Two days later, Lucia showed up at the villa around sunset.
She let herself in, took off her shoes by the door, and walked straight to the kitchen. Lorenzo was already pouring two cups of black coffee. He set one down across from him, pulled out a chair, and waited for her to sit.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
"So," Lucia began softly, breaking the stillness. "Here we are. After Lisbon."
"After Lisbon," Lorenzo echoed, looking down at his hands.
She held the warm mug between both hands, looking down at the coffee before meeting his eyes.
"I spent most of yesterday lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to picture what I wanted you to say," she said. "The weird thing is, I realized I don't even know what that is. It feels pretty stupid to wait three weeks just to realize you don't have an answer yourself."
She let out a small, tired laugh.
"So don't try to be nice or give me some polite speech. Just tell me the truth. Whatever is actually going on in your head."
Lorenzo sat quietly for a beat, letting the steam rise between them. He traced the rim of his mug, trying to arrange his thoughts so they came out honest rather than rehearsed.
"Fair enough," he said quietly.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"You put everything out in the open weeks ago right here at this counter," he said. "And I thought about it almost every night in the hotel rooms. I kept hitting the exact same wall."
He looked straight at her, keeping his hands still on the wood.
"I don't have a clean label for what I feel about you, Lucia. I'm seventeen. The last nine months turned my entire life upside down, and in a month I'm getting on a plane to South America for a World Cup. My career is moving faster than I can track."
He tapped a finger against the tabletop.
"Right in the center of that mess, there is you. And I can't force what we have into a neat box just to make things simple."
Lucia raised an eyebrow slightly, her lips curling with faint humor. "Well, that definitely won't make the cut for any romance novels."
"Let me finish," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting a little. "Because this is the part that actually matters."
He leaned in, his hands resting flat on the table.
"I know I want you around. That part is clear to me. The thought of things going sour between us, or watching you slowly step away because I didn't give you the right answer, rattled me more than facing Bayern's backline in the second half."
He paused, meeting her eyes straight on.
"If I try to stamp an official title on this tonight, if I call you my girlfriend just because that feels like the polite obligation, I'd be doing it out of guilt instead of clarity. You know me too well. You would pick up on that hesitation within two days, and it would just make both of us miserable. It would be a promise made out of panic instead of real understanding."
Lucia leaned back against her chair, her eyes searching his face as she listened without interrupting.
"So I won't give you a hollow title tonight," Lorenzo said, keeping his voice down. "At the same time, I have zero intention of letting you fade out of my life."
He held her gaze across the table.
"You aren't an awkward question I'm trying to dodge until next season. You matter to me more than anyone else in this city, and that holds true tonight with or without a label. I just need room to breathe."
He took a slow breath before finishing his thought.
"That doesn't mean figuring out if I want you in my corner. That part was settled a long time ago. I just need to understand what shape this takes once things finally calm down."
The kitchen fell completely quiet again. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence while Lucia processed his words.
She let out a slow, heavy breath, her shoulders visibly dropping as the tension drained out of her frame. When she spoke again, her voice sounded remarkably relaxed, almost relieved.
"You know what's genuinely frustrating about you, Lorenzo?" she said, shaking her head. "I actually agree with almost every word you just said."
Lorenzo blinked, slightly caught off guard. "You do?"
"Yes, believe it or not," she said, letting out a short laugh.
She shook her head, tracing the edge of her cup.
"I spent two full days pacing around my dorm. I braced myself for a grand speech or a very careful, polite letdown. I had rehearsed answers ready for both. Instead, you just gave me the awkward reality."
She sat back in her chair, looking right at him.
"Truth is, I'm in the exact same spot. I still have a degree to finish. I have my own goals and a life outside this football world that I haven't even started building yet. Becoming the official partner of a world-famous athlete at nineteen while you fly to different continents every three days sounds exhausting. That isn't what I pictured for myself right now either."
She leaned in slightly, holding his eyes with quiet intensity.
"Still, the idea of suddenly becoming strangers, or stepping back to being some casual acquaintance who only reads about you in the paper, made my stomach hurt. I couldn't stomach that at all."
"So we're on the same page, then," Lorenzo said.
"We agree that we don't have this figured out yet," she corrected gently, her smile turning warm and familiar. "It's an incredibly weird place to land, especially after all that buildup. But at least it's completely honest."
They sat together in comfortable silence for a while, taking slow sips of their coffee as the tension that had hung over them since Lisbon finally cleared away.
"I do have one non-negotiable, though," Lucia added, setting her mug down on the wood. "If we're leaving this open without titles or expectations, there is one boundary you have to respect."
Lorenzo gave a nod. "Tell me."
"Don't give this space away to someone else," she said, looking straight across the table.
"I'm not asking you to become a monk. I'm not stupid about the kind of attention that follows a guy in your position. But this dynamic, this place right here, that belongs to me."
She tapped her fingers against the edge of the wood.
"The conversations at this counter with the person who knew you before anyone cared about your name. That's mine. If we're keeping this door open, you don't let anyone else sit in this chair. That stays between us."
"That chair was never up for grabs, Lucia," he answered quietly. "Nobody else is ever getting that spot. You know that."
She studied his face for another couple of seconds, seeing no hesitation in his eyes, before offering a small, satisfied nod.
"Alright," she murmured softly, leaning back. "Then we're good."
"Yeah," Lorenzo said with a quiet exhale. "We're good."
She stayed for another hour, nursing the rest of her coffee.
They talked about ordinary things. She complained about her university professors, and they traded stories about people back home, slipping right back into the rhythm they shared before finals and confessions made everything complicated.
When she finally pulled her jacket on to leave, she stopped by the front door.
She stepped in and wrapped her arms around him just a second longer than an ordinary friend would, but she pulled back before it turned into anything heavier.
After the door clicked shut, Lorenzo stood by the counter for a while in the quiet house.
For the first time in weeks, the tension between them was gone. There were no official labels or promises, just an understanding that they were fine where they were.
And for now, that was enough.
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