lie. “My father—” I stop myself, frustration bubbling. “He’s pulling one on me, forcing me to stay here, and I’m worried about Poppy. She’s not answering her phone.”
I hear Cole rumbling around in the kitchen and the unmistakable sound of the espresso machine being turned on. “You know, there are ways to stay connected, even when she’s not answering. Ever thought of installing spy software?”
“I…” I hesitate, searching for the right words. “You didn’t actually do that, did you?”
“No?”
“Cole! That’s creepy, dude. You remember the predator behavior we discussed?”
He snorts. “My girl, my problem.” Then, a bit resigned, he adds, “And for the plane, even if I want to help you, I can’t. I’m still in deep shit for the Ibiza party bus of last year. I’m not allowed to take the plane more than twice this year because my father seems to think I need to be less impulsive.” He snorts again. “I only have one trip left, and I’m keeping it in case of an emergency.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is an emergency, Cole!”
“Nope. I mean an emergency with Eva being stubborn for much longer.”
I want to tell him that it’s kidnapping, but I don’t think he would even care. My phone beeps with a text from my father.
I didn’t lie. And there’s a video file attached.
“I have to go, Cole… Let me know if she’s okay?”
“Ah, now you’re okay with me keeping tabs on Eva?”
“‘Interested,’ that’s how I’ll put it,” I tell him sarcastically, but I’m way too eager for info to tell him off again.
I hang up and open the video file, and my breath catches in my throat. Poppy is there, standing in my father’s office, asking him to keep me away from her.
I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of our unspoken words and unresolved feelings. The knock jolts me back to reality. Alright, Poppy, you win. I’ll give you this space. But in a week, I’m coming back for you.
The week stretches on, seemingly endless. Each morning, I’m determined to keep up my professional facade. Yet, as the hours pass, my true emotions threaten to surface. Each presentation, every handshake, every nod of approval from dignitaries, feels like I’m on stage, performing a role that’s becoming increasingly difficult to play.
By the third day, my connection to Poppy—my lifeline, albeit through Cole—frays and then snaps. Eva’s abrupt departure, likely a desperate bid to escape Cole’s relentless shadow, has him hot on her heels. And just like that, my indirect link to Poppy is severed, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.
Two days later, my fingers tremble as I dial her number, my heart racing with each ring. I break my promise, dialing her number repeatedly. Four calls. No answer. Then, a text notification. But it’s not her. It’s from Liam, the last person I expected to intervene.
Poppy’s okay. Nessa says back off. You’re not helping.
I stare at the message, disbelief clouding my thoughts. Since when does Liam play mediator? And what’s his connection to Nessa?
Is she okay? I type back.
She’s breathing, comes his terse reply.
My jaw tightens, the muscles working as I try to contain my frustration. Not helpful, Ashford.
Not trying to be. Focus on your goal.
Thanks, Dad, I shoot back, sarcasm dripping from each word.
You’re welcome, he retorts.
“I’ll make you pay for that, asshole,” I murmur, already plotting a suitable revenge for Liam’s unwelcome interference. But my plotting is cut short. The door to the conference room swings open, signaling the commencement of my final meeting. Arsenal. A meeting with the club owned by Cole’s father. This should be a slam dunk, but given the roller coaster of this week, I’m taking nothing for granted.
The final meeting at the FIFA headquarters is a blur of handshakes, nods, and polite smiles.
Stepping out of the stately building, the aftermath of the past week’s negotiations settles on my shoulders. The cityscape of Zurich offers a brief distraction as I make my way back to the hotel.
Restlessness grips me the next morning. With the FIFA decision hours away, my real anticipation is for the flight home and confronting my turmoil, my mistakes, and my Poppy.
And when the call finally comes, the voice on the other end delivering a resounding “yes,” a wave of elation washes over me. But it’s short-lived.
A cold, sinking feeling settles in my stomach, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty. This victory, this monumental step in what I hope will be a diversification of my future business, feels hollow. Because there’s no one to share it with. No Cole to crack a joke, no Liam to offer a sarcastic comment and, most importantly, no Poppy to share in my joy and see the pride in her big brown eyes.
I sink into the plush armchair, grabbing the program’s brochure I’d left on the coffee table. The glossy pages showcase what is to be the pinnacle of soccer training in the US. The Elite Intensive Soccer Program—a four-week summer camp where the crème de la crème, the top twenty-two players from across the nation, train with the world’s best. It’s more than a training camp; it’s a crucible, a place where legends are forged and a place where sponsors will flood, and I will be able to diversify the company my grandmother left me and finally branch out in soccer and sports in general.
I recall my father’s mocking gaze and snicker when I first unveiled my plans after inheriting my grandfather’s empire. He told me I’d put the whole thing in the ground before I was twenty-five, and I’m now in perfect shape to show him how wrong he is, not only about my business sense but about life in general.
This sports division is my dream. My vision. And this program is basically setting me up for gold. But in this moment of triumph, the absence of Poppy’s comforting presence is a stark reminder of the game I tried to play against my father to protect her.
Bracing myself, I dial my father’s number. It rings twice before he picks up.
“Ethan,” he says with that familiar condescending tone.
“I’ve secured the deal with FIFA,” I say bluntly.
There’s a pause on the other end, and then he says, “Congratulations. I knew you could do it.”
I scoff, “No, you didn’t. You always believed I’d fail.”
His smirk is low and mirthless. “Did I? Perhaps I only said that to ensure you had the fire, the drive to prove me wrong. I’ve always known that nothing motivates you more than that.”
I grind my teeth, trying to keep my temper in check. “That might’ve been true once, but things change.”
“Ah, Miss Donovan,” he says, drawing out the words.
I tense, every muscle in my body going rigid. “I’ll be taking the plane now.”
“It’s waiting for you,” he replies smoothly. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s debatable.”
There’s a brief silence, and then he says, “You’ve achieved a lot, Ethan. But remember, life isn’t only about business deals and proving others wrong. Sometimes, it’s about the choices we make and the people we choose to have by our side.”
His words, strangely introspective for him, catch me off guard. “Is that advice or a warning?”
“Take it as you will,” he says with a smidge of mystery.
I hang up, the weight of our conversation pressing down on me. The thought of facing Poppy again sends a mix of anticipation and dread coursing through my veins. With nothing in my way, how will I mend our rift? The uncertainty weighs heavily on me.
