Page 93 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Yes. He thinks that if we touch on your teaching, your students - the summer programme you’re starting - then all of that will be positive. He thinks if people see that side of you, they’ll realise you’re so much more than just... well,me.”

I let out a short laugh, though it’s laced with nerves. “So, what? He plants a few stories, and suddenly people stop whispering about me?”

“Maybe not overnight,” Santi admits, his grin turning sheepish. “But it’s a start, isn’t it? Besides, it’ll remind everyone that you don’t need my name to make you interesting. You already are.”

“You really think this will help?” I ask after a long pause.

“I do,” he says, his voice steady. “And I think it’s worth trying, if you’re willing.”

I nod slowly, still uncertain but feeling a small flicker of hope. “Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll meet him.”

The smile that breaks across Santi’s face is almost enough to chase away my doubts entirely.

“You won’t regret it,” he promises, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

As he steps back and returns to the pasta he’s been preparing, I let out a slow breath, the knot in my stomach easing just a little.

“Do I at least get a say in what they write about me?” I ask after a moment, my tone teasing.

Santi glances back at me over his shoulder.

“You can say whatever you want. Just be prepared for them to ask about me too.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.

“Fine. But if this goes terribly, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ifind myself in Santi’s manager’s office on Saturday afternoon.

It’s stunning: a sleek, modern space perched high above the city. The expansive windows offer a jaw-dropping view of the city, but I barely notice the scenery as Javier rises from his desk.

He’s the picture of sophistication; the kind of man who immediately commands attention without trying. He looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, but his sharp features and the confident, almost predatory gleam in his light eyes suggest someone who’s never let time slow him down. His salt-and-pepper hair is styled with careful precision, every strand in place as if he’s spent hours perfecting it, and his navy suit fits him like it was tailored specifically for him, sharp lines running from the shoulders down to the hem.

Everything about him radiates authority - his posture, his movements and the way he holds himself - and it’s clear that he is in control of this space, exuding the kind of quiet power that’s both intimidating and magnetic.

“Olivia,” he says warmly, his hand extended toward me. His voice is deep and smooth. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, shaking his hand, my nerves fluttering impossibly more under his sharp, assessing gaze. “Lovely tomeet you, too.”

“And Santi,” Javier adds, turning to clap Santi on the shoulder with an easy familiarity. “Always good to see you. Now please, both of you - have a seat,” Javier says, gesturing toward the plush chairs in front of his desk.

We settle in, and I feel Santi’s knee brush lightly against my own - a small but steadying gesture. I offer him a quick, closed-lip smile before I turn back to his manager.

Javier folds his hands on the desk, his gaze shifting between the two of us.

“I’ve been following the media coverage recently,” he begins, his tone measured and professional. “And I think we have an opportunity here, Olivia. You’re clearly someone with substance, someone who has a story worth telling. I think it’s time the world saw that.”

I blink at him, startled.

“A story worth telling?” I repeat.

“Right now, the media has reduced you to a soundbite. A supporting character in our dear Santiago’s life. But we know that’s not who you are,” he says. “Santi tells me that you’re launching a programme that will have a real impact on the local community, meaning you’re making an actual difference in these kids’ lives.That’swhat we need to highlight.That’sthe narrative we need to put out there.”

I hesitate, glancing down at my hands.

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