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xtruss · 1 year ago

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Mohamed al-Fayed, Tycoon Whose Son Died With Diana, Is Dead At 94

An Egyptian businessman, he built an empire of trophy properties in London, Paris and elsewhere, but it was all overshadowed by a fatal car crash that stunned the world.

— By Robert D. McFadden | September 1, 2023

Mohamed al-Fayed in 2003 outside the Court of Session in Edinburgh, where a judge was asked to consider whether the car crash that killed Diana, Princess of Wales, and his son Dodi, was caused deliberately. Credit...David Cheskin/Press Association, via Associated Press

Mohamed al-Fayed, the Egyptian business tycoon whose empire of trophy properties and influence in Europe and the Middle East was overshadowed by the 1997 Paris car crash that killed his eldest son, Dodi, and Diana, the Princess of Wales, died on Wednesday. He was 94.

His death was confirmed on Friday in a statement by the Fulham Football Club in Britain, of which Mr. Fayed was a former owner. It did not say where he died.

The patriarch of a family that rose from humble origins to fabled riches, Mr. Fayed controlled far-flung enterprises in oil, shipping, banking and real estate, including the palatial Ritz Hotel in Paris and, for 25 years, the storied London retail emporium Harrods. Forbes estimated his net worth at $2 billion this year, ranking his wealth as 1,516th in the world.

In a sense, Mr. Fayed was a citizen of the world. He had homes in London, Paris, New York, Geneva, St. Tropez and other locales; a fleet of 40 ships based in Genoa, Italy, and in Cairo; and businesses that reached from the Persian Gulf to North Africa, Europe and the Americas. He held Egyptian citizenship but rarely if ever returned to his native land.

Mr. Fayed lived and worked mostly in Britain, where for a half-century he was a quintessential outsider, scorned by the establishment in a society still embedded with old-boy networks. He clashed repeatedly with the government and business rivals over his property acquisitions and attempts to influence members of Parliament. He campaigned noisily for British citizenship, but his applications were repeatedly denied.

“It’s the colonial, imperial fantasy,” Mr. Fayed told The New York Times in 1995. “Anyone who comes from a colony, as Egypt was before, they think he’s nothing. So you prove you’re better than they are. You do things that are the talk of the town. And they think, ‘How can he? He’s only an Egyptian.’”

Mr. Fayed at a party at the venerable London department store Harrods in 1989. His takeover of the store in 1985 struck many Britons as akin to buying Big Ben. Credit...Fairchild Archive/WWD, via Penske Media, via Getty Images

He reveled in the trappings of a British aristocrat. He bought a castle in Scotland and sometimes wore a kilt; snapped up a popular British football club; cultivated Conservative prime ministers and members of Parliament; sponsored the Royal Horse Show at Windsor; and tried unsuccessfully to salvage Punch, the moribund satirical magazine that had lampooned the British establishment for 150 years.

His takeover of the venerable Harrods in 1985 struck many Britons as shameless brass, something akin to buying Big Ben. A year later, as if securing a jewel in the crown of British heritage, Mr. Fayed signed a 50-year lease on the 19th-century villa in Paris that had been the home of the former King Edward VIII of Britain and Wallis Warfield Simpson, the divorced American woman for whom he abdicated his throne in 1936.

But Mr. Fayed’s triumph as an Anglophile was the made-for-tabloids romance between his eldest son, Emad, known as Dodi, and the Princess of Wales, who had recently been divorced from Prince Charles (now King Charles III) and alienated from the royal family. It began in the summer of 1997, when Mr. Fayed invited Diana and her sons to spend some time at his home on the French Riviera and on one of his yachts. Dodi was there too.

The Egyptian-born nephew of the Saudi billionaire arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi, Dodi was a notorious playboy who gave lavish parties, financed films, dated beautiful women and was once briefly married. He and Diana had been acquainted, but by many accounts they fell in love on the Mediterranean sojourn. As their romance bloomed, the British press pounced. Paparazzi hounded the couple everywhere they went.

