If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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And now, wrapped in soft sheets with Leah tucked against him and Cheddar snoring at their feet, it felt complete.
The room settled into a quiet kind of peace that only comes after a very full day.
Outside the balcony doors, Brighton continued living its evening rhythm. The distant murmur of people walking along the promenade drifted up occasionally. Somewhere further away, faint music floated from a bar near the pier.
But inside the suite, everything had slowed.
Leah had fallen asleep almost instantly, curled against Francesco's chest with one arm draped across him like she wanted to make sure he didn't sneak away anywhere. Cheddar had migrated from the middle of the bed back down to the rug at the foot of it, circling twice before dropping with a heavy sigh.
Francesco stayed awake just a little longer.
He watched the soft light from the television dance across the ceiling, his mind drifting through flashes of the day.
Leah shouting when the jet ski accelerated.
Her triumphant yell when she managed to stand on the surfboard.
The quiet moment underwater when they pointed out a tiny crab moving across the sand.
The way she laughed when Cheddar refused to go near the waves.
It had all felt strangely… simple.
No stadium noise.
No cameras.
Just them.
Eventually, the exhaustion from hours of swimming, surfing, and laughter caught up to him. His eyelids grew heavier, and his breathing matched Leah's steady rhythm.
The television continued murmuring softly until the automatic timer finally shut it off.
And the room faded into complete quiet.
Brighton greeted them with sunlight again.
This time, neither of them rushed anywhere.
They slept late, waking tangled in sheets and limbs with the kind of lazy smiles people only get on holiday.
Cheddar was already awake by then, staring at them expectantly like a small, furry alarm clock.
The next days began to flow into each other gently.
Not rushed.
Not planned down to the minute.
Just exploration.
The first few days were spent wandering.
Not sightseeing like tourists with strict schedules, just walking wherever curiosity pulled them.
They strolled through The Lanes, the narrow winding streets packed with little shops, antique stores, bakeries, and cafés. Leah loved those streets instantly.
She kept stopping to peer through windows.
Vintage jewelry displays.
Handmade candles.
A tiny bookstore that smelled like old paper and coffee.
Francesco waited patiently while she browsed, occasionally teasing her about how many souvenirs one person could possibly justify buying.
"Memories," she insisted, holding up a small silver bracelet she found in a shop window.
"You already have memories," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "But these sparkle."
He laughed and bought it for her anyway.
They ate fish and chips by the waterfront one afternoon, sitting on a wooden bench while gulls tried their luck nearby.
Leah guarded the fries like a soldier.
"They're plotting," she whispered.
"They always are," Francesco agreed solemnly.
Cheddar barked at a particularly bold seagull, which only made the bird look mildly offended before hopping closer.
They visited the Brighton Palace Pier one evening as the sun started to dip.
The lights blinked on one by one, transforming the pier into a glowing strip of carnival energy stretching out into the sea.
Leah insisted they ride the carousel.
Francesco protested for exactly ten seconds before giving in.
"Professional athletes are allowed to ride horses," she argued.
"They're usually real horses."
"Details."
They played arcade games.
Leah beat him at one of those basketball hoop machines and celebrated like she'd won a championship.
Francesco accused the machine of being rigged.
She refused to accept that explanation.
Another afternoon they visited the Royal Pavilion, wandering through rooms that looked like something out of a dream from domes, gold decorations, elaborate chandeliers that seemed almost unreal.
Leah whispered dramatically, "We should live here."
Francesco glanced around the massive hall.
"Too big for Cheddar."
She considered that carefully.
"Good point."
They walked through the Pavilion gardens afterward, lying on the grass for a while and watching clouds drift lazily across the sky.
Francesco barely checked his phone the entire time.
The football world continued without him.
For once, he didn't mind.
Despite everything Brighton had to offer, they kept returning to the beach.
It became their routine.
Morning walks with Cheddar along the pebbles.
Coffee from a small stand near the promenade.
