Page 120 of My Spanish Love Affair

Elena raises an eyebrow. “I meant on the pitch, but sure, let’s talk about how disgustingly in love with my cousin you are instead. Honestly, it’s almost nauseating.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off with a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over her heart.

“Oh,Santiago,” she says in a mockingly dreamy voice, fluttering her eyelashes. “You’re so amazing, soperfect-”

“Stop,” I hiss, shoving her arm playfully, but I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” she beams, entirely unrepentant. “But seriously - I have to tell you, you’re absolutely glowing right now. You’re like a human floodlight every time you look at him. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

I roll my eyes, but I wouldn’t be able to deny it even if I reallywanted to. Watching Santi out there - commanding the pitch, doing what he loves - it does something to me. My heart feels like it’s simultaneously swelling and clenching at the same time, pride and nerves battling for dominance.

Plus, it’s so bloodyhot.

Before I can respond, a gasp ripples through the crowd, and the sharp blast of the referee’s whistle pierces through the air.

My head snaps back to the field just in time to see Santi crumple to the ground, an opposing player sprawled beside him. The collision has been brutal - shoulder to ribs - and I feel the air leave my lungs as I watch him clutch his side, his face contorted in pain on the large screen directly across from our box.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hands flying to my mouth as panic surges through me.

Elena remains remarkably composed, though her body gives her away a little by tensing slightly. She sets her coffee down and leans forward, her sharp eyes scanning the field.

“He’ll be fine,” she says, her voice steady, though there’s an edge of concern underneath.

I’m not convinced.

“He’s not moving,” I say, my voice cracking as I grip the armrest of my seat.

Elena places a reassuring hand on my arm.

“Relax, okay? That man is built like a tank. I’ve seen him take worse hits and walk away like nothing happened. Just give him a minute.”

One minute turns into two, then three, and Santi still doesn’t get up. The medics rush onto the field, and my heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear the chatter of the otherswho are speculating on what body part might be injured. The crowd outside has quietened significantly, and the players from both teams hover nearby; some kneeling, others pacing as Santi remains on the ground.

“What if he’s really hurt?” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away.

Elena squeezes my arm. “Listen to me. If there’s one thing I know about Santi, it’s that he doesn’t go down easy. And even if he is hurt, he’s stubborn enough to keep playing just to prove a point.”

“Come on,” I whisper, barely able to breathe as I stare down at him. “Please, get up.”

As if on cue, I see movement.

Santi pushes himself onto his knees, shaking his head as the medics try to assess him.

The stadium erupts in cheers as he finally stands, rolling his shoulder with a grimace but waving off the medics with an unmistakable air of determination.

“See?” Elena says with a smirk, though there’s relief in her tone. “What did I tell you? Total drama king, and stubborn as hell.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart still racing.

“That man is going to be the death of me,” I mutter.

Elena pats my hand. “Welcome to the family.”

I let out a weak laugh, my eyes still glued to Santi as he jogs back into position, his expression set and focused.

“I hate this,” I admit, my voice trembling. “Watching him get hurt, not being able to do anything about it. It’s awful.”

“I know,” Elena says. “But this is part of the world of dating an athlete. You never really get used to it, but you learn todeal. And hey - at least he looks good while being ridiculously dramatic about it, right?”

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