Page 89 of My Spanish Love Affair

Her face freezes for a split second, but she quickly recovers, brushing it off.

“Oh, this? It’s just a... work thing.”

My stomach tightens, the alcohol-induced haze lifting slightly as suspicion creeps in. “A work thing?” I repeat, my voice sharper now. “Are you recording me?”

Her smile wavers. “No! No, of course not. I wouldn’t -”

I cut her off, my pulse quickening. “Don’t lie to me. You’re recording this, aren’t you?”

She stammers, her cheeks flushing as she takes a small step back. “It’s just for... background! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s nothing personal, really.”

“Nothing personal?” I snap, my voice trembling with anger. “You’ve been standing here pretending to be friendly, asking me all these questions, and you think it’snot personal? Do you have any idea how invasive this is?”

Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Turn it off,” I demand, my voice firm.

She fumbles with the device, her hands shaking as she presses a button to stop the recording.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her tone suddenly meek.

“Just go,” I say through gritted teeth. “And don’t ever try something like this again.”

She scurries out of the bathroom without another word, her hurried footsteps echoing off the tiled walls. The door swings shut behind her, and suddenly the room feels eerily quiet.

I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white as the adrenaline surging through me begins to ebb. In its place, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something I can’t quite name bubbles to the surface.

How could someone be so bold, so shameless? Pretending to be friendly, all the while trying to use me for a story?

I glance up at the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. My cheeks are flushed, my chest rising and falling quickly as I try to steady my breath. My hands are still trembling, and I let go of the sink to shake them out, willing the tension in my body to ease.

For a long moment, I just stand there, staring at myself. My mind replays the encounter over and over again. I feel shaken, overwhelmed by the confrontation and the intensity of my reaction.

My body is buzzing with energy, my heart racing as though it hasn’t quite caught up with the moment. I press a hand to my chest and exhale slowly.

Okay, just breathe.

It’s over now.

The door swings open suddenly and another woman walks in, barely sparing me a glance as she heads for one of the stalls. The interruption jolts me out of my thoughts, and I quickly move, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I head for the door.

As I step back into the noise and warmth of the bar, I can’t shake the feeling of unease clinging to me.

My colleagues are still gathered at the table, their laughter and chatter filling the space, blissfully unaware of what just happened. I plaster on a fake smile as I approach them, slipping back into my seat beside Sarah.

“You okay?” she asks, her brow furrowing slightly as she glances at me.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, waving her off. “Just... the line for the bathroom was longer than I thought.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press the issue, either, turning her attention back to the conversation.

I reach for my drink, taking a sip to steady my nerves. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through me, but it does little to soothe the tension still thrumming in my chest.

As the evening carries on, I find myself quieter than before. I want to be present in the moment, but I can’t help but think about my encounter in the bathroom. I replay it over and over in my mind, dissecting every word until I can’t decide if I’m angry, embarrassed, or just plain exhausted.

The bar starts to empty as the night winds down, the hum of conversation growing softer as more people leave. I send a quick message to Santi as I glance around the table where my colleagues are still chatting and laughing, though their energy has noticeably mellowed.

After a few more minutes, Sarah nudges me gently. “You ready to go?” she asks.

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