Sometimes they swam again, bracing themselves against the cold water.
Sometimes they simply sat side by side and watched the waves.
Francesco started bringing a football occasionally, juggling it casually on the pebbles while Leah tried and failed to keep it up longer than three touches.
"You're cheating," she accused.
"How?"
"You've been doing this since you were five."
"Not my fault."
She eventually resorted to throwing the ball at him.
Another day they rented paddleboards again.
Leah fell off within thirty seconds.
Francesco lasted maybe a minute.
Neither of them cared.
They watched sunsets more times than they could count.
Bright orange skies melting into purple.
The silhouette of the pier glowing against the horizon.
Sometimes they talked for hours.
Sometimes they said almost nothing.
Those quiet moments became their favorite.
The days blurred together in the most peaceful way.
Breakfast at the hotel restaurant.
Wandering through town.
Afternoons by the sea.
Evenings in their room watching television, ordering room service, or walking along the illuminated pier.
Francesco forgot what it felt like to wake up thinking about tactics.
Leah forgot what it felt like to constantly check match schedules.
For a week and a half, the world became smaller.
Just Brighton.
Just the sea.
Just them.
Even the hotel staff began treating them less like celebrities and more like familiar guests.
The hostess at breakfast would greet them with:
"Your usual table?"
The bartender near the lounge remembered Leah's favorite drink.
One morning a staff member slipped Cheddar an extra biscuit and whispered, "Don't tell anyone."
Cheddar accepted this arrangement happily.
Their final night arrived quietly.
Neither of them mentioned it much during dinner.
They walked along the beach again after sunset, the wind slightly cooler now.
Leah slipped her hand into his jacket pocket.
"Back to reality soon," she murmured.
Francesco nodded slowly.
Training would start again.
Matches.
Press.
Crowds.
But somehow it didn't feel overwhelming anymore.
The break had done what it needed to do.
They returned to the hotel late, tired from walking.
Cheddar collapsed immediately.
Leah curled against Francesco again, exactly like the first night.
"Next holiday," she murmured sleepily, "somewhere warmer."
He smiled in the dark.
"Deal."
Within minutes she was asleep.
The final morning in Brighton arrived quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains again, soft and golden.
Francesco woke first.
For a moment he didn't move.
He simply looked around the room, taking it in.
The half-packed suitcases near the wall.
The balcony doors slightly open.
The faint sound of waves far below.
Leah was still asleep beside him.
Her hair was spread across the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek.
She looked completely peaceful.
Cheddar was sprawled on the floor nearby, belly up, paws twitching occasionally like he was chasing something in his dreams.
Francesco smiled.
But something inside him had shifted slightly overnight.
The athlete in him had finally woken up again.
His body, rested for days, suddenly felt restless.
He carefully slid out from under the blanket without waking Leah.
She stirred slightly but didn't open her eyes.
Cheddar snored louder.
Francesco moved quietly around the room, grabbing clothes from his suitcase.
Workout shorts.
Training shirt.
Running shoes.
It had been over a week since he'd done any proper exercise.
He pulled the shirt over his head, stretching his arms.
Muscles responded immediately.
Still strong.
Still ready.
He scribbled a quick note on the hotel notepad and left it on the bedside table.
Gone to the gym. Back soon.
Then he slipped out of the room.
The hallway was silent that early in the morning.
The carpet softened his footsteps as he walked toward the elevator.
A few cleaning carts were parked neatly along the wall.
The elevator arrived quickly.
Inside, the mirrored walls reflected him from every angle from messy hair, relaxed expression, training clothes that hadn't been worn in days.
He pressed the button for the hotel gym floor.
The elevator hummed softly as it descended.
For the first time in nearly three weeks, he felt that familiar anticipation again.
The quiet focus before a workout.
The moment before pushing his body.
The doors opened onto a quiet fitness level.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, overlooking the sea.
The gym was nearly empty.
Only one older man jogged slowly on a treadmill in the corner.
