Page 64 of My Spanish Love Affair

I hadn’t meant to avoid it, per se -

But then he mentions the idea of me coming to watch one of his matches, and I freeze.

“You should come to the next match,” he says casually.

He’s currently sprawled out on my couch with his head in my lap, watching a game on the television. His green eyes flick up to meet mine, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“The season’s nearly over. If you don’t come soon, you’re going to miss out.”

I hesitate, pausing in my reading as I look down at him. “I don’t know, Santi,” I say. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks, his dark brows furrowing.

“Honestly… I don’t think I’d fit in,” I say.

He frowns deeply at that, clearly displeased. “What do you mean? It’s just a rugby match,” he says. “You’d be sitting in one of the boxes with family and friends. There’s no pressure.”

Family and friends.

To Santi, that probably doesn’t sound intimidating at all -no pressure.But to me, it feels like a lot.

I can picture it now: the unfamiliar faces, the casual conversations, the questioning glances, the knowing looks between them…

And of course, the unspoken expectations.

So far, it’s just been the two of us. Easy. Comfortable.Private.

There’s nobody here to judge me for being English, or because my Spanish isn’t the most fluent, or because I don’t know much about the game. There’s certainly nobody here to question why Santi’s even interested in me when he could be with any woman that he wants; a woman who’s more glamorous, who’s more put-together, more prepared for that kind of lifestyle.

I don’t want to come across as ungrateful to him. I appreciate how open he’s been with me and how effortlessly he’s folded me into his life, even when I’ve tiptoed around parts of his.

But family and friends…Ugh.

It feels very much like stepping into uncharted territory, and I’m not so sure I’m ready.

In my previous relationships, it has taken a hell of a lot longer before we’ve even started talking about meeting each other’s families, and even then, it’s felt like a big deal. And I get it -ifyou always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always have what you’ve always had.

But Santi asking me to do this when everything between us is still so new makes my chest instinctively tighten with doubt.

My thoughts are practically spiralling now.

Because what happens if his family and friends don’t like me?

What if they see me for what I am: an outsider who doesn’t belong here?

The idea of being surrounded by people who know Santi much better than I do feels overwhelming. He belongs to a world of cameras, fans and media attention; a world where he’s admired and respected.

I’m just...me.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, hoping to dodge the conversation for now.

His expression softens, though I can see a flicker of something in his eyes - disappointment, maybe. Or concern. Still, he doesn’t push; and instead reaches out and takes one of my hands in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he lowers them to his chest.

“Take your time,” he says. “No pressure, I promise.”

I nod, giving him a small smile, but my chest still feels tight as I try to focus back on my book.

The truth is, no matter how much he assures me, stepping into his world feels like stepping into the unknown. And that scares me more than I want to admit.

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