Page 73 of My Spanish Love Affair

The knot in my stomach tightens.

During class that day, it’s the students.

I catch them whispering behind their textbooks, their glances much more obvious. A group of boys snicker near the back, and I hear one of them mutter Santi’s name before his friend elbows him. They burst into barely suppressed laughter.

Midway through the lesson, one of my best students raises her hand.

“Since we were doing work on our hero’s, it made me wonder: have you ever met anyone famous?” she asks, her voice full of fake innocence.

The question catches me off guard, and I just about manage to stumble through a vague response about how living in different places means you have the opportunity to meet lots of interesting people.

The class doesn’t let it go as easily as I hope, though. Giggles ripple across the room, and I hear whispers behind me as I write on the board.

By the time the bell rings, my nerves are shot.

On Thursday, things escalate when I stop by the bodega on my way home to grab something for dinner and re-stock on a few items. As I’m leaving, a woman who I absolutely do not recognise approaches me just outside the building, calling me by name.

I freeze, clutching my bags tighter as my brows pull together. I’m sure I don’t know her, but I don’t want to be rude in case I’ve just forgotten her face.

“Yes?”

She practically beams, her accent thick as she speaks. “Olivia Bennett? You’re dating Santiago Ortiz, right?” she asks, her voice rising with excitement. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you! What’s he like? Is he as nice as he seems? How did you meet?!”

Her questions come rapid-fire, leaving me no time to respond. My heart pounds as I stammer out a polite excuse, apologising and mumbling to her about being in a rush before I dart out of the door and walk at lightning-speed back to my apartment building.

I slam the door shut behind me, and my chest tightens as I drop my bags to the floor. My breaths come shallow and fast, and I rest the back of my head against the door for a moment or two while I steady myself.

How did this become my life?!

By Friday, it’s undeniable.

I step outside to head to work - pointedly setting off twenty minutes earlier than usual in the hopes of not bumping into anyone on my way there - only to be stopped by an older man lingering near the front of my apartment block.

He’s holding a large, expensive-looking camera in his hands, its strap looped casually around his neck. His stance is relaxed, but his sharp eyes scan me like a hawk sizing up its prey.

“Olivia?” he calls out, his voice cutting through the quiet of the early morning. He steps forward, his tone suddenly more insistent. “Olivia Bennett! Can I have a moment of your time?”

I freeze mid-step, my stomach dropping like a stone.

He knows my name.

And he knows where I live.

“Olivia, I just need a quick comment about your relationship with Santiago Ortiz,” he presses, taking another step closer.

His camera dangles against his chest, and I can see the lens cap is already off, ready for action.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to say,” I reply, my voice tight as I force myself to keep walking.

He doesn’t take the hint.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his tone turning sharp. “Just one question. You’ve got to have something to say. How long have you and Santiago been seeing each other? Did you meet before he broke up with his last girlfriend, or did you lure him away?”

A wave of irritation rushes through me, and despite myself, I turn to look at him, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “That’s what people are saying. I thought you’d want to set the record straight.”

I shake my head, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I have nothing to say to you,” I repeat firmly, picking up my pace.

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