Soft instrumental music played in the background.
Francesco stepped inside and inhaled deeply.
Rubber flooring.
Metal equipment.
The faint smell of fresh towels and disinfectant.
It felt strangely comforting.
He walked toward the stretching area first, rolling his shoulders and loosening his neck.
His muscles protested slightly at the sudden reminder of responsibility.
But in a good way.
He stretched his hamstrings.
Rotated his hips.
Loosened his ankles.
The kind of warm-up that had been part of his life for years.
Outside the massive windows, the sea shimmered in the morning sun.
Morning sunlight stretched across the gym floor, reflecting softly off the metal equipment and polished mirrors. The city of Brighton was still waking up below from cars moving slowly along the seafront road, a few early joggers on the promenade, gulls gliding lazily over the water.
Francesco stood near the stretching mat for a moment longer, letting his muscles settle into the rhythm again.
It felt good.
Really good.
For almost two weeks his body had rested. He had swum, surfed, walked miles along the pebbled beach, and chased Cheddar through open stretches of sand, but that was different from training.
This was the familiar language of his body.
Controlled movement.
Precision.
Focus.
He bent forward again, palms reaching toward the floor as his hamstrings stretched deeply. A slight tightness lingered as there nothing worrying, just the stiffness that comes after days without structured exercise.
He rolled his shoulders back slowly.
Then twisted his torso from side to side.
His joints popped quietly in protest before settling.
The older man on the treadmill glanced over briefly, clearly recognizing him but choosing not to interrupt. That quiet respect was something Francesco appreciated. It allowed him to exist here as just another person working out rather than the striker who had headlines written about him every week.
Francesco nodded politely in acknowledgment.
Then he exhaled and moved toward the first machine.
He began on the treadmill.
Nothing intense yet.
Just a steady jog.
The belt hummed beneath his feet as he started at an easy pace, letting his body warm further while he looked out at the ocean beyond the windows.
The view was almost distracting.
The sea had that early-morning calmness to it from the gentle waves folding into each other, sunlight flickering across the surface like scattered coins.
He increased the speed gradually.
His breathing deepened.
His arms moved in an easy rhythm.
For a moment, the gym disappeared in his mind and he was back on a training pitch somewhere with the grass beneath his boots, teammates shouting across the field, the smell of wet turf and cold air.
Except this time there was no coach yelling instructions.
No tactical drills.
Just him.
He ran for nearly twenty minutes, gradually pushing his pace higher until sweat formed along his hairline and his lungs started to burn in that satisfying way.
When he finally slowed the treadmill back down to a walk, his heart thumped steadily against his ribs.
Perfect.
Exactly what he needed.
After wiping his face with a towel, Francesco moved toward the weight section.
This part of the gym was quiet too, rows of machines standing patiently like silent training partners.
He started with leg presses.
His legs had been active all week from surfing, swimming, walking, but they hadn't been challenged with real resistance.
He loaded the machine carefully.
Not too heavy.
Just enough to wake everything up again.
The first few reps felt almost effortless.
But by the third set, his quads began to remind him how long it had been since they worked properly.
He smiled slightly through the effort.
That burn.
That pressure.
That was home.
After finishing the leg press, he moved through the rest of the machines methodically.
Hamstring curls.
Calf raises.
Core work.
Each exercise performed with the quiet discipline that had been drilled into him since he was a teenager chasing his first professional contract.
The older man on the treadmill eventually finished his run and passed by while wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Good morning," he said politely.
"Morning," Francesco replied, slightly breathless between sets.
"You play football, don't you?" the man asked carefully, clearly trying not to sound intrusive.
Francesco smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
The man nodded with a kind grin.
"My grandson talks about you all the time."
"That's nice to hear."
"Well," the man said, slinging his towel over his shoulder, "good luck this season."
"Thank you."
The man left soon after, the gym returning to its quiet solitude.
Francesco moved on to upper body work next.