A cameraman filmed the site of the car accident in Paris that killed Diana, Princess of Wales, and Mr. Fayed’s eldest son, Dodi al-Fayed, in 1997. Mr. Fayed declared that they had been murdered by “people who did not want Diana and Dodi to be together.”Credit...Jacques Demarthon/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

In the early hours of Aug. 31, 1997, a Mercedes-Benz carrying Diana and Dodi and driven by Henri Paul, a Fayed security agent who was drunk and traveling at a high speed trying to elude carloads of pursuing paparazzi, slammed head-on into a concrete pillar in a tunnel in Paris. All three were killed.

Controversy exploded over the cause of the crash and the implications of the affair. Some tabloids suggested that an immigrant had been an unfit suitor for a princess. But friends said that the couple had planned to marry, and that the Fayed family had offered Diana and her sons a warmth that contrasted with the way Britain’s royal family had shunned her after the divorce.

As rumors and conspiracy theories swirled, Mr. Fayed declared that the two had been murdered by “people who did not want Diana and Dodi to be together.” He said they had been engaged to marry and maintained that they had called him an hour before the crash to tell him that she was pregnant. Buckingham Palace and the princess’s family denounced his remarks as malicious fantasy.

The deaths inspired waves of books, articles and investigations of conspiracy theories, as well as a period of soul-searching among Britons, who resented the royal family’s standoffish behavior and were caught up in displays of mass grief. In 2006, the British police ruled the crash an accident.

And in 2008, a British coroner’s jury rejected all conspiracy theories involving the royal family, British intelligence services and others. It attributed the deaths to “gross negligence” by the driver and the pursuing paparazzi. It also said a French pathologist had found that Diana was not pregnant.

Mr. Fayed called the verdict biased, but he and his lawyers did not pursue the matter further. “I’ve had enough,” he told Britain’s ITV News. “I’m leaving this to God to get my revenge.”

Mr Al Fayed, with his wife Heini, at the funeral of Princess Diana in 1997. Diana, Princess of Wales, 36, Dies in a Crash in Paris. August 31, 1997.

Mohamed al-Fayed was born Mohamed Abdel Moneim Fayed in Alexandria, Egypt, on Jan. 27, 1929, one of five children of a primary-school teacher, Aly Aly Fayed. Details about his early life are murky.

His accounts of growing up in a prosperous merchant family were discounted by British investigators. He sold sewing machines and joined his two younger brothers, Ali and Salah, in a shipping business. In the early 1950s, Adnan Khashoggi set the brothers up in a venture that exported Egyptian furniture to Saudi Arabia. It flourished.

In 1954, Mr. Fayed married Mr. Khashoggi’s sister, Samira. Dodi was their only child. They were divorced in 1956. In 1985, he married Heini Wathén, a Finn. They had four children, all born in Britain: Jasmine, Karim, Camilla and Omar.

Information on survivors was not immediately available.

The Fayed shipping interests profited handsomely from an oil boom in the Persian Gulf in the 1960s. Acting as middlemen for British construction companies and gulf rulers, they helped develop the port of Dubai, the Dubai Trade Center and other properties in what is now the United Arab Emirates.

Mohammed Al Fayed stands in front of the east stand of Craven Cottage, home of Fulham. Photograph: Kieran Doherty/Reuters

Mr. Fayed at the Craven Cottage stadium in London in 2012 before an English Premier League soccer match between Fulham and Sunderland. Mr. Fayed was Fulham’s owner and club chairman. Credit...Alastair Grant/Associated Press

Mr. Fayed, who made all his family’s major investment and financial decisions, moved to London in the mid-1960s. He added “al-” to his surname, implying aristocratic origins. After buying the Scottish castle, he expanded its estate to 65,000 acres; after acquiring the Fulham Football Club, he built it into a top team in a nation infatuated with the sport. (He sold the team in 2013 to a Pakistani American businessman.) A heavy contributor to the Conservative Party, he nurtured relationships with members of Parliament and Prime Ministers Margaret Thatcher and John Major.

