chapter 1

Mickey was at the top of his game! He was a successful footballer* at the height of his career, playing for his hometown club for extortionate sums of money. He was also part of the national team and had participated in the recent World Cup.
He lived in a multimillion pound mansion in it’s own grounds with good transport links to his club to cut down the amount of time he spent commuting. He had treated the rest of the family buy buying substantial properties for them all. None of them had to worry about paying the mortgage or any other bills, because he saw to it all.
At home, he had his own gardener, housekeeper, cook, nutritionist, cleaner, stylist and business manager.
On the property, he had his own pool, gym, cinema, games room and everything else he wanted. The whole house had been designed and built by an architect to his specifications to the highest standard. His dressing room was bigger than a double bedroom and his wardrobe was twice the size. Every item of clothing was pristine and hung neatly, or folded away.
All he had to do was keep himself fit and healthy and make sure he attended training and matches on time.
He’d had his fair share of relationships, but none of them worked out because he was so much in the public eye. The paparazzi hounded his last girlfriend, criticised her fashion choices so much that she’d started self harming. That was bad enough, but the bleeding had stained his cream carpet, which he’d had to replace.

Mickey’s newest romantic liaison was also heavily criticised. The press thought she was a dolly-bird, with not much between her ears. She was pretty, young and sexy, but not much else. He had met her in the VIP area of a club. She was just one of the beautiful women who had flocked to his side. He could have chosen any one of them.
Stacey was naturally slim and pretty, but she kept herself trim and fit. She had ‘enhanced’ her natural beauty by bleaching her mousey hair and adding extensions. She had long eyelash extensions and wore false lashes on top to make up for her own stubbly fair ones. She’d had breast implants to make up for her own flat pancake breasts. They were so pert that she did not need a bra to look buxom. Her natural skin was very pale, which made her look washed out in Instagram. The sun and sun beds were so damaging to the skin, so she had regular tans. She looked more orange than brown these days. Mickey teased that she might ‘glow in the dark’.
Her own short, stubbly fingernails were covered with two inch long stiletto acrylic nails, that she liked to decorate in all kinds of colours. They were further enhanced with glitter, crystals and hanging charms. She had the bee stung lip look of someone who had their lips filled and she had already had her first round of Botox, even though she was only twenty two.
Of course, she was never seen out of the house without her make up! It took over an hour each day to trowel it on thickly. The look gave her carved and slick eyebrows, chiselled cheek bones and a sculpted nose. In daylight, she admitted she might look a tad overdone, however, in photos, she looked good. And that was what mattered. As Mickey’s girlfriend, she could be papped at any time, from any angle. It was her duty to look her best.
Before meeting Mickey, she’d tried out as a model. She knew that a good picture could be lucrative for herself and the photographer. Her modelling career had not worked out. The catwalks considered her too short, fashion considered her too ‘false’. She’d earned a bit of money in the glamour world and would have pursued it further if she hadn’t met Mickey. As a footballer’s* girlfriend, she got plenty of publicity. With that came money and fame. In the future, she envisioned that fame would bring her lucrative deals with her own perfume range, maybe her own make up, fashion label and a book deal. The effort she had to put in was minimal. Someone else would do all the legwork. Her name and her image would sell the product(s).
She did not love Mickey. She was fond of him, but his money and notoriety was worth more to her than the person within. Being with Mickey was a springboard for her own career. She was going to be rich and famous in her own right!
She was already in negotiations with a reality TV company cashing in on her ‘celebrity’ status.

With Stacey chasing the spotlight, it took the pressure off Mickey. He could concentrate on his football and sport related social activities, without having to think about being the centre of gossip column speculation.
It was a convenient arrangement and she did look good on his arm, so it came as no surprise when they got engaged.
The wedding was completely organised by Stacey, with the help of one of the celebrity magazines that had an exclusive deal.
The whole day had a ridiculous amount of money thrown at it. Stacey was definitely the centre of attention as she was photographed again and again, leaving Mickey in the background.

He was glad to escape from all the cameras on the isle of Mustique for their honeymoon. Of course, they travelled first class! Their hotel was known for it’s seclusion and VIP hospitality. It was just what they needed for some privacy and relaxation.

Mickey could not relax, though. His best man and team mate had texted him as he had suspected something had happened with Stacey at the wedding. He followed the text up with photographs of her, taken candidly and therefore at strange angles. The pictures showed Stacey in an uncompromising position with the photographer.
Come to think of it, there had been a whole hour after the speeches when no one had been able to find her at all! The photographer was supposed to have gone home by then. Maybe, she had still been giving him her own kind of ‘special attention!’.
He pretended nothing had changed. He had to bring her down a peg or two, but he had to think about how he was going to do it before he plunged in.




Note: Americans, I mean soccer, not American football!