Pull-down machines.
Chest presses.
Dumbbell rows.
His shoulders tightened with the familiar strain as he lifted and controlled the weights with steady breathing.
Sweat soaked through his training shirt now.
His muscles felt awake again.
Alive.
He caught glimpses of himself in the mirrored wall occasionally with broad shoulders working through each motion, jaw clenched slightly during the heavier sets.
The athlete version of him was fully present now.
The holiday version had stepped aside.
But strangely, he didn't feel the same pressure he usually did when training.
Maybe because this wasn't preparation for a match tomorrow.
Maybe because Brighton had given him something he rarely had during the season: real mental quiet.
His last exercise was core work on a mat near the window.
Planks.
Slow sit-ups.
Rotational twists.
By the time he finished, his entire body buzzed with that pleasant exhaustion that only comes from a complete workout.
He lay back on the mat for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.
His chest rose and fell steadily.
Outside the window, the sea continued its endless rhythm.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to think about the coming weeks.
Training sessions.
League matches.
Press conferences.
Fans chanting his name inside massive stadiums.
He didn't feel overwhelmed.
Just ready.
Francesco eventually sat up and stretched again, this time slower and deeper.
His muscles had loosened completely now.
His breathing returned to normal.
He grabbed a fresh towel from the rack and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.
Then he took one last look out the window.
Brighton looked different in the morning light compared to the golden evenings they had spent walking along the beach.
The city seemed calmer.
Almost sleepy.
Like it too was enjoying the final quiet moments before the day began properly.
Francesco grabbed his water bottle, took a long drink, and then headed toward the elevator again.
The hallway outside the gym was still quiet.
The elevator doors opened almost immediately when he pressed the button.
He stepped inside and tapped the floor where their presidential suite was located.
As the elevator began rising, he leaned lightly against the mirrored wall.
His muscles hummed with fatigue.
His shirt clung slightly to his back from sweat.
But his mind felt clear.
Refreshed.
In some ways, it was the perfect ending to their Brighton break.
One last quiet morning.
One last workout.
Then back to reality.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached his floor.
The doors slid open.
The hallway outside their suite remained calm and carpeted in that muted hotel quiet.
Francesco walked down the corridor and unlocked the door.
The moment he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the room greeted him.
Soft morning light filled the space.
The balcony door was still cracked open slightly, letting the distant sound of waves drift in.
And inside.
Everything looked almost exactly the same as when he left.
Leah was still asleep.
She hadn't moved much.
She was curled on her side beneath the blanket, hair spilling across the pillow, her breathing slow and steady.
Francesco couldn't help smiling softly.
Meanwhile, Cheddar was awake.
The dog lifted his head the moment Francesco entered the room.
His ears perked up immediately.
His tail thumped once against the carpet.
Then twice.
Then Cheddar stood and trotted over enthusiastically.
"Hey, buddy," Francesco whispered quietly.
Cheddar looked up at him expectantly.
Then.
"Woof!"
Not loud.
But clear.
Francesco laughed quietly.
"Okay, okay," he said under his breath. "I know what that means."
Cheddar barked again.
This time slightly more dramatic.
Food.
Obviously.
Francesco slipped off his shoes and moved toward the small kitchenette area where Cheddar's food supplies were kept.
Cheddar followed closely behind, tail wagging faster with every step.
"You're very demanding this morning," Francesco said.
Cheddar responded by sitting politely beside the food bowl.
A strategy that had clearly worked before.
Francesco opened the container of dog food and poured a generous portion into the bowl.
The moment it touched the dish, Cheddar leaned forward eagerly.
"Wait," Francesco said automatically.
Cheddar froze.
Sort of.
His body trembled slightly with anticipation.
Francesco smiled.
"Alright."
The dog dove into the bowl immediately, tail wagging like a metronome.
Satisfied with his work, Francesco headed toward the bathroom.
The shower turned on with a rush of hot water.
