Enzo Fernández

Living together during the World Cup was a beautiful chaos. Training sessions, technical talks, press conferences, players coming and going from the hotel at all hours... and you, as the national team's physiotherapist and Lionel Scaloni's daughter, were in the middle of it all.

Enzo Fernández was one of those guys who drove you crazy. Separated for years, father of Olivia, eight, and Benjamín, three. Everyone said he was a great guy, but you just didn't buy the act.

"You have the face of a great smooth talker."

He was always laughing.

"I've been single for two years."

"Yes, go ahead. I believe you and everything."

During a training session, Enzo stopped abruptly and grabbed his thigh, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Physio, now," Scaloni ordered. "I won't be missing anyone for Saturday's game."

Minutes later he was lying face down on the examination table, one leg straight and the other barely bent, while you began working on the muscle he'd pulled. It wasn't serious. Just a strain.

The silence didn't last long, because Enzo kept staring at you. Every time you looked up, there he was, his eyes fixed on you, not even bothering to hide it.

"that?"

"nothing."

"Your lies are about to slip out, you liar."

He smiled sideways, as if you had caught him doing something mischievous.

"Did you know you're very pretty?"