Roses hold a special allure in the dreams of every woman, blooming silently in their fantasies, embodying sweetness and romance. Their charm and beauty are unmatched, creating an eternal enchantment, especially for a nineteen-year-old girl filled with romantic dreams.
That night, the magic of the roses deeply captivated Sharapova. It became a lasting memory, intertwining with her life, forming a significant part of her emotional landscape.
Roses may not be the ultimate test of love, but they certainly act as a catalyst. Especially for a young, dreamy girl.
The next morning, Sharapova woke up unusually early. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, she gazed at the room full of roses, completely enveloped by their fragrance, lost in her reverie.
Just as the romantic and wild night had left her enthralled.
But Matthew didn't share her sentiment.
After freshening up, he walked out of the bathroom, saw Sharapova sitting there, and sighed inwardly. What a disastrous night, he thought.
Matthew had envisioned a great night.
Thanks to his regular workouts and natural vitality, his hormones were always in high gear. In the past, even with Rachel McAdams or Jessica Alba, he often had to hold back a bit, but seeing Sharapova, he anticipated a fierce, thrilling encounter. With her towering presence and being a top professional athlete, he thought it would be a formidable challenge.
He had even worried initially that Sharapova's screams might echo throughout the floor, causing a stir. Her on-court vocalizations were legendary—surely, someone who could produce such piercing screams had to be extraordinary.
The reality, however, was harsh.
After investing so much effort to win Sharapova over, he discovered, upon closer interaction, that he had been gravely mistaken.
Who could have imagined that Sharapova, who lay there without moving, responding, or making any noise, would be akin to...
Matthew searched his mind for a fitting description and finally landed on one: like a "dead frog."
He couldn't reconcile how the Sharapova who screamed her way to victory on the tennis court was so utterly silent and unresponsive in private.
This was the worst night he had experienced since arriving in North America, and he was certain nothing could ever be worse.
Good God... Jesus... Satan... Buddha... Jade Emperor...
Matthew cursed every deity he could think of, feeling a depth of regret he had never known before.
Rarely did he regret his actions, and it was almost unheard of for him to wish he could undo them.
But this morning, Matthew genuinely regretted it. He shouldn't have let Sharapova's on-court persona make him believe her screams would fill the entire floor. Nor should he have gone to such lengths to pursue her.
What a horrendous night!
In the living room, Sharapova sat on the carpet, her gaze shifting from the roses to Matthew. She admired his chiseled features, the hard lines of his body, and the well-defined muscles that his white shirt couldn't conceal. To her, he was far more captivating than the roses.
And last night… all the romantic gestures.
Young Maria Sharapova felt she had found true love.
She had noticed Matthew standing there, staring at her without averting his gaze for even a moment, lost in thought...
It was clear his eyes were only for her.
Maria Sharapova had never been happier. On the day after winning a Grand Slam title, she also found love.
She wanted to speak to Matthew, but seeing him so entranced, she remained silent, sitting on the plush carpet, admiring his physique and handsome face.
Just as men judge women by their looks and body, women also judge men similarly.
However, women are more likely to consider a man's wealth and status.
This is a country that values appearance and wealth.
In both aspects, Matthew had plenty of appeal.
After letting his mind wander and venting internally a hundred times, Matthew snapped back to reality and had to accept what had happened. After all, Maria Sharapova was still sitting across from him.
"Maria," Matthew called out, maintaining his gentlemanly demeanor. Over the past few years, his acting skills had improved significantly, allowing him to perform effortlessly. "Are you hungry? I'll order breakfast."
Sharapova looked at Matthew, smiling without speaking.
Matthew walked over and flicked her forehead lightly. "What are you thinking about?"
"Ah..." Sharapova, lost in romantic fantasies, came back to reality and looked up at Matthew. "What did you say?"
Matthew shook his head with a smile and repeated, "Let's have breakfast. I'll call for it."
Sharapova nodded. "Okay."
Matthew went to inform the suite's butler while Sharapova followed. After ordering breakfast, she leaned against him from behind and said, "Shall we watch the men's singles final together this afternoon?"
"Hmm..." Matthew pretended to ponder and then said, "Sorry, Maria, I have other commitments today. I have to go to Rolex... I'm their spokesperson and need to discuss some contracts. I probably can't make it."