Steam quickly began to fill the space.
Francesco peeled off his sweat-soaked training shirt and stepped under the spray.
Warm water ran down his shoulders, washing away the salt of sweat and the last traces of his workout.
His muscles relaxed almost instantly under the heat.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.
The sound of water echoed softly off the tiled walls.
Somewhere beyond the bathroom door, Cheddar continued crunching happily through his breakfast.
Leah still slept in the bedroom, completely unaware of the quiet morning routine unfolding around her.
Francesco took his time in the shower.
Not rushing.
Just letting the warmth soothe the muscles he had worked so hard minutes earlier.
By the time he stepped out again, his body felt clean, loose, and calm.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and ran another one through his damp hair.
Then he pulled on fresh clothes from his suitcase.
Simple travel clothes this time.
Dark jeans.
A light sweater.
Comfortable shoes.
The kind of outfit meant for a long car ride back to the city.
When Francesco stepped back into the bedroom, Cheddar had finished his food and was licking the bowl thoroughly for any remaining crumbs.
The dog looked very satisfied with life.
Leah, however, remained asleep.
Still curled under the blanket.
Still completely unaware that the morning had moved forward.
Francesco walked quietly over to the bed and sat on the edge beside her.
For a moment, he just watched her.
Her hair was messy.
One arm had slipped across the pillow.
She looked peaceful in that soft, sleepy way that only existed in the early morning.
He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face gently.
"Leah," he said softly.
No response.
He smiled.
"Leah," he repeated slightly louder.
She stirred this time, shifting under the blanket.
"Mmm…"
Her eyes remained closed.
Francesco chuckled quietly.
"We have to check out today."
That worked.
Her eyelids fluttered open slowly.
She blinked at him, clearly still halfway inside a dream.
"What time is it?" she murmured groggily.
"Morning."
"That's not helpful."
He laughed.
She pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, squinting toward the sunlight coming through the balcony door.
"Oh no," she groaned.
"Yeah."
"We're leaving today."
"Yep."
Leah collapsed back onto the pillow dramatically.
"I vote we stay another week."
"Tempting."
She peeked at him again.
"You already went to the gym, didn't you?"
He nodded.
She pointed accusingly.
"Show-off."
"You slept through it."
"I regret nothing."
Cheddar suddenly jumped onto the bed between them, clearly deciding the conversation required his presence.
Leah scratched behind his ears lazily.
"You already fed him, didn't you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Good," she said, still half asleep. "He would have eaten the furniture."
Francesco smiled.
"Come on," he said gently. "We've got to pack and head back to London."
She sighed deeply.
Then slowly sat up.
"Fine."
She stretched her arms above her head, wincing slightly.
"I think the paddleboarding destroyed my shoulders."
"You fell off after thirty seconds."
"It was a very dramatic fall."
He laughed again.
Leah finally swung her legs off the bed and stood up, still looking slightly dazed.
Cheddar followed her immediately.
"Coffee first," she declared.
"Then packing."
"Deal."
Leah disappeared into the bathroom not long after declaring that coffee would come before anything else.
Francesco heard the door close, then the soft click of the shower handle turning. A moment later the familiar rush of water echoed through the tiled room again.
Cheddar immediately walked over to the bathroom door and sat down.
Waiting.
Francesco leaned against the edge of the kitchenette counter with a cup of coffee in his hand and watched the dog with quiet amusement.
"You already ate," he said.
Cheddar glanced back at him.
Then returned his attention to the door like a loyal guard.
Francesco shook his head slightly.
"You're ridiculous."
The dog's tail thumped once against the floor.
From inside the bathroom, Leah's voice floated through the door.
"Are you talking to him again?"
"Yes."
"Tell him I'm still mad about the sand he shook all over my towel yesterday."
Cheddar tilted his head at the sound of her voice.
Francesco smirked.
"He says he doesn't remember."
"Of course he doesn't," Leah replied through the water.