In 1979, the Fayed brothers bought the fading Ritz Hotel in Paris for under $30 million and, with a 10-year, $250 million renovation, turned it into one of the world’s most luxurious hotels. Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed dined in the Imperial Suite before their fatal crash.

In 1984-85, in their greatest commercial coup in Britain, the Fayeds paid $840 million for the House of Fraser, the parent company of Harrods and scores of other stores, and invested $300 million more to refurbish the chain’s flagship, in London’s exclusive Knightsbridge section.

After the sale of Harrods to Qatar in 2010 Mr Al Fayed stayed on as honorary chairman for six months

Mohamed Al Fayed in the Harrods food halls. Photograph: Mark Richards/Daily Mail/Shutterstock

Prodded by a business rival, the government investigated the Harrods deal and in 1990 concluded that the Fayed brothers had “dishonestly misrepresented” themselves as descendants of an old landowning and shipbuilding family. The government report said the money for Harrods had probably come from the Sultan of Brunei. The sultan denied it, and Mr. Fayed, who was not accused of wrongdoing, called the report a smear.

In investigative reports by the press and the police, Mr. Fayed was accused by many women of unwanted sexual advances, job-related sexual harassment of female employees at Harrods, and even sexual assault involving teenage girls. He denied the allegations and, although he was questioned by the authorities in Britain, he was never prosecuted on such charges.

Mr. Fayed was bitter about being stymied in his quest for British citizenship, although all his children by his second wife held that status. As he noted, he had lived in Britain for decades, paid millions in taxes, employed thousands of people and, through his enterprises, contributed mightily to the economy.

Mohamed Al Fayed leaves the High Court in London, after giving evidence at the inquest into the death of his son, Dodi, and Diana, Princess of Wales. Photograph: Lewis Whyld/PA

“They could not accept that an Egyptian could own Harrods, so they threw mud at me,” he told reporters. He sold Harrods in 2010 to Qatar Holding, the sovereign wealth fund of the Emirate of Qatar, for more than $2 billion, and announced his retirement.

— Robert D. McFadden is a Senior Writer on the Obituaries Desk and the Winner of the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for spot news reporting. He joined The New York Times in May 1961 and is also the Co-Author of Two Books.

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flemingology · 16 days ago

Note

“just because i got you a gift, doesn’t mean I like you” with alexia 🎄

secret santa ─ alexia putellas x reader

part of my christmas series. full masterlist here!

in which: a silly christmas tradition defrosts you and alexia's relationship

warnings: emotionally unavailable alexia is a warning on it's own

wc: 5.1k

a/n: probably one of my favs from the series. hope you enjoy!

Making the move to Barça a couple months ago was a much harder decision to take than some people might think. Admittedly, there are a lot of upsides to playing alongside the best players in the world. The standards are high, the training sessions are good, you're in better shape than you've ever been in and you're steadily growing your trophy cabinet. On the other hand, nothing was harder than leaving your family behind in England.

You grew up in London, a steady youth leading the way towards being picked up by the Arsenal academy, where you went through all the youth groups and eventually got picked for the first team. Everything seemed to be going well, you were playing a good amount of minutes, fitting right in to Arsenal's defensive line. The first couple years you couldn't imagine yourself ever playing for a different team than the Gunners, but an injury-ridden year completely changed that. It started with a few niggles that kept you out of the occasional game, but a couple months into the season you suffered a lateral ligament injury to your right ankle, keeping you out for the best part of 3 months. You tried your best to get back into the squad, but you felt like Arsenal had moved past you.

At 27, still one of the best defenders in the game, you let your agent know that you needed a change. It hadn't been easy for you to come to the conclusion that it was better to leave, but you weren't ready to give up on your career yet. Not when you were supposed to be in your peak years now. Endless meetings, phone calls, late night text messages and a lot of turmoil later, the perfect deal struck. You were starting to feel a bit hopeless in your position, so Barça's offer came at the perfect time.

They expressed how they thought you'd be a perfect fit in their defensive line. Standing tall at 5'7, your aerial threat was one of the things they voiced could be helpful to the team. The contract in itself was perfect. They offered you three years, good pay and they would help you with accommodating to Spain – housing, visa, finances, the club would take care of all of that so you could focus on settling in through your football.

