Chapter Twenty
T he first hints of summer are beginning to show. The days are longer and warmer, and my students are actively counting down until their end of year break. There’s lots of chatter about holidays - where they’ll be going and what they’ll be doing - though I wish they’d think a little more about their end-of-year exams.
With only a few weeks left of the school term, everything feels like it’s rushing toward some inevitable end.
Since he asked me to be his girlfriend, Santi and I have fallen into an easy rhythm; but even in our quieter moments, his world still feels so much bigger than mine.
I hadn’t meant to avoid it, per se -
But then he mentions the idea of me coming to watch one of his matches, and I freeze.
“You should come to the next match,” he says casually.
He’s currently sprawled out on my couch with his head in my lap, watching a game on the television. His green eyes flick up to meet mine, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“The season’s nearly over. If you don’t come soon, you’re going to miss out.”
I hesitate, pausing in my reading as I look down at him. “I don’t know, Santi,” I say. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. ”
“Why not?” he asks, his dark brows furrowing.
“Honestly… I don’t think I’d fit in,” I say.
He frowns deeply at that, clearly displeased. “What do you mean? It’s just a rugby match,” he says. “You’d be sitting in one of the boxes with family and friends. There’s no pressure.”
Family and friends.
To Santi, that probably doesn’t sound intimidating at all - no pressure. But to me, it feels like a lot.
I can picture it now: the unfamiliar faces, the casual conversations, the questioning glances, the knowing looks between them…
And of course, the unspoken expectations.
So far, it’s just been the two of us. Easy. Comfortable. Private .
There’s nobody here to judge me for being English, or because my Spanish isn’t the most fluent, or because I don’t know much about the game. There’s certainly nobody here to question why Santi’s even interested in me when he could be with any woman that he wants; a woman who’s more glamorous, who’s more put-together, more prepared for that kind of lifestyle.
I don’t want to come across as ungrateful to him. I appreciate how open he’s been with me and how effortlessly he’s folded me into his life, even when I’ve tiptoed around parts of his.
But family and friends… Ugh.
It feels very much like stepping into uncharted territory, and I’m not so sure I’m ready.
In my previous relationships, it has taken a hell of a lot longer before we’ve even started talking about meeting each other’s families, and even then, it’s felt like a big deal. And I get it - if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always have what you’ve always had.
But Santi asking me to do this when everything between us is still so new makes my chest instinctively tighten with doubt.
My thoughts are practically spiralling now.
Because what happens if his family and friends don’t like me?
What if they see me for what I am: an outsider who doesn’t belong here?
The idea of being surrounded by people who know Santi much better than I do feels overwhelming. He belongs to a world of cameras, fans and media attention; a world where he’s admired and respected.
I’m just... me .
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, hoping to dodge the conversation for now.
His expression softens, though I can see a flicker of something in his eyes - disappointment, maybe. Or concern. Still, he doesn’t push; and instead reaches out and takes one of my hands in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he lowers them to his chest.
“Take your time,” he says. “No pressure, I promise.”
I nod, giving him a small smile, but my chest still feels tight as I try to focus back on my book.
The truth is, no matter how much he assures me, stepping into his world feels like stepping into the unknown. And that scares me more than I want to admit.
Patient though he may be, Santi also isn’t one to let things go easily, and he taps his fingers against the back of my hand as he blinks over at the television .
“Don’t think too hard, profesora ,” he says softly. “You might miss something good.”
∞∞∞
“Olivia, darling! Come in, come in!”
Sarah’s apartment is a snug haven of soft blankets, bottles, nappies and tiny clothes, and I smile warmly as I step inside. She moves to clear some from the couch so that I have room to sit, but I make my way over towards the other side of the room first.
Who knew babies needed so much stuff?!
“Don’t mind the chaos, will you,” she says, looking more exhausted than I’ve ever seen her. “We’re very much still adjusting.”
The chaos, as she calls it, is surprisingly sweet. Her baby - a tiny little girl with a mop of dark hair and rosy cheeks - is dozing in a bassinet near the window, undisturbed by my arrival.
“She’s beautiful,” I say in a hushed voice. I lean down to get a closer look, but I’m also conscious that I don’t want to wake her.
“No need to whisper,” Sarah says with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been adamant since the day we got home from the hospital that we’re not to be quiet around her, and it seems to have worked: she sleeps well despite noise.”
Impressed, I move to sit on the couch. “Well, that sounds like an almighty success.”
“Thanks,” she says, collapsing down beside me. “She’s a total diva already. I feel like I haven’t slept properly in weeks. ”
We laugh together at that, and I take in the peaceful domesticity of her life now. It’s different from what I’ve been experiencing lately, but in a way, it’s nice. Refreshing, even.
“How are you holding up?” I ask.
“Exhausted, but happy,” she says. She chatters for a while about how her parents had flown over for the first two weeks to help her and her husband adjust, meaning she got to spend some quality time with them, too. “How about you? How’s teaching?”
I smile, leaning back against the couch. “It’s good!” I tell her. “Busy, of course; with the end of the term coming up and everything. The kids are great, though.”
“And Santi?” she presses. We’ve spoken briefly about him over the last few weeks with messages here and there, but with everything Sarah’s had going on, I’ve not really had much chance (or, honestly, desire ) to fill her in.
“Santi is... Santi.”
She raises an eyebrow almost comically. “Care to elaborate?”
I laugh at that. “He’s amazing. Supportive. Funny. But I’m just… I’m not quite sure I’m cut out for this, you know? He asked me to come to one of his matches -”
“And you said?”
“I said… I said I’d think about it,” I admit, visibly cringing as she frowns. “I know, Sarah, trust me - I do. But it’s just… A lot, okay?! The idea of stepping into that world is just… . so intimidating, honestly.”
Sarah blinks at me with a no-nonsense expression. “Olivia Bennett. You have uprooted your life, moved to a new country and started a new career, all within the short space of a few months. In fact, scrap that - it was weeks ! And now you’ve fallen for a man who clearly adores you, and you’re, what - scared because he tosses a ball for a living?!” She cocks a brow at me. “You’re stronger than you think, but if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up letting your head ruin this for you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.
“Listen,” she continues, “this isn’t a commitment. Right? Nobody’s saying that you go to a match and suddenly, you’re a WAG, or something. And you don’t have to be part of the rugby scene or the celebrity stuff if you don’t want to. But what you do have to do is show up for your boyfriend if you want your relationship to work. And if it’s important to Santi, then maybe, just maybe, you should give it a try. You’ve dealt with a hell of a lot more intense situations recently, so who knows - you might just surprise yourself.”
Her words settle over me, heavy and comforting all at once. I glance at the sleeping baby in the bassinet, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, and wonder if Sarah is right after all.
Maybe I am just blowing all of this out of proportion and letting my imagination run wild.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I - fine . I will. I’ll go.”
Sarah grins. “Good. And if you need a pep talk beforehand, you know where to find me.”
∞∞∞
Later that evening, as I sit in my apartment, I replay the conversation in my head. I think about the lingering disappointment in Santi’s gaze when I hadn’t confirmed I’d go to his game, and Sarah’s firm but fair words of encouragement swirl around my mind.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is another one of those moments where I need to step outside of my comfort zone and take a chance, but also remember that I’ve dealt with far scarier things this year.
I pick up my phone and text him before I can overthink it.
I’ll come to your match.
Maybe it’s a little too harsh. Perhaps I should have said something else - thrown an emoji there, or something.
His reply comes almost instantly, though, so it’s too late to go back now.
You just made my week, mi cielo.