Chapter Thirty-Six
T he next day, Sarah and I make our way to the stadium in a sleek black car that Santi had insisted on sending for us.
As the vehicle weaves through the bustling streets, Sarah is practically vibrating with excitement, her face pressed to the window like a kid on a road trip.
“This is unreal, Liv!” she exclaims for the third time in as many minutes, tugging her team scarf tighter around her neck.
She’s already taken at least a dozen selfies, snapping photos of the city, the scarf and me, despite my protests. Still, I can’t help but smile, feeling so comforted by her presence.
When we pull up towards the stadium, the energy is immediate and overwhelming. We can’t get as close as we’d like due to the heavy traffic, so we dive out of the vehicle and walk the rest of the way up towards the main side of the stadium. The roar of the crowd, the rhythmic chants of the fans and the smell of street food wafting through the air create a charged atmosphere that’s impossible to ignore, and we walk arm-in-arm as we make our way through it all.
“Liv, look at this place!” Sarah says. She tilts her phone to snap a panoramic shot of the massive stadium looming before us, its bright lights illuminating the early evening sky.
I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm .
“Just wait until we get inside,” I say, tugging her toward the entrance.
As we approach the security checkpoint, an attendant steps forward, his posture polite but purposeful.
“Miss Bennett?” he asks, his French accent soft but noticeable.
I blink in surprise and nod.
“If you’ll follow me, please. Mr. Ortiz has arranged for you to watch the match from his box.”
Sarah gasps audibly and grips my arm so tightly that I wince.
“A private box? Are you kidding me, Liv?”
“I didn’t know,” I murmur, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
Her wide-eyed grin is anything but subtle.
“You have so been holding out on me.”
I laugh nervously, trying to brush it off as the young man leads us through the VIP entrance and into the stadium. The corridors here are quieter, more polished - a stark contrast to the chaos of the stands.
I’m relieved to find that, for once, nobody seems to be paying us any particular attention. It’s a refreshing change from the lingering stares I’ve grown used to.
We step onto an elevator before we make our way over towards where the private boxes are located. The journey is brief all-in-all, but Sarah spends every second of it peppering me with questions.
“So, do you sit up here often? Is this, like, his usual thing? Are we going to be surrounded by celebrities?”
“Sarah, calm down,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I have no idea. I’ve only ever been here once, and I was sat in the friends and family box that time. This is just... Santi being extra, I guess.”
“Extra?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Liv, this isn’t extra. This is iconic .”
When the attendant opens the door to one of the smaller private suites, Sarah practically bursts with excitement.
The box is sleek and modern, with a wall of glass offering an uninterrupted view of the pitch. Plush leather seats line the front row, and behind them, there’s a small but fully stocked bar with an assortment of drinks and snacks.
The space is intimate, yet it feels luxurious, like something out of a movie.
“Holy... Liv, this is insane,” Sarah says, her voice hushed with awe as she takes it all in.
I can’t help but smile as I glance around. It is impressive, but it’s also undeniably Santi.
Thoughtful, generous, and just a little bit over the top.
“Well,” Sarah continues, dropping into one of the cushioned seats and stretching out like she owns the place, “I’m officially jealous. And I think I love your boyfriend.”
I laugh, settling into the seat beside her.
“It’s just Santi’s world, you know? Besides, I didn’t know for sure he’d be doing this. I didn’t want to assume.”
She shakes her head, still in disbelief.
“Liv, if this is ‘just Santi’s world,’ you need to let me visit more often.”
As the stadium begins to fill, the energy in the air becomes almost tangible. Even through the glass, the roar of the crowd and the rhythmic chanting of the fans sends a thrill down my spine. Sarah is practically bouncing in her seat, the team scarf draped over her shoulders as she waves it enthusiastically.
“This is insane,” she says again, her eyes glued to the pitch as the players start to jog out for their warm-up. “Look! There he is!”
My eyes immediately find Santi, his figure unmistakable even from a distance. He moves with an effortless confidence, his presence commanding and magnetic.
“He’s so...,” Sarah trails off, searching for the right word.
“Mesmerising?” I offer, unable to tear my gaze away.
“Yes! That’s it. Liv, I totally get it now. Not that I didn’t before, but he’s... he’s really something.”
The match begins with an explosive energy that leaves no room for distraction.
Every pass, every tackle, every near miss has the crowd on the edge of their seats. Sarah and I are no exception, leaning forward in unison as the action unfolds.
When Santi breaks through the opposition’s defense and scores a try, the stadium erupts. The noise is deafening, the cheers vibrating through the glass as fans leap to their feet in celebration.
Sarah grabs my arm, practically shouting in excitement.
“Did you see that? He’s amazing!”
I can only nod, my heart swelling with pride.
This might be Santi’s world, but for the first time, I feel like I’m truly a part of it.
By the time the final whistle blows and Santi’s team emerges victorious, the energy in the stadium has reached a fever pitch. As the crowd begins to dissipate, Sarah and I are escorted down to the players’ area by a staff member where we find Santi waiting for us.
He’s still in his kit, his hair damp with sweat and mud streaked over his arms, but his smile is wide and triumphant.
