Soccer/Football Imagines

Marc Bartra (Part 5) [~] Contracted Love

Sitting quietly in the meeting room, you stared up at your husband. He stared back at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "Obviously, we can see that this relationship isn't going as either of you would have wanted," Pedro stated stiffly.

"So we are going to revise the contract a bit. You both state one thing you want in the relationship. The other had the option of rejecting it but a compromise must be reached. There's a lot at stake here," Martha input.

"I want you to stay out of my other relationships. Don't go through my texts, my stuff, and don't question or badger me about coming home late or things like that," Marc spat, crossing his arms. Martha and Pedro turned to you.

"Ok," you stated. "But I want another person at home with me if you get to just go out whenever you want," you said.

"Great, who do you want at home?" Pedro asked, thinking he had sealed the deal without any problems.

"A baby," you replied. Martha and Pedro looked at you incredulously. Marc looked stunned.

"A what?" Marc gasped.

"You heard me. I want a baby. We aren't getting any younger. And it will be good for the press," you lied. You wanted a baby but not to allow the press to have a hay day. You had always wanted to be a mother and you loved kids. Also, you silently hoped that a baby would help keep Marc home. Martha and Pedro nodded and turned to Marc who looked deep in thought. After a few tense seconds, Marc responded.

"Deal." You both signed the new contract and walked out together. Hopping in the passenger seat of the car, you refused to look at Marc. He focused on the road as the two of you drove home in absolute silence. He parked the car in the driveway and you both got out. Walking inside, you shrugged off your coat and sat on the couch.

You and Marc didn't talk until you were both about to go to bed. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you stared over at Marc who remained indifferent. He climbed on top of you and sighed. "Let's get this over with," he muttered. You woke up the next day sore and alone. Marc had left for training, you assumed, and you took a shower and dressed for the day.

Your week consisted of interviews and concerts and fashion shows. Luckily, it was towards the end of your tour and you would soon be given almost a year until the next one. Finishing off your last concert, you waved good bye to your fans before hopping into Martha's car and being driven home. Marc wasn't home and you didn't have enough energy to care.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked inside and curled up on the couch, falling asleep instantly. You woke up the next morning feeling sick to your stomach. Rushing to the bathroom, you puked up last night's dinner. Wrinkling your nose in disgust, you flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth. Marc didn't return home all week, which you spent puking and watching movies in your pajamas.

After the fifth time you puked, you went to the doctor. The nurse ushered you into a room and took samples. You sat, bored out of your mind, waiting for her to return with the results. She returned later with a smile on her face. "Congrats, you're pregnant!" she smiled, handing you the results.