Page 95 of My Spanish Love Affair

“I guess,” I murmur, though my mind is still processing everything.

I try to remind myself that this could be a good opportunity, a chance to reclaim control of my story.

But something about the entire concept feels unsettling.

The elevator doors open, and we step out into the bright lobby. The rush of air conditioning is a relief after the warmth of the meeting room, and I can hear Santi’s footsteps falling perfectly in line with mine as we walk toward the exit.

His strong hand reaches out to me, and I smile as our fingers intertwine.

“Have you thought about what you want to focus on first?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Honestly, I haven’t thought that much on the actual story side of things. It seems so weird.”

Santi gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Well, this isn’t all on you. We can figure it out together. So long as you want my help, I’ll be right there with you.”

His words are calming, but the unease still lingers.

We step outside, and the city streets are buzzing with their usual energy, packed-out on account of the weekend. People bustle past us, hurrying to their destinations as a street band performs music somewhere in the distance.

It’s all a bit much for me to process right now, and I’m more than a little overstimulated.

“I think we should go home,” I say, glancing up at him. “I could really do with a quiet night.”

Santi smiles at me, his green eyes softening. “Of course,” he says, the warmth in his voice making my chest flutter. “My place?”

I nod, and as we make our way back to his penthouse, I can’t help but wonder if this really will be a turning point for me. Both Santi and Javier seem confident that it will all work out fine, but I’m worried things won’t be quite that simple and straightforward.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

The words come through the phone with the familiar, no-nonsense tone.

I can almost picture my mother standing in her kitchen, one hand on her hip, the other holding the phone up to her ear.

I hesitate, guilt flooding through me as I glance at my phone screen.

"I haven't been avoiding you," I tell her. "I've just been... busy."

"Busy? Or avoiding the questions I've been asking?" she presses.

I sigh and flop back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit of both."

She’s quiet for a moment, but I can hear the soft clink of something being set down in the background - probably her tea cup.

"So, what's been going on then? You’ve hardly answered my calls, and every time I ask you something, you get all distant."

"It’s just... everything’s happening all at once, Mum. And it’s a lot to keep up with myself, never mind try and explain to anyone else."

“What’s a lot?” she asks, her tone softening now that I’ve admitted the truth. "You haven’t really explained it to me.I know about the rugby player, but what’s with this media attention? Since when were you being photographed?"

I sit back up slightly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“Santi and I... people know we’re together, and the press just won’t leave me alone. It’s so weird - I know nobody knows him at home, but I guess he’s kind of a big deal here. People are interested in him, in his life. So, they’ve been making up stories about me - aboutus. It’s like I’m not evenmeanymore. I’ve just been... his girlfriend. And it feels like my whole life is being twisted into something I didn’t ask for."

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.

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