“You were incredible!” Sarah gushes, throwing her arms around him without hesitation.
Santi laughs, clearly taken aback but amused.
“Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot.” He turns to me, his smile softening. “And you? Did you enjoy it?”
I step closer, placing a hand on his arm as I lean in to kiss his cheek. I’m not quite as unbothered by the sweat and mud combination as Sarah is.
“You were amazing, Santi,” I tell him.
His green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. In that instant, it’s just the two of us - and for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this world of his isn’t so far from mine after all.
∞∞∞
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the warm light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Santi’s bedroom, casting a golden glow over the sleek furniture and soft, neutral tones. He must have opened the remote-controlled blinds, but I won’t complain - it’s a pleasant change from waking up to the dull, cloudy skies back in England.
The second thing I notice is my phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand, a relentless vibration that pulled me from my sleepy haze in the first place .
I groan, reaching for it as it buzzes again.
A quick swipe reveals dozens of notifications: instagram, news alerts and text messages. My stomach sinks as I realise what’s happening.
Olivia Bennett and Rugby Star Santiago Ortiz Make It Official?
Ortiz’s Mystery Woman Spotted in VIP Box.
Is This the New Power Couple of the Sports World?
The headlines blur together as I scroll, my face growing hotter with every word. There are photos of Sarah and I at Santi’s match yesterday, tucked away nicely within the security of the small private box. There are some photos of Santi scoring his try, too, and even one of us leaving the stadium hand-in-hand once he’d showered and freshened up, his muscular arm slung protectively over my shoulders.
The comments on the articles and photos are a mix of admiration, speculation, and outright nosiness.
I set the phone down, exhaling sharply.
“Not again.”
Before I can sink too far into my thoughts, the scent of roses pulls my attention. I turn, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of a massive bouquet of white roses on the table across the room.
I don’t know how I’d missed them. The arrangement is stunning, the blooms so perfectly arranged that they look almost too beautiful to be real.
Sliding out of bed, I pad quietly over towards them, my fingers brushing against the soft petals. There’s a small card tucked into the bouquet.
For Olivia, my love, Because you make each day brighter. Yours always, Santi.
My chest tightens, and despite the chaos on my phone, I can’t help but smile.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention, and I turn to see Santi emerging from the kitchen, two steaming cups in hand. No doubt one of them is a coffee for himself and a tea for me.
He’s dressed casually in a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt, looking unfairly handsome with his mop of dark hair slightly tousled and his green eyes wide and sharp.
“Good morning, my love,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep as he sets the mugs down on one of the bedside tables.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended. I gesture to the roses. “These are beautiful, Santi. Thank you.”
He steps closer, his large hand raising up towards my face so that he can brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I smile as his fingertips ghost over my jawline in a gentle, tender caress.
“Well, what can I say? You are a beautiful woman, which means that you deserve something beautiful to wake up to every day. It’s the least I could do for you, really”
I laugh lightly, holding up my phone.
“Well, you’ve certainly given the media plenty to work with.”
His expression tightens briefly, but he shakes his head.
“Fuck them. Let them talk - it doesn’t matter. What matters is us , Liv.”
There’s such conviction in his voice that I feel my worries ease, if only a little .
He glances at the clock on the wall, his brow furrowing slightly.
“This week’s going to be crazy. Training, meetings, prep for Thursday’s match -it’s nonstop. But after that...” He pauses, his green eyes softening. “I’m all yours.”
I smile, reaching up to rest a hand on his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”
∞∞∞
Later that morning, after Santi leaves for training, I sit alone in his apartment with my cup of tea and my thoughts.
The world outside feels distant as I stare out at the city skyline, the hum of traffic below muffled by the thick glass.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not gossip or Instagram comments - it’s a reminder from my work calendar.
Exam season begins: Final exams, Week 1 of 3.
My students. My classroom.
My life before all of this.
Slowly but surely, I’ve been rebuilding that part of my life, and though the whispers in the halls haven’t completely faded, I’ve noticed the looks on my students’ faces have changed. They’re curious, yes -
But there’s also a flicker of pride in their eyes when they ask, “Is that really you in the pictures with him?”
It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
There are just three weeks left until the end of the school year, and I can already feel the weight lifting. Summer is on the horizon, bringing with it the promise of long, sunny days and a more relaxed schedule. I’ll be running the school’s summer languages programme, of course, but without the pressures of exams and strict lesson plans, it’ll feel like a breath of fresh air.
The thought fills me with quiet excitement.
As I sip my tea, my mind drifts back to everything that’s happened since the first time I met Santi at the bar. The whirlwind of emotions, the challenges, the moments of doubt… it’s all brought me here.
Here, where I can wake up to roses and laughter.
Here, where I can balance my life in the classroom with the unpredictability of this new world I’ve stepped into.
Here, where the future doesn’t feel so daunting anymore.
I glance at the bouquet again, the white petals almost glowing in the sunlight. Santi’s words from this morning echo in my mind.
What matters is us.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found my footing. Like maybe I’m not just surviving anymore. Maybe I’m growing.
And as I look out at the sprawling city below, I can’t help but think that, despite everything, I’ve come so much farther than I ever thought I could.