Page 122 of My Spanish Love Affair

Together, we weave through the throng of excited relatives, listening to the sounds of them speaking enthusiastically.

By the time we reach the side of the field, Santi is still in the middle of a group of reporters. His medal hangs around his neck, his green eyes bright with adrenaline as he chatters animatedly to two reporters.

“He looks happy,” I say, my chest swelling with pride as I watch him, his charm and charisma on full display even through his exhaustion.

“He looks like he’s just won the championship,” Elena teases. “Go on, Liv. Go say hi. You know he’s looking for you.”

I hesitate, glancing down at my outfit and brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Before I can second-guess myself, I feel Elena’s hand on my back, giving me a gentle push.

Santi glances up from the crowd of reporters, his eyes scanning the group until they land on me.

His expression softens instantly, the triumphant grin on his face shifting into something more personal, more intimate.

Without a word, he steps away from the cameras, striding toward me with purpose.

When he reaches me, he doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and he kisses me like we’re the only two people in the world.

The crowd around us fades into nothing but a roaring blur, and I lose all awareness of the cameras trained on us as Santi’s lips move against mine.

My arms loop around his neck, and I can’t help but smile into our kiss, feeling as though my feet aren’t even touching the ground.

When he finally pulls back, his hands remain firmly on my waist, steadying me as much as himself. His voice is soft but carries a weight of emotion that wraps around me like a warm embrace.

“We did it,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing lightly against mine.

“No,” I say, shaking my head and smiling up at him. “Youdid it.You were incredible out there.”

He pulls back just enough to look me directly in the eye, his gaze steady and unflinching.

“No, Olivia,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “Wedid it. You were here. That’s all I needed. You’re always what I need.”

My chest tightens, and I laugh softly, though I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“You’re going to make me cry,” I say, trying to blink them away.

“Good,” he teases, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “You’re beautiful when you cry.”

“Stop,” I say, laughing despite myself, playfully swatting at his chest.

But he just leans in to press a lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.

When he finally steps back, I notice the shift in his posture - his arm still securely around me, but his body turning slightly. I follow his gaze, and my stomach flips as I spot several large cameras pointed directly at us.

A whole crew of reporters is watching, some whispering to one another while others gesture to their cameramen, clearly catching every second of our moment.

I stiffen slightly, instinctively stepping closer to Santi.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, heat rushing to my face. “They’re filming all of this.”

Santi doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, his grin grows wider as he leans down, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

“Let them. They should know how proud I am of you.”

Before I can protest, he straightens, keeping me tucked underhis arm as he turns fully toward the cameras. One of the reporters takes this as a cue to call out, her voice carrying over the hum of the celebrating crowd.

“Santi! What does this win mean to you?” she asks, microphone poised.

“It means everything,” he replies smoothly, his voice confident and strong as he speaks in Spanish to the reporters. “It’s been a long season, and I couldn’t have done it without my teammates, my coaches, and... my woman.” He glances down at me, his expression softening even as the cameras capture every second. “Olivia has been my rock this season. I’m grateful to have her by my side.”

---