Francesco wandered back toward the bedroom area, sipping his coffee slowly while glancing around the suite one more time.
The room looked slightly different now.
Not messy exactly.
But lived in.
Their half-packed suitcases stood open on the floor near the couch. A couple of Leah's shopping bags from the little stores in the winding streets of The Lanes sat beside them. The silver bracelet she'd bought was resting on the bedside table where she'd taken it off the night before.
The balcony doors were still open just enough to let the ocean breeze wander inside.
Somewhere far below, gulls cried over the morning shoreline.
Francesco stepped onto the balcony briefly.
The view stretched across the rooftops of Brighton all the way to the sea. The water glittered under the sunlight exactly like it had every morning of their stay.
He leaned his elbows against the railing for a moment.
Just breathing it in.
Their holiday had passed faster than he expected.
That always seemed to happen when life slowed down enough to actually enjoy it.
The sound of the shower shutting off inside broke his quiet moment.
A minute later the bathroom door opened.
Leah stepped out with damp hair wrapped loosely in a towel and another towel around her shoulders. Steam followed her out into the bedroom.
She looked far more awake now.
"Okay," she said, rubbing her hair with the towel. "Now I feel normal again."
Cheddar immediately jumped up and trotted toward her.
"Hi," she said, bending down to scratch behind his ears.
Francesco walked back in from the balcony.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"Yes please."
He handed her the cup he had prepared earlier.
She took a long sip and sighed happily.
"Now we can face reality."
Francesco gestured toward the suitcases.
"Time to pack."
Leah glanced around the room.
Then she groaned softly.
"I hate the last day."
"Everyone does."
"But packing makes it official."
"Unfortunately."
She sighed again but walked over to the suitcases anyway.
"Alright," she said, rolling up her sleeves slightly. "Let's do it."
The room slowly transformed from a temporary home back into a hotel suite again.
Francesco folded his clothes neatly into his suitcase first.
Training shirts.
Casual clothes.
The running shoes he'd worn that morning.
Everything packed in careful layers the way athletes tended to organize their gear.
Leah's side of the room looked slightly more chaotic.
Not messy.
Just… creative.
She packed the souvenirs she had collected around Brighton with careful attention.
The silver bracelet went into a small velvet pouch.
A tiny decorative seashell she had bought from a seaside stall wrapped carefully in a scarf.
Several small items from shops inside The Lanes.
Francesco raised an eyebrow as he watched her.
"How many bags did you actually buy?"
She glanced up.
"Memories."
"You said that already."
"And it's still a valid argument."
He chuckled and zipped his suitcase closed.
Meanwhile Cheddar wandered around the room investigating everything as if conducting his own final inspection.
He sniffed the balcony door.
The couch.
The suitcase.
Leah caught him trying to climb halfway into one of the open bags.
"Excuse me," she said. "You're not luggage."
Cheddar wagged his tail.
Francesco laughed.
"He might disagree."
Leah finally finished packing and zipped her suitcase shut with a small sense of accomplishment.
"There," she said. "Done."
Francesco looked around the room once more.
Everything was packed.
Nothing left behind.
The suite already felt slightly emptier now that their belongings were tucked away.
He picked up the hotel phone from the bedside table.
"Reception," a polite voice answered.
"Good morning," Francesco said. "Could you send a bell boy up to help with our luggage please?"
"Of course, sir. He'll be right there."
"Thank you."
He placed the phone back down.
Leah sat on the edge of the bed, sipping the last of her coffee.
"Part of me still wants to cancel the checkout and stay another night," she admitted.
Francesco smiled.
"I believe you."
"But training starts soon."
"And you'd miss your teammates."
She considered that.
"Okay… maybe a little."
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door.
Francesco opened it to find a young bell boy standing politely outside with a luggage trolley.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning," Francesco replied.
The bell boy stepped inside and carefully loaded both large suitcases and the smaller bags onto the trolley.
Leah grabbed her handbag and Cheddar's travel carrier bag.
