Page 57 of My Spanish Love Affair

“You’re overthinking again,” she says gently. “Just focus on the fact that he’s choosingyou.Not the cameras, not the fans -you.”

Her words settle over me, and I let out a slow breath.

“Yeah. You’re right,” I say quietly.

“Of course I’m right,” she says, her tone light.

“Besides, it’s such early days. I just need to enjoy this for what it is.”

“Erm, that sounds kind of ominous,” Laura says. “But I think I get what you mean. You just need to enjoy this part: don’t think too deeply about anything just yet. This part is supposed to be fun and easy.”

“Right,” I agree.

“Don’t sound so surprised - we’ve already established I alwaysam,” she says. “Anyway, you’re making me hungry. I might order Chinese myself.”

I smile, feeling a little lighter as we say our goodbyes.

I eat my food in silence, though the sound of the game and those men all cheering and shouting at the TV still echoes in my head. It’s such a surreal feeling, but Laura’s absolutely right, and so I remind myself that I need to relax and take this one step at a time.

Chapter Nineteen

The following weeks fly by in a blur of work, laughter, and stolen moments with Santi.

Between my lessons and his rigorous training schedule, we’ve carved out pockets of time that feel like they belong to us alone - dinners at charming restaurants, long walks through the city and quiet nights spent talking until the early hours.

Thankfully, we haven’t had any further near-misses. It probably helps that I’ve stayed far away from his stadium. He’s been promising for days to take me to a private beach, though - one of his favorite spots just outside of the city - and tonight, he’s finally made good on that promise.

The salty tang of the ocean carries on the late evening breeze as Santi parks his car near the secluded stretch of beach. The soft crash of waves is already audible, mingling with the distant hum of crickets in the cooling night air.

We’d eaten dinner in one of the city’s fancier restaurants, the kind with crystal chandeliers and waiters in tailored suits. The atmosphere had been a sharp contrast to the quaint establishments we’d been frequenting; all elegant, polished, and undeniably upscale, and for the first time, I felt the weight of how different Santi’s life is from mine.

It’s not just his fame or the luxuries that come with it. It’s theway he seems at home in these spaces that feel so foreign to me.

And yet, despite the grand setting, he’d kept the night so… well,normal. He’d teased me about my fumbled attempts at conversing fluently with him in Spanish, leaned closer to whisper crude jokes and listened intently when I told him more about my students and the exam prep we’d been doing.

(Although I absolutely did not mention the hero task, and how he’d been the topic of conversation).

As we step onto the cool sand, one of his large hands finds mine, and I instinctively smile at his touch.

The sky is painted in deep shades of navy and indigo, the stars glittering above like tiny diamonds scattered across velvet as we make our way onto the beach.

“You weren’t kidding about it being quiet,” I say, my sandals sinking into the soft sand as I follow him toward the water.

He glances back at me, his expression warm under the faint glow of the moon.

“Told you. Best spot in the whole city. It’s just us and the stars.”

It isn’tjustus, though. Santi has come prepared, carrying a blanket slung over one arm and a small cooler in the other.

“What’s in there?”

“You’ll see,” he says, leading the way to a spot near the water where the waves lap gently at the shore.

I watch as he spreads out the blanket, patting a spot next to him.

“Sit,” he tells me, his voice softer now.

I hesitate for a second before I settle down next to him, tucking my legs beneath me. Santi opens the cooler and pulls out abottle of expensive-looking wine and two plastic cups.

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