It seemed like a no-brainer, but obviously there were two sides to the story. You were determined to get your career back on the right track, but leaving your family behind in England wasn't an easy decision to make. It took a lot of tearful hugs and heartfelt promises to visit from your family, before you managed to cut the cord completely and sign the contract with the Spanish giants. Nonetheless, you always felt like your family supported all your decisions, and just like you they were certain that this was the right move for your career.

Now 3 months later, if anyone asked you, you would still say that this had been the perfect step. You accommodated to the weather fairly quickly, settled into an apartment that the club had found for you, and took up a couple extra language classes on offer to try and master the Spanish language a bit quicker – you had a basic understanding, and you could manage during games and training sessions, but still struggled here and there.

You'd felt at home within the team, too. It was definitely one of the things that had been on your mind prior to your first training session. You were nervous about whether you were going to be good enough, whether they would deem you worthy enough of wearing the blaugrana colors, but any doubts melted away like snow in the sun when you got invited to a team bonding night right as your first training session ended.

You went out for a meal and drinks in one of Barçelona's hidden gems, one that the girls seemed to love. It was clear that they had been here quite a few times, because the waiter knew some of their orders by heart. You bonded with Ingrid throughout the night, both of you sharing experiences of having to leave your family behind in a different country to play football here. You warmed up to her, she was nice to you and seemed to really like your company, but you stayed a bit distant from the rest of the girls. Everyone was deep in conversation with each other, most of the time conversing in Spanish. You were well aware that they didn't have to involve you in their conversations, you were a 27-year-old adult at last who could stand up for themself, but you found it hard to really integrate fully with the tight group that had seemed to form over the years. From a different point of view, it might've seemed that you were uninterested and not bothered trying to mingle with the rest of the team, but that wasn't the case at all. Although, that wasn't what people picked up. Especially not the captain.

You've not had more than a handful conversations with Alexia, ever since you signed for Barça. In the beginning, you tried putting it off to the fact you both weren't entirely comfortable in the other's language. But as time went on and you got settled more and more into the team, playing more minutes and getting closer to most of the girls, you couldn't just put it down to that anymore. You had tried a couple times in the early days of you transfer to string together a conversation with the Spanish midfielder, but you never got further than the odd "Hola" or "Good game, Ale". You tried to shrug it off, but you couldn't say that it didn't bother you. Alexia seemed open and chatty towards your teammates, but seemed to block off the second you neared within a 5-meter radius from her. And even though you had bonded quite well with her best friend and her girlfriend, they didn't seem to want to say anything about it.

A couple weeks had passed, and you found yourself in a meeting talking about the month ahead. December would be busy, UWCL games ramping up and the league and cup to keep up with. There was a lot of tactical talk going on and while you know you shouldn't, you zoned out a bit, tired from the already long day – and it was far from over. You had an appointment planned with the physios after the meeting, a quick routine check for your ankle, but they would need to take some tests here and there, pushing your relaxing on your couch tonight even further back on the agenda. You got pulled out of your thoughts when the tone in the meeting changed, going from very stern and tactical to a little bit lighter, and it wasn't until you noticed the powerpoint slide that you understood why.

SECRET SANTA

Your eyes widened in surprise and a small smile grew on your lips, a light hum of chatter making it's way through the meeting room as some girls rehashed up some memories from the year before. You hadn't expected secret santa to be a tradition within the Barça squad, but you found it fun. Otherwise so very composed and professional, it was nice to see a different side to the club and the staff.

