Page 47 of My Spanish Love Affair

He smiles, and I feel his hand find its way to my waist, his fingers curling just enough to hold me there.

“I knew you would,” he says, his voice tinged with pride.

As the display continues, Santi steps closer behind me until there’s not much distance between us at all, his arms wrapping around my shoulders in a firm, possessive but somehow casual hold. His chin rests lightly on top of my head, and I feel the solid press of his chest against my back, anchoring me as the sky above explodes in dazzling colour.

“You feel it?” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through me.

I nod, leaning back into him. “It’s incredible.”

He tightens his grip slightly, and I feel his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles on my shoulders as the final crescendo of fireworks continues. The sky erupts into a breathtaking display of gold and silver, the sparks cascading like glittering rain over the city. The crowd roars in approval, their cheers echoing through the streets, but all I can focus on is the steady beat of Santi’s heart against my back and the warmth of his arms holding me close.

The last of the fireworks fade, leaving the sky hazy with smoke as the crowd begins to disperse around us. Neither of us is in a hurry to leave, and thanks to our position around the edges, we’re able to linger there, watching as the ninots continue to burn under the streetlights.

“This was a good idea,” I say softly, leaning my head against his shoulder.

His muscular arms shift as one slips down to rest around my waist while the other remains draped over my shoulders. His touch is steady and comforting, and despite the hustle and bustle around us, I feel like the rest of the world has meltedaway, leaving just the two of us in this perfect little bubble.

“Every moment with you is a good idea, Olivia,” he says softly.

The sincerity in his tone makes my breath catch, and I glance up at him, my chest tightening with an emotion I can’t quite name. His green eyes meet mine, warm and unguarded, and there’s a mix of tenderness and longing there that pulls me in.

Before I can think or second-guess myself, Santi tilts his head and leans down. His lips brush against mine, soft and hesitant at first, but then the kiss deepens into something much more slow and deliberate, and the noise of the crowd fades into the background. All I can feel is him: the warmth of his lips, the steady press of his body against mine, the way his hand tightens at my waist as if anchoring me to him.

My hands move instinctively, one curling into the front of his jacket while the other finds its way to the back of his neck, my fingers threading into his hair.

The moment stretches, electric and endless, until he finally pulls back. Our breath mingles, warm and a little uneven.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “Every moment with you feels like the best one yet.”

I smile. “You’re so good at this,” I tell him.

“At what?” he asks, his lips quirking into that familiar, teasing smile.

“At making me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” I reply simply.

His smile fades slightly, replaced by something deeper, more serious.

“That’s because you are,” he says, his thumb brushing a light circle against my hip.

We stand there for a long time, his arms wrapped around me,the faint hum of the dispersing crowd and the distant crackle of fireworks blending into the night. The chaos of the city swirls around us, but here, in his arms, everything feels calm.

We finally start to make our way back towards my apartment, and Santi keeps his arm draped around me, his hand resting lightly at my hip. The mid-March air feels cooler now, but with him beside me, I don’t feel the chill. As I lean into him - my heart full and my head dizzy - I know without a doubt that this night will stay with me forever.

Chapter Seventeen

When Santi mentioned that he’d left his gym bag at the stadium, I assumed it would be a quick trip - him running in to grab it while I waited in the car.

But Santi being Santi, of course, had other ideas.

“No way am I leaving you in the car,” he’d said, flashing me that irresistible grin. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

And now, here I am, walking through the eerily quiet corridors of the stadium late in the evening, following closely behind him.

“It’s kind of creepy,” I say, my voice bouncing off the exposed brick walls and concrete floors.

The fluorescent lights above us hum faintly, casting a cold, uneven glow that gives me a horrible feeling.

Santi glances over his shoulder, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

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