Page 36 of My Spanish Love Affair

I blink, caught off guard. “Digging?”

“You know, research,” he says, his tone laced with amusement. “Have you found anything else interesting?”

“You make it sound like I’ve been building a dossier on you,” I say, deflecting slightly.

His nose crinkles at that. “Dossier?” he repeats.

I smile softly. Usually, it’s me who needs the clarification since his English is exceptional.

“Like, lots of papers and documents.”

“Oh. Well - have you?” he asks, leaning in with a mock-serious expression. “Because if you have, I want to know what you’ve uncovered.”

My eyes narrow slightly, but I decide to play along.

“Just the basics,” I say, my lips pulling up into a smirk. “Big-shot rugby player, national hero, man of mystery.”

He smirks too. “Anything juicier?”

Our conversation might be playful, but I can’t shake the feeling that Santi is subtly trying to gauge just how much I’ve uncovered about him.

The truth is… quite a lot.

I’ve spent more time than I care to admit trawling through social media and reading every article, interview, and blog postI’ve been able to find. It started innocently enough - I was just trying to get a better sense of who he is, what makes him tick, and why on earth he’s interested in me - but curiosity quickly spiraled into a full-blown deep dive.

And because I couldn’t stop there, I’ve even tried to learn a bit more about rugby itself, just to understand the world he’s immersed in. I’ve watched highlight reels of matches I don’t fully grasp and I’ve read articles breaking down league standings and team rivalries.

None of it makes me an expert, but I now know enough to realise how respected and high-profile he really is.

But there’s one thing I’ve deliberately avoided as much as possible.

Rumours about his love life.

Even though those articles have been the hardest to ignore - complete with glossy paparazzi photos of him with various different women over the years and cryptic “insider” quotes - I’ve actively avoided them.

“Well,” I say, pretending to think, “there was that one article about you rescuing a dog during some flooding.”

“True story,” he says with a shrug. “Though it was nothing, really.”

“How noble,” I tease.

“Thanks,” he says, flashing me a grin. “It’s weird, no? The sort of things you can find out about me on the internet.”

“Honestly?” I say, my brows raising a little. “I… yeah. I agree. If I’m honest, I try not to actually read too much stuff. It makes it… I don’t know. Just feels weird if I know a lot about you that you’ve not actually told me. Sorry - am I making sense?”

He smiles warmly. “You are,” he nods. “So - now it’s your turn.What’s the most embarrassing thing I’d find if I looked you up?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Perhapstooquickly.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing worth sharing, anyway,” I clarify, laughing.

Note to self: delete all embarrassing old photos from my social media, ASAP.

Our food arrives in waves - crispy patatas bravas, grilled calamari and creamy croquetas - and serves as a distraction from the conversation. Between bites, we trade lighter stories about our lives: Santi’s chaotic schedule during rugby season and classroom antics with my students.

At one point, I notice him watching me with an intensity that makes me falter mid-sentence.

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