"Okay, girls! As you can see from the powerpoint slide, we're doing secret santa again this year! Last season went well and we thought we should reintegrate it again. We're going to draw names now in the meeting, and then we'll arrange a date further down the line when we figure out what our schedule will look like." A couple staff members explained the ins and outs a bit further for anyone who had never participated in the lighthearted Christmas tradition, and then the name drawing started. Someone had written everyone's names on little pieces of paper and put them in a bowl, letting it go round the meeting room and having everyone take one. You were sat near the back, so there was only a couple pieces of paper left when it was your turn. You picked one and shielded away from Esmee and Keira who were on either side of you, reading the name that was written on the paper. Mapi Léon. A smile crept on your lips upon reading your defensive partner's name. You didn't give in to Keira’s prying and soon the meeting concluded, sending everyone on their way for the next part of their day.

Most of the girls were headed home now, but you made your way to the physio's office. They checked a couple things and made you do a couple tests, measuring and calculating whatever they deemed necessary to ensure that your ankle was perfectly fine. Lucky for you, it didn't take long as you thought it would. You were the only one that still needed treatment, so the physios were able to round off their checklist for you quite smoothly. You were sent on your way with a pat on the shoulder, telling you to keep it up the way you were doing – both on the pitch and with your ankle. You shrugged it off at the time but you couldn't deny the way it made you feel a little warm inside. You were still quite self-conscious about yourself and your football here in Barçelona, so it was more than welcome to get a compliment about it, especially from someone that isn't the coach.

December was rough. You thought you'd get a little reprieve from cold winters as you now were a bit more south compared to England, but you were fooled. It was cold, it was busy, the training sessions only getting harder as the games ramped up in both domestic competitions and the Champions League. The month felt like it was going on forever but eventually you reached the end. Your final training session of the week, Thursday, but more importantly secret santa day. After you wrapped up both the outside and indoor session, everyone went for a shower and then gathered in the cafeteria. You all had some post-workout food and then got together at one big table, conversation flowing easily as everyone prepared to receive and give their gifts. You were one of the first who had to give their present. You'd gotten Mapi a big batch of her favorite coffee blend, along with a couple different syrups for her to try. You knew she loved her coffee and you hoped she'd be happy with it, but a subtle nudge from Ingrid had set you up in the right way and you were quite certain that the Spaniard would be pleased with your present.

"Oooh, muy bien!" Mapi wore a bright smile as she opened your present, clearly happy with what you bought her. Ingrid and you shared a knowing look before her girlfriend pulled you into a tight hug, pressing a smacking kiss against your cheek in thanks. Your cheeks flushed a little when you realized the two of you were in the centre of attention, quickly sitting back down and letting the afternoon roll on. What you didn't notice, though, whilst you and your defensive partner were sharing an embrace, was the jealous look in Alexia's eye.

Admittedly, she had been cold to you, some would even say it was borderline rude the way she treated you ever since you came in. But she had a reason. And she knew damn well that didn't excuse her behavior, but she couldn't bring herself to either telling you what was on her mind or dropping her cold act. So she kept it going, knowing it made you uncomfortable, although that was the last thing she wanted to do. In reality, Alexia had started developing some feelings for you. None very deep, because how in the world would that be possible based on nothing more than a handful three-sentence conversations, but you had piqued her interest. Your hard-working nature, the way you held yourself, your professionalism – but who would she fool if she said she didn't find you attractive. It might've been the biggest one, even. Alexia felt attracted to you. But by the time she realized that, she'd kept the cold act up for so long that she didn't think there was a way back, so instead of confessing to you she only acted more distant and more cold. She knew she was in the wrong, but an opportunity had popped up to make it up to you and she wasn't going to let it slip.

Time flowed easily, and before you knew it your name was called. Your eyes shot around the room to see who would get up, but seeing her walk over to the pile of presents was the last thing you'd expected. Alexia's light expression that she was wearing earlier, had changed to the stone cold one that she wore whenever she was in close proximity with you. You noticed how neatly wrapped her present was. A beautiful beige wrapping paper, with gold accents here and there, topped off with a small black ribbon. She came to stand beside you, propping one of her arms on the back of your chair, leaning her body over to you and dropping the present on your lap. You were well aware of how close the Spaniard was to you right now, probably closer than she'd ever been. When she didn't say anything, you just went to unwrap the package that was heavy in your lap. You didn't recognize the packaging immediately, but when you realized what was underneath the wrapping paper you could feel a couple tears pricking your eyes.