Attending the men's final at Arthur Ashe Stadium with Sharapova? No way.
Even though he didn't mind tabloids spreading rumors, he had decided against any further intimate encounters with Sharapova.
The dreadful experience he had didn't warrant a repeat.
Sharapova, still lost in her romantic dream, didn't mind and said, "I won't watch the men's final either." She released Matthew, stretching lazily. "I need to go home and get some rest. It's been a tiring few days."
After a few more exchanges, the doorbell rang. Matthew opened it, and a server brought in their breakfast.
With the room filled with roses, moving the service cart was difficult. The server brought their breakfast into the suite's dining area. Matthew and Sharapova sat down to eat, and afterward, Matthew prepared to send her home.
Unlike the Hollywood stars Matthew was accustomed to, Sharapova had a hearty appetite, eating more than him.
"The helicopter was rented for last night," Matthew explained. "It left early this morning. I've arranged a car to take you back."
"I'm fine with the car," Sharapova said, wiping her mouth with a napkin after finishing her meal. She then reminded Matthew, "You still owe me something."
Matthew paused, then remembered and slapped his forehead. "Right, I almost forgot. Just a moment."
"Okay," Sharapova nodded.
Matthew retrieved the autographed photo he had prepared the previous night and handed it to Sharapova, who accepted it with care. She followed Matthew out of the suite, and they took the elevator down to the hotel lobby, where a black Mercedes-Benz sedan waited by the revolving door.
Mercedes-Benz was considering a comprehensive partnership with Matthew, providing a flagship luxury sedan on standby at the hotel 24/7.
At the hotel entrance, a valet opened the car door. Sharapova hesitated, looking back at Matthew with a reluctant expression.
"When will we see each other again?" she asked, her voice full of anticipation.
Matthew appeared serious as he replied, "Give me a few days to get through my work. I'll call you."
"Okay," Sharapova nodded, then turned to get in the car, but suddenly paused and turned back. "Matthew..."
As Sharapova was about to get in the car, Matthew noticed someone on his left with a camera, seemingly taking photos of them. He wasn't concerned about gossip, as Helen Herman had always emphasized that rumors could keep a star in the public eye.
Seeing Sharapova turn back with a reluctant look, he stepped forward and gently kissed her, patting her firm back. "Wait for my call."
Sharapova also noticed the paparazzi but didn't care. She nodded and got into the car.
The black Mercedes-Benz smoothly drove away from the hotel, merging into the traffic on Seventh Avenue and quickly disappearing from sight.
Inside the car, Sharapova took out the autographed photo. Matthew, dressed in a formal suit, looked just as he did when he presented her award.
She loved how Matthew looked in his suit.
After admiring the photo for a while, Sharapova took out her phone, saved Matthew's number from the previous night's call into her contacts, and then placed the photo on her lap. She opened the camera on her phone and snapped a few pictures.
She decided to upload these photos to her blog when she got home, sharing her joy with her fans.
Matthew saw some paparazzi follow the Mercedes while others continued to photograph him. Ignoring them, he returned to the hotel and called the suite's butler, instructing them to clear out the roses.
He had several more days in New York and didn't want to spend them surrounded by roses.
However, what should he do today? Originally, he had planned to watch the men's final. The Swiss player who reached the final was a tennis star he had long known about and wanted to see in action.
After declining Sharapova's invitation, going to Arthur Ashe Stadium didn't seem appropriate.
Even though Sharapova had said she wouldn't attend the men's final, what if she went and they ran into each other? It would be awkward.
Despite not wanting another encounter with Sharapova, he preferred to avoid a face-to-face awkward situation.
Matthew settled into a seat in the hotel lobby, planning to relax for a bit until the suite was cleared. He could catch up on some sleep afterward.
He had barely sat for long when his phone rang. It was Helen Herman.
"Hi, Helen," he answered. "Has the sun even risen in Los Angeles yet? Why call so early?"
"I just left Kennedy Airport," Helen Herman's unexpected reply took Matthew by surprise. "Are you at the hotel? I'm coming over.
We need to head to Marvel's headquarters. They want to talk to you directly."
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