England's Greatest-Chapter 163: Big Sis

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December 16, 2014...

The heater hummed softly, its gentle warmth enveloping the car chasing away the mist that clung to the windshield. Outside, Leicester remained half-asleep, the grey sky casting a muted hue over the quiet morning streets.

Inside the car, Tristan drove with one hand on the wheel.

Beside him, Barbara had folded herself into the passenger seat like a cat—legs curled up, her scarf bunched beneath her chin, hair loosely pinned but falling in lazy strands around her face. Her coat had slipped down, revealing the edge of her sweater and a sliver of her knee.

He glanced at her, his lips twitching into something half amused, half exasperated.

"You know I'm going to say it."

Barbara didn't look away from the window. "Say what?"

"That you should put your legs down. It's dangerous."

She smiled softly, not turning. "And here I thought you were enjoying the peace and quiet."

He reached over, palm warm against her thigh, gently coaxing her legs down to the floor. "I enjoy not swerving into a ditch even more."

Barbara let him but kissed the back of his hand as it lingered. "You sound like someone's responsible boyfriend."

"I sound like someone who's been to a hospital enough times this year," Tristan muttered. "And your knees will thank me when I don't hit a pothole."

She gave him a mock sigh, her eyes finally turning to meet his. "You just like bossing me around."

"I like you in one piece," he said, voice lower, more sincere.

Her expression shifted—less teasing, a touch softer now. "You're lucky that's sweet."

They drove in quiet for a moment. Not heavy, not awkward. Just quiet.

Barbara stretched, untangling her legs. "Her flight lands in forty," she said, checking her phone. "We're still good."

Tristan nodded. "Remind me—how long is she staying again?"

"A few days, maybe more," she said. "She'll head back to Hungary for Christmas."

He nodded again, eyes still on the road. "That reminds me... we need to figure that out."

Barbara turned her head to study his profile. "I know. I've been thinking about it too."

He glanced over, then back at the road. "What if... we each spend Christmas Eve with our families, then Christmas Day's ours. Just us."

She didn't answer right away. Just looked at him for a second longer, her gaze unreadable.

"You'd really do that?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," he said. "It keeps everyone happy. And I know you miss them."

Barbara reached over again, intertwining her fingers with his. "Still sounds like you're kicking me out."

He smirked. "Only for a night."

"You're mean," she murmured, but her smile gave her away. Truthfully, she had worried about bringing up Christmas. It was their first. But they both knew family came first. This... was the perfect in-between.

"I'm considerate," he corrected. "And I've got club stuff. Christmas Eve, I'm at the children's ward. Then it's onto charity events. Boxing Day is training and fan meet-ups. I wouldn't be able to give you the whole day even if I wanted to."

Barbara sighed dramatically. "So I'm being abandoned twice?"

"Briefly," he replied, lifting their joined hands and brushing a kiss to her knuckles. "But when I'm back, I'm all yours."

She smiled, her head resting against the seat as her thumb rubbed lazy circles across the back of his hand.

"One day," Tristan said softly, "maybe our families will spend Christmas together. England one year. Hungary the next."

Barbara looked at him with something that was almost too tender to speak.

"That would be nice," she whispered.

"It will be," he said.

She leaned over, kissed the side of his face—just below his temple, where he was warm—and then whispered against his skin, "When I come home on Christmas, I want kisses, hot chocolate, a foot rub, and what you did to me on when we first did it.

"You'll get all that and more," he promised.

And she believed him.

.....

They parked quietly, Barbara fixing her scarf in the mirror while Tristan adjusted his cap and mask.

The arrival hall at East Midlands Airport was its usual blur of suitcase wheels, tired faces, and muted overhead announcements echoing off polished floors.

Tristan stood just outside the main barrier, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, and the collar turned up. A black cap sat low on his head, curls tucked in, and a dark mask covered most of his face.

Barbara stood close beside him, her own mask in place, a knit beanie pulled low, her dark coat zipped to her chin. It wasn't that they were paranoid—just not in the mood to be stopped for selfies by fans.

"She said the flight landed five minutes ago," Barbara murmured, checking her phone again before slipping it back into her pocket, and anxiously tapping her foot on the ground. "Should be out any minute."

Tristan glanced at her, watching the way she bounced slightly on her toes. "You nervous?"