An array of British snacks and comfort foods sat in your lap, from Cadbury chocolates to Walkers crisps, digestives and so much more. You hadn't expected such a thoughtful present from anyone, especially not Alexia. You quickly wiped away a stray tear that had escaped your eye, quickly standing up and turning your body towards Alexia. "Thank you," you said, not knowing what to do with your hands as you played with the rings on your fingers. You were more than thankful that most of the girls weren't paying attention to the interaction, most of them caught up with their own presents or inspecting what others had gotten. "Can I give you a hug?" You didn't want to overstep any boundaries, but you wanted to thank her appropriately for the present. You'd never voiced to her directly that you missed home, so it was clear that she'd just been paying attention. Maybe more than you thought she had been. Alexia didn't respond verbally but pulled you in a hug, awkwardly patting your back as she didn't know what to do with herself. In reality, she wanted to pull you tight, rub comforting patterns across your back and press a kiss against your crown but she knew that was a place she wouldn't return from. So instead, she did the next best thing; push you further away. "Just because I got you this, doesn't mean I like you."

Your body tensed up at her words and you suddenly noticed the burning sensation of her arms around you, quickly removing yourself from the embrace and sitting back down, nearly giving yourself a whiplash from the sheer force that you backed away from the midfielder with. You'd allowed yourself to get comfortable in the hug, sensing as if you two were crossing a bit of the boundaries that had been present ever since you met one another, but her comment put you right back where you started – maybe even further. The interaction didn't go lost on Mapi, who whispered something in Alexia's ear as she passed the defender to go back to her seat, Mapi clearly angry at her.

You sulked for the remainder of the evening, knowing you were being a pain in the ass but you couldn't bring it in you to care this time. When you said your goodbyes and made your way out of the facility later that evening, you felt a hand tugging you back before you could open the door of your car. Startled by the unexpected touch, you clutched your chest where your heart would be as your eyes met Ingrid's. "Ingrid, don't scare me like that, for god's sake," you said, playfully hitting the Norwegian's shoulder who only laughed at your reaction. The conversation soon took a turn, though, when she mentioned the earlier events. "Hey, about Alexia, I kno-", she started, although you didn't let her finish. "Ingrid, it's fine. She doesn't like me, I get it. I'll just steer clear from her. I don't need it to be told to my face, we can just avoid one another and everything will be fine."

Ingrid closed her eyes and shook her head, placing a hand on your arm that was animatedly waving along as you spoke. "No. God, no. You're so wrong." "I'm wrong? Ingrid, you heard what she said to me. I don't think I need more confirmation than what she verbally told me a couple hours ago." The Norwegian pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a deep sigh, before she spoke up again. "I know this is going to sound weird, but Alexia doesn't hate you. She doesn't dislike you, not at all. It's quite the opposite, if you ask me."

"The opposite?" you asked, a confused lilt in your voice as you urged Ingrid to speak further. "She'll give me hell for telling you this, but I can't just be a bystander to this anymore. She's hurting you." Ingrid took a deep breath and looked you in the eye. "Alexia likes you. And she doesn't know what to do about it. So she does what she does know, and that's pushing you away. I, uhm, agree that it isn't the way she should handle it and certainly not like she did just earlier, but she doesn't know any better." Your thoughts ran rampant in your head, thinking about all the conversations and interactions you had in the past months and gauging whether there was any point where Alexia acted like she liked you, even for a moment. "Ingrid, what the hell are you talking about?" You raised your voice, to which she put a hand on your shoulder, reminding you that you were outside the parking lot just outside the facility. "I know it sounds insane. I didn't believe it either when Mapi told me, but you know she wouldn't lie to her best friend about that. Now, I don't know how you feel about her, but I suggest you talk about it. Because she's been sulking about the situation at our house the last couple weeks and I can't bear it anymore. She has to do something about it, and quick."

