Page 9 of My Spanish Love Affair

Zoey, who’s sitting cross-legged with her phone in hand, looks up with a small smile. “It’s karaoke night.”

“Karaoke?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Ben says, laughing. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to sing. But we will. And you don’t want to miss it.”

I hesitate for a moment, but then I remember my promise. And honestly… I don’t want to miss it either.

“Okay,” I say, smiling. “I’m in.”

Camila claps her hands together. “Yes! You won’t regret it.”

∞∞∞

There’s a buzz of excitement in the room as we get ready together. Camila helps me pick an outfit, insisting that my simple sundress needs a little something extra.

She places a chunky necklace from her own collection around my neck, and I have to admit that it works.

When we finally step out into the warm evening air, the city feels alive. The streets are filled with laughter and music coming from all different directions and establishments, and the laid-back, relaxed atmosphere couldn’t be further away from what I’m used to.

The bar is tucked away down a narrow side street, and the sound of laughter and off-key singing spills out from inside before we even reach the door. It’s packed with people, and the air buzzes with energy - the kind of cheerful chaos that isexactlywhat I need.

Ben takes charge and heads straight to the bar to order the first round of drinks. Before long, Camila is up on stage, belting out a dramatic rendition ofDancing Queen.

She’s twirling in her heels like she’s performing at a sold-out show, her voice exaggerated and full of flair. The crowd eats it up, cheering her on with wild applause. Even Zoey - who I’ve only ever seen as reserved and composed - cups her hands around her mouth to shout and laugh in playful encouragement.

“You having fun?” Ben asks, leaning over to me as we watch Camila throw in a spin so dramatic it earns a collective gasp from the growing audience.

“Yeah,” I say, laughing as she dips to her knees and belts out the chorus. “This is fun!”

It’s nice to not have to lie about that.

The drinks keep flowing, and the energy in the room grows brighter as the night goes on. Before I know it, Camila is dragging me onto the stage for a duet, ignoring my half-hearted protests as she hands me the second microphone.

“I can’t sing!”

“Neither can I!” she counters, grinning as the opening notes ofI Wanna Dance With Somebodybegin to play.

I groan as she tugs at my arm, and not wanting to be a real party pooper, I decide to get up on stage and just get it over with.

One song,I mouth to her.

The first verse is a disaster. My voice is shaky and I forget half the words on account of my nerves, but despite how bad I know it must be, the crowd are a polite bunch who cheers us on anyway. Camila takes the lead, her confidence infectious, and by the time we hit the chorus, I’m dancing along with her, belting out the lyrics with abandon.

For the first time in a long time, I’m not over thinking or worrying.

I’m living, and it feels so good.

When we come offstage, breathless and laughing, the group cheers for us, raising their glasses as Ben hands me a drink.

“See? You’ve got some pipes after all,” he says.

“Absolutely not,” I respond with a shake of my head, though I can’t stop smiling. “Nobody needed to hear or see that. In fact, you’re all sworn to secrecy about what you’ve just witnessed!”

As I take a sip of my drink, a man approaches from across the room. He’s tall, with sandy blond hair and a confident, easygoing smile.

“You were great up there,” he says, nodding toward the stage.

“Oh, thanks,” I reply, laughing nervously.

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