Page 78 of My Spanish Love Affair

“I’m not,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Idon’t.I just want to be your partner. To be someone you can lean on when things feel too heavy.”

My throat feels too tight to speak. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but my god do I feel incredibly vulnerable right now. I can’t recall the last time that I had such an intense conversation with someone, and I’m struggling to keep myself completely composed.

Santi squeezes my hands gently. “When it comes to your safety, Olivia, that is what I care the most about. Well, that and your happiness. It’s why I wanted you here, in this building. There’s constant security downstairs, cameras everywhere, coveringeverything. No-one can get to you here without my knowledge.”

I look down at our joined hands, tears pricking in the backs of my eyes. I will them to go away with everything that I have, determined to keep my composure.

The control-freak inside me had wanted so much to keep Santi inmyspace in order to maintain some feigned sense of control over my life and the goings on of this developing relationship. It’s hardly a surprise to anyone to know that I’m completely out of my depth here, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to try and hold it together.

But I can’t deny that being here with him in this secure building already feels a lot safer than being in my tiny little apartment does.

“Okay,” I whisper, meeting his gaze with a firm nod. “I’ll stay.”

His smile is soft, filled with a quiet kind of relief. “Good. I - you’re sure?”

“Positive,” I tell him.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation slowly lifting. I pick up my glass of wine again, taking another sip before glancing around the room.

It’s probably time to try and lighten the mood.

“This place really is beautiful,” I say. “Although you didn’t tell me you live in a literal palace. That’s a convenient detail to miss out on.”

He chuckles, though the sound is a little shaky. He leans back against the sofa, his drink remaining positioned on the coffee table.

“It’s not a palace, just a home. And for the record, I wasn’t trying to impress you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”

“Nope,” he says, his tone playful. “If I was trying to impress you, I’d have cooked dinner instead of ordering in.”

I laugh, the sound surprising even me after the day I’ve had.

“Oh, so now you’re a chef?”

“Maybe,” he teases, his grin widening. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease of his smile… it’s enough to make the tension in my chest loosen ever so slightly.

As the evening stretches on, we fall into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing. Santi tells me about his latest training sessions and upcoming game schedule. It sounds as though things are so much more intense now that the rugby season is almost at an end. In return, I tell him aboutmy students and their upcoming exams, trying my best not to focus on the negatives.

The take-out arrives, and once we’ve eaten together, we curl up on his huge, comfortable couch. Our bellies are full from our dinner, and I smile to myself as his lips brush over my forehead in a feather-light touch, his arm draped protectively around my shoulders.

“Better?” he asks, his voice low and soothing.

“Much,” I confirm, tilting my head over my shoulder to look back at him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to think about that,” he smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His words settle over me like a blanket, wrapping me in a warmth that reaches deep into my chest. My fingers dance across his defined jawline, the stubble rough but comforting under my touch.

“You really are too good to be true,” I murmur, half to myself. “Where did you come from?”

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

God, I love that sound.

“Trust me, I’m far from perfect.”

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