"Ingrid, I-" "Y/N. Don't argue with me on this. I don't know how you feel about Alexia, but I know how it's been weighing on you that she's been treating you like this. If anything, it's just an opportunity to clear some of the tension. If you don't want to do it for her, do it for me and Maria." You nodded, begrudgingly, but you nodded nonetheless. You didn't say much more because you needed some time to process what the Norwegian told you, so you sent her away with another promise to text Alexia and then drove home. You took your time that evening to process everything. You thought back to the couple months, and the newfound information still felt like a fever dream. Alexia liked you. Liked liked you. You couldn't say it didn't flatter you. You also couldn't say that some of those feelings weren't mutual, but you'd need some time to explore those. And you'd need lots of time and conversations with Alexia before you could move past the way she treated you the past months. But you were ready to give it a try. So later that night, you sent the Spanish midfielder a text, secretly hoping that Ingrid had notified her that she'd told you, softening the blow a little bit already.

To: Alexia Hey, Alexia. I'm not sure how to approach this, but here goes nothing. I spoke to Ingrid today about us, and about you, I assume she told you this? I don't want to wave this away and say I think the way you treated me is excused now that I know the reason behind it. I know you know that too, and I'd love to talk about that if you are open to do so too. Nonetheless, I was still shocked when Ingrid told me the reasoning behind your behavior. I didn't expect it and it still feels a bit like a fever dream. I'm flattered, even? I'd love to explore it, Ale, but we'll have to talk about some things first.

You sent the message before you could overthink any of your word choices, and plopped down on the couch. You wanted to set your mind to the show that was playing on tv, but you couldn't focus – your thoughts seemingly unable to drift away from Alexia. You thought about what you wanted to say to her, how you wanted to word whatever you were feeling, but right before you could dive in the deep end of your feelings you heard a notification sound coming from your phone, slightly startling you. You picked it up with haste, eager to see what the blonde had replied.

From: Alexia Hola :) I'm sorry you had to find out through Ingrid, that's not fair on you. I know I should've told you and I know I've been childish about it, but I didn't know what to do with myself. I completely understand if my behavior has put a barrier between the two of us, because I've been nothing short of immature. I would love to talk to you about things, because I've been silent about it all for long enough. If you're down, I could call you? I hope you're enjoying your present.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the mention of her present, glancing over to the basket of snacks that was placed on your coffee table. You grabbed a packet of crisps and sat back on the couch, enjoying the salty snack while you typed a response to Alexia.

To: Alexia It's okay. I can understand where you're coming from, but I'm glad you're acknowledging that it was immature. I loved the present. What you said while I hugged you confused me even further, and I know I was killing the mood after that. I'm sorry for that. But thank you, it means so much to me. I'd love to call, but could you maybe come over instead? I'd prefer it if you were near, but don't worry if you can't. I know it's late and it's been a rough week.

From: Alexia I'll be right there.

You hadn't put your phone down as another message from Alexia chimed in, letting you know she was on her way to your place. You decided not to question how she knew your address, assuming she probably got it from Maria or Ingrid. You quickly freshened up a little, brushing your hair and putting on some fresh clothes, still in your training attire from earlier. You tidied a little, putting dishes in the dishwasher and rearranging your cushions as a knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. You opened the door to a sight you thought you'd never see. Alexia was sporting a small smile, a thin layer of sweat present on her face from the rush she was in coming here. In her hands was a small bouquet of red roses, and you wondered where she'd found the time to pick those up along the way. You felt warm inside and ushered the blonde to come inside, not wanting her to be in the cold hallway much longer.

"Hi," you said softly, still feeling a little apprehensive whenever she was around. Old manners died hard. "Hi. These are for you." Alexia stretched her arm out and gave you the bouquet of flowers, which you gratefully took and put in the empty vase on your kitchen counter. "Thank you so much. You know you didn't have to do that but, uhm, they're really nice. Thank you. I still needed some for this vase, clearly," you chuckled, your cheeks flushing slightly red at the loving gesture from the Spanish midfielder. You were still struggling to wrap your mind around the shift in behavior from Alexia, grown very used to her stone cold personality whenever you were around her. It was a very welcome change, but it was one that you'd have to get used to.

