Page 123 of My Spanish Love Affair

The reporter’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting the declaration.

“That’s so sweet!” she responds, before switching to English, clearly unsure of how much I understand. “Olivia, how does it feel to be part of this incredible journey with Santi?”

I open my mouth, words completely failing me, but Santi squeezes my waist, his grin turning teasing.

“She’s a little shy,” he says lightly, also speaking in English now and somehow still making the small crowd of media personnel chuckle. “But she’s been here through everything. Tonight, this win is as much for her as it is for the team.”

I look up at him, my face still burning, but the warmth in his eyes grounds me. Even with the cameras flashing and microphones aimed in our direction, he’s completely at ease, as though this is just another moment between the two of us.

Eventually, he waves off the reporters with a polite smile, murmuring something about needing to celebrate with the people who matter most. His arm never leaves my side as he leads me back toward the rest of the family, his hand settling protectively at the small of my back.

As we walk, I lean into him, the adrenaline of the match and the attention swirling in my chest.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I say, my voice half-teasing.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters without missing a beat.

I roll my eyes, but my heart is so full it feels like it might burst.

“That was so over the top.”

“What can I say? I like the whole world knowing you’re mine.” He pauses, glancing down at me with that boyish grin I can never resist. “And I’m yours, Olivia. Always.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It’s early, but the morning air is already warm against my skin as I step out of Santi’s apartment building, my heels clicking softly against the pavement.

The faint scent of fresh bread drifts through the air from the bakery on the corner, mingling with the tang of the sea that always lingers in this part of the city. The streets are coming alive as I walk past, commuters buzzing around on mopeds and the occasional bike while shopkeepers begin rolling up metal shutters and arranging their displays for the day.

But inside Santi’s penthouse, the world remains blissfully quiet.

I’d slipped out as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb him. My lovely boyfriend was sprawled out across the bed when I left, one large, muscular arm draped possessively over the space where I’d been, his features relaxed and peaceful, his breathing deep and even. The room had been bathed in the soft orange glow of sunrise filtering through the blinds, and I’d lingered for a moment, unable to resist brushing a stray curl off his forehead.

He didn’t stir, though. No, my man was completely dead to the world.

After yesterday’s phenomenal performance and the whirlwind of last night’s celebrations - the endless rounds of champagne,the music, the heartfelt toasts from his teammates and their families - he deserved to sleep in.

I, on the other hand, had work.

Oh, the glamorous life of a rugby WAG. While Santi lay tangled in the luxury of Egyptian cotton sheets, dreaming away his hard-earned victory, I was stepping into the real world; complete with exams, stressed teenagers, lesson plans and tea breaks stolen in the cramped staffroom.

As I walk through the city and towards my school, I can’t help but shake my head and marvel at how surreal my life has become. Just yesterday, I’d been standing on the pitch of a roaring stadium, kissing a handsome rugby player in front of thousands of fans(and apparently, cameras), and now I was heading back to my classroom to chase down late homework and deal with overly chatty teenagers.

It might be a dizzying contrast, but in a way, I appreciate it. It’s nice to still have a purpose of my own that’s entirely separate and outside of Santi’s high-profile world.

Still, I can’t ignore the sound of my phone buzzing in my bag, tempting me to check what fresh madness the internet has churned out overnight. No doubt the video of our kiss is still making its rounds, dissected frame by frame by rugby fans and hopeless romantics alike.

Honestly, I’m already bracing myself for the teasing from my colleagues.

As I weave through the school gates, the usual morning chatter fills the air, but today there’s a distinct energy in the halls. I don’t realise why until I hear snippets of conversation as I pass groups of students.

“Did you see the game last night?”

“Ortiz was unreal—man of the match, easy.”

“And did you see the video? With Miss Bennett?”

“She’s so lucky.”

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