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze stayed on the arrivals door. Then she gave a half-shrug, half-smile.

"Maybe a little."

He leaned just a little closer, nudging her arm with his. "She already likes me, remember? You said she ranked me higher than all your exes combined."

Barbara bit her lip, eyes glinting. "That's...not a very high bar," she admitted with a laugh.

Tristan chuckled under his breath. "Still counts."

"She's just... protective," Barbara said quietly. "And this is the first time I've ever lived with someone. She's going to have questions."

"Let her ask," he replied. "I've got good answers."

Barbara didn't say anything for a second. Then she nodded. "You're right."

At that moment, her body stiffened a little. She rose on her toes. "There she is."

Tristan followed her line of sight.

A girl with a light pink carry-on appeared through the sliding doors, walking quickly through the crowd. She wore a long beige wool coat, cinched neatly at the waist. Her hair was chestnut brown, braided over one shoulder. Her eyes were unmistakably blue—the same blue as Barbara's. That deep, almost-glass shade Tristan could never win against.

The smile that bloomed on her face was full and real the second she spotted her sister.

Barbara stepped forward, waving both arms. "Anita!"

Anita lit up, quickening her pace as her boots tapped across the floor toward them.

Tristan took a deep breath behind his mask, straightened slightly, and quietly slid one hand out of his pocket—ready for his first in-person meeting with his girlfriend's older sister.

Anita closed the distance quickly, her pink carry-on rolling behind her with a soft clatter over the tile.

She reached Barbara first, wrapping her in a tight hug that made both of them rock slightly on their heels. It was fast, warm, and filled with the kind of unspoken emotion only siblings shared.

„Szia, tesó."

(Hi, sis.)

Barbara smiled against her shoulder. "Hi, you."

Anita pulled back, her eyes flicking to Tristan with immediate curiosity.

„Ő az?"

(Is this him?)

Barbara nodded, already bracing herself. "Yes. Be nice."

Anita turned to Tristan fully now, her hands slipping into the pockets of her coat. Her head tilted slightly, inspecting him like someone who'd been given two blurry pictures and now had to decide which version was real.

„Szia, Tristan. Örülök, hogy végre találkozunk."

(Hi, Tristan. Nice to finally meet you.)

Tristan offered a polite smile, doing his best to seem as neutral as possible while extending his hand to shake hers.

"Nice to meet you too," he said smoothly—like he hadn't just understood every word.

Because he had.

Sort of.

His Hungarian wasn't good—not yet. But it was better than he let on. Late nights with podcasts, YouTube videos, and quiet, secretive sessions in his Notes app had made sure of that. He couldn't hold a conversation without sounding like a tourist—but greetings? Polite phrases? A few cheeky sentences? He could manage.

Barbara still didn't know.

He planned to surprise her with it. Just not today.

For now, he just played along, nodding slightly as he'd only caught the general idea of Anita's words through context. Barbara stepped in to fill the gap.

"She said it's nice to finally meet you," she translated, even though he already knew.

Tristan gave a modest shrug. "Likewise."

Anita smiled—not wide, not suspicious, just the kind of smile that said we'll see. Then she turned back to Barbara and switched back to Hungarian.

„Ő tényleg szép fiú. Jobban néz ki, mint FaceTime-on."

(He's really handsome. Better looking than on FaceTime.)

Barbara's eyebrows lifted. "Okay, calm down."

Tristan didn't say anything—but the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly. Not enough to give himself away.

Just enough to enjoy it.

...

The car turned off the main road and onto a quiet lane lined with modest homes, Christmas lights blinking in the grey afternoon light. When Tristan pulled into the driveway, Anita leaned slightly forward, her brows lifting in surprise as her eyes landed on the house.

It wasn't massive, but it was elegant—white brick with soft grey trim, a wraparound porch, and bay windows glowing gold from the inside.

Anita blinked.

„Ez... nem is kicsi."

(This... is not small.)

Barbara unbuckled her seatbelt, grinning. "There were bigger ones, but we liked this one. It's manageable. Cozy."

Anita laughed softly.

„Kényelmes? Ez egy filmház."

(Cozy? This is a movie house.)

Tristan stepped out of the car, already grabbing Anita's suitcase from the trunk with a quick glance toward the front door.

Barbara opened her own door and called over her shoulder, "She's just being dramatic."