"Do you want a drink?" You asked Alexia, who was seemingly lost in thought while she looked around your apartment, taking in her surroundings. You decided to let her do that and fill up two glasses of water for you and her, slowly making your way over to the living room where she was looking through your vinyl collection. "You've settled in nicely, I really like how you decorated your apartment," Alexia said when she heard you shuffling around behind you. A bright smile crept on your face at the compliment. "Thanks. I've spent a lot of time trying to make it look cozy. Being that far away from my family and friends, it's just nice to have a place that feels like home." "I can imagine. I've never moved away from here and I've never had to struggle with something like you are right now, but I can imagine it's not easy at all. You're doing great." You looked away from Alexia's gaze as you felt your cheeks heating up again. "Do you want to sit?" You tried to steer the conversation away from the current topic, earning a nod from Alexia as she sat down on your couch, opposite to you.

You talked for hours on end, the conversation topics ranging from your family to hers, to your move to Barçelona and what sparked it, to how you've been feeling at the club, to eventually the – still slightly apprehensive – relationship between the two of you. Talking to Alexia felt easy, something you never thought you'd say. She was interested, listened with intent and really seemed like wanted to hear what you were saying. She asked questions, tried to understand your views on things and voiced back exactly how she felt. You hadn't expected her to be so open about her feelings after everything that happened the past couple of months, so it was a welcome change for the blonde to put her heart out like that. When you felt like she adequately expressed her feelings about you, you too talked about your own. You said that you really wanted to explore things between you, that you couldn't deny the blonde's charming energy and that you had found yourself gutted with how little the two of you had bonded over your first couple months in Barçelona – more than eager to make up for lost time.

When the night came to an end, you could feel a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, and Alexia felt the same. It had been nothing less than a burden for her to carry around, forever dancing around feelings that she didn't know how to express, pushing you further than she ever wanted to do. She was eternally grateful for the opportunity you were giving her by wanting to talk to her.

"Thank you, honestly. You didn't owe me anything and yet you gave me the chance to explain everything and talk about my feelings. I owe you one." You smiled brightly at Alexia and waved away her comments. "Don't worry about it. We've talked about it, we're okay. I understand where you were coming from. It's fine, Ale, I promise. I'm glad you came to terms with it."

The two of you started to make moves towards your front door, knowing you should end your conversations and call it a day, but with the prospect of a day off tomorrow and no training to wake up for, neither of you really felt the intent to wrap it up. Nonetheless, a couple moments later Alexia found herself in the hallway, leaning against your doorframe as you talked a little more, wrapping up your conversation.

You noticed Alexia looking down at her feet, playing with her fingers before she lifted her head and locked eyes with you again. "I might not be in the position to ask you this right now, but would you maybe want to go on a... date together?" You chuckled at Alexia's nervousness, a slightly red tint covering her cheeks as she spoke. You took one of her hands in yours and nodded fiercely, a smug grin covering your lips. "Yeah, I'd love to. Text me, okay? I'm free whenever." Alexia's smile grew wider with each word you spoke, the Spanish midfielder giddy about the prospect of taking you on a date. "I will. I promise. I should get going now, it's getting late." "You should. Be safe getting home. Have a good night, Ale."

You pressed a soft kiss to Alexia's cheek after wishing her a good night, causing the midfielder to blush deeper than she already had been. She stumbled over her words as she wished you another goodnight, clumsily walking backwards and gripping the handrail as she nearly fell head first on the first step of the stairs of your apartment block. You couldn't hold back the chuckle as you watched Alexia steady herself and rush down the stairs. "Be careful, capi!" you yelled after her, earning nothing more than a grumble and some Spanish curse words that you couldn't make out.

Sticking to her promise, Alexia was way more open with her feelings moving further. You went on a couple dates, you shared a few kisses and before you knew it you were dating. If someone told you that goddamn Secret Santa was what would bring you two closer, and eventually start a relationship, you would've never believed them.

#woso #woso imagine #woso community #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #spain wnt #barcelona femini #barca femini x reader

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