Cheddar himself trotted happily beside them.
The bell boy pushed the trolley toward the door.
"Ready when you are."
Francesco gave the suite one final glance before stepping out.
The door closed softly behind them.
Their Brighton holiday was officially over.
The hallway remained quiet as they walked toward the elevator.
The trolley wheels rolled softly over the carpet.
Cheddar padded along happily beside Leah.
The elevator arrived with a gentle ding.
They stepped inside together.
The bell boy carefully maneuvered the luggage trolley into the corner while Francesco pressed the Lobby button.
The elevator doors slid shut.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The soft hum of the elevator filled the silence.
Leah leaned slightly against Francesco's shoulder.
"Back to London," she said quietly.
He nodded.
"Back to London."
The elevator descended smoothly through the floors.
Soon the doors opened again.
The lobby of the hotel was far more alive than the upper floors had been.
Guests checked out at the front desk.
Suitcases rolled across marble floors.
A few families gathered near the entrance preparing for sightseeing trips.
Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows facing the seafront.
The bell boy pushed the trolley toward the reception desk.
Leah stepped forward.
"I'll handle this," she said to Francesco.
He nodded.
"I'll grab the car."
She gave him a quick smile.
"Don't get lost."
"Unlikely."
Francesco gave Cheddar a quick pat before heading toward the valet desk near the entrance.
The valet attendant greeted him immediately.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning," Francesco said, handing over the parking ticket. "Could you bring the car around please?"
"Of course."
The valet glanced down at the ticket.
"Your BMW X5 will be ready shortly."
Francesco stepped outside to wait.
The air felt fresh and cool compared to the warmth inside the hotel.
The seafront stretched out ahead.
A few early tourists wandered along the promenade.
The ocean sparkled under the bright sky.
He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and waited.
A minute later the dark BMW X5 rolled smoothly toward the entrance.
The valet parked it neatly in front of the hotel.
Francesco nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you."
Meanwhile at the reception.
Inside the lobby, Leah finished signing the checkout documents.
The receptionist smiled warmly.
"We hope you enjoyed your stay."
"It was wonderful," Leah replied honestly.
"We'd be delighted to welcome you back anytime."
"I think we'll definitely return."
The bell boy waited nearby with the luggage trolley while she finished.
Once everything was processed, Leah walked toward the entrance where Francesco waited with the car.
Cheddar trotted happily beside her.
The bell boy followed them outside and carefully began placing the luggage into the trunk of the BMW.
Francesco opened the back door.
Cheddar jumped into the back passenger seat immediately, circling twice before settling down comfortably.
Leah slipped into the front passenger seat beside Francesco.
"Everything good?" he asked.
"Checked out," she confirmed.
The bell boy finished loading the last suitcase and closed the trunk.
Francesco reached into his wallet and handed him a folded note.
"Thank you for the help."
The bell boy looked down briefly.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Thank you very much, sir."
It was 50 pounds.
Francesco gave the valet attendant the same tip.
"Appreciate it," the valet said with a grateful smile.
"No problem."
With everything finished, Francesco climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The BMW X5 hummed to life smoothly.
Francesco pulled away from the hotel slowly.
They drove along the seafront road one last time.
Leah looked out the window quietly as the familiar sights of Brighton passed by.
The beach.
The promenade.
The distant silhouette of Brighton Palace Pier stretching out into the water.
"Good holiday," she said softly.
"Very good."
Cheddar shifted in the back seat with a contented sigh.
Francesco steered the BMW toward the main road leading north.
Soon the seaside buildings began to fade behind them.
The ocean disappeared from view.
And the highway opened ahead.
"Next holiday somewhere warmer, right?" Leah reminded him.
Francesco smiled slightly as he pressed the accelerator.
"Deal."
The car continued smoothly up the road.
Back toward London.
And carrying a quiet piece of Brighton with them as the city slowly vanished in the rearview mirror.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9