But Anita wasn't done. She stepped out, adjusting her coat, and gave her sister a look full of teasing mischief.

„Szóval... tényleg sikerült. Egy baby daddy, aki még főz is."

(So... you really did it. A baby daddy who does everything for you.)

Barbara gasped. "Anita!"

Tristan glanced up, blinking innocently. "Everything okay?"

Barbara turned back to her sister with a mock glare. "Nothing. She's being rude."

„Csak viccelek," Anita said, waving a hand, still grinning.

(Just kidding.)

Tristan smiled, lifting the suitcase like it weighed nothing. "Well, I don't know what she said, but it sounds like I'm off to a great start."

Barbara laughed, relaxing again. "She said you're charming."

Anita only smiled wider, her eyes bright as she followed them up the path.

No suspicion. No raised eyebrows. Just the usual sisterly teasing—and Tristan, keeping his little secret to himself.

He unlocked the door, stepping aside.

"Welcome to your temporary castle," he said.

Barbara rolled her eyes affectionately. Anita stepped in, her gaze sweeping the space with fresh curiosity. "Wow," she murmured in Hungarian, more to herself than to any of them.

Tristan followed, setting the suitcase down and quietly enjoying the moment—content to let the sisters talk, even if he caught on more than they thought.

Anita set her pink carry-on down just inside the hallway, her eyes widening as she took in the high ceilings, soft lighting, and polished wood floors that gleamed beneath her boots. Everything looked like it belonged in a magazine—sleek but warm, modern but lived-in.

She glanced around, tugging off her coat as her gaze landed on a framed photo of a baby Tristan.

Barbara nudged her gently. "Gyere. Megmutatom a konyhát."

(Come on. I'll show you the kitchen.)

Anita followed as they rounded the corner—just in time to step into the middle of a scene.

Felix, bald and confident as ever, was stirring something fragrant on the stove, steam rising from the pan in delicate waves.

He was humming softly to himself, unbothered by the fact that Soma, standing across from him at the counter, looked like she was barely able to retrain herself from chucking a carrot at his head.

"I told you," Soma said, waving a spoon wildly, trying to make her point. "You can't just glaze everything in garlic butter and expect it to magically become healthy."

"It's not magic," Felix replied coolly in his thick French accent. "It's garlic. And butter. Which is life."

"You're making him impossible to monitor!" Soma shot back, tapping a tablet where Tristan's nutrition chart glowed on the screen.

"He's fine," Felix said, not even looking up. "Look at him. No one with thighs like that is suffering."

Barbara stifled a laugh, stepping into the kitchen with Anita right behind her. "People, pause the drama."

Felix and Soma both looked up.

"Felix, Soma—this is my sister, Anita," Barbara said with a smile.

Felix wiped his hands on a towel and offered a short bow. "Enchanté," he said smoothly. "Welcome to our humble warzone."

Soma gave a small wave, smiling politely. "Hi. Sorry about the noise. It's a daily occurrence."

Anita blinked, clearly catching none of the words but smiling anyway. "Szia," she said softly, with a little nod.

Barbara leaned in and translated quickly. "Felix a szakácsunk, Soma pedig a dietetikus. Itt dolgoznak, részesei a csapatunknak."

(Felix is our chef, and Soma is the dietitian. They work here, part of the team.)

Anita gave a small, amused laugh and glanced back toward the entryway.

Barbara added in Hungarian, "Egyébként van testőrünk is, John, de ma beteg. Ő vitt volna ki eléd, ha jól van."

(We also have a bodyguard, John, but he's sick today. He would've picked you up if he weren't.)

Anita turned to her with a raised brow and an unmistakable glint in her eye.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.

„Ez tényleg egy film. És te vagy a főszereplő."

(This really is a movie. And you're the lead actress.)

Barbara just shook her head, laughing. "Ne kezd el."

(Don't start.)

Tristan entered behind them, setting Anita's suitcase near the stairs. "All good?" he asked Barbara.

"She's impressed," Barbara said, glancing back at her sister. "And currently judging me."

Anita just smiled innocently at Tristan, then looked to Barbara and whispered in Hungarian—

„Szerintem még mindig túl jóképű."

(I still think he's too handsome.)

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Go wash your hands."

...

Five more Chapters until the end of the season.