Heads turn.
Phones tilt.
Whispers start immediately.
“Is that?—”
“No way?—”
“That’s her?—”
I keep walking.
Chin up.
But I feel it.
All of it.
The attention.
The curiosity.
The speculation.
He leans slightly toward me as we move through the line.
“You should know,” he says calmly, “I am… recognizable in Europe.”
I glance at him.
“That’s one way to say it.”
A small smirk.
“I’ve been called many things. ‘Most eligible bachelor’ seems to stick.”
I snort under my breath.
“Of course it does.”
“But it comes with attention,” he continues. “Press. Paparazzi. Curiosity.”
I grab a tray.
“So?”
“So when you come to visit?—”
“When?” I repeat.
He doesn’t miss a beat.
“When—you will need to be prepared.”
I glance at him again.
“I’m pretty private,” I say. “I barely use social media unless it’s for volleyball. Recruiting stuff. Snapchat, sometimes, but… I’m not out here posting my life.”
