Valentine ship

The Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris awaited the arrival of the world's football stars for the Ballon d'Or ceremony, but Valentín's mind was completely trapped inside his hotel suite. Dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo, he paced back and forth, adjusting his bow tie in front of the mirror, completely ignoring the messages on his cell phone informing him that the driver was already downstairs waiting for them. Valentín stopped in front of the mirror when he heard the sound of the dressing room door.

He turned slowly and fixed his gaze on his wife, who was walking toward him in an elegant long gown. The satin fabric flowed delicately to the floor, hugging her figure in a sophisticated way and highlighting her silhouette. The design featured a subtle neckline, a partially open back, and small beaded details that sparkled with every step in the room's lighting, giving her a look that was both refined and dazzling. The ensemble was completed with delicate heels, an impeccable hairstyle, and elegant makeup that further enhanced her beauty.

"You can't be that beautiful, fatty. You're going to make me look like a madman in front of the photographers."

He commented with a smile, unable to hide his astonishment. He walked the few steps that separated them and placed his hands on her waist, careful not to wrinkle the fabric of her dress, observing her from head to toe as if he still couldn't believe it was her.

—Hey, what if we say we're feeling sick? Because I really don't feel like sharing you with any cameras today.

He whispered to her with a smile before placing a soft kiss on her neck and reluctantly pulling away so as not to ruin her makeup. Then, out of habit, he glanced at his wristwatch, offered her his arm, and they both headed toward the suite's main door, ready for one of football's biggest nights.