Chapter Twenty-One
“R emind me again why I’m going through with this?”
I stand in front of my open wardrobe, my hands on my hips and my stomach tying itself into knots. Santi’s match is in a few hours, and the thought of stepping into his world feels far more intimidating now than it did when I’d texted him my yes .
“Because you’re in lo-ove,” Laura says in a sing-song voice.
We’re on a video call, and my phone is propped up in the centre of my wardrobe, meaning she has a head-to-toe view of my body.
“What do you even wear to a rugby match?” I complain, pointedly ignoring her comment.
I’ve already pulled out a number of outfit options and have tossed them onto my bed, not satisfied with anything so far. I want to look nice, of course, but not like I’m trying too hard.
Casual chic, as Laura calls it.
Eventually, I settle on a pair of high-waisted jean shorts, a cropped cream blouse that’s pretty but flattering, and a pair of tan sandals that twist up around my mid-calf. The April weather is smouldering, but I drape a light cardigan over my arm anyway, just in case it’s a little chillier at the stadium. I add gold hoop earrings and a small necklace to finish off the look and sweep a tad more bronzer across my cheeks, trying to keep my makeup light but polished.
Laura wolf-whistles down the phone, and though the sound has me rolling my eyes, I can’t help but grin, too.
I wish she was here with me, though. I could really do with a hand to hold right now.
I glance in the mirror and catch myself fidgeting with the hem of my blouse. I force my hands to still, dropping them down by my sides.
Relax, Olivia. It’s just a match, I tell myself. No one’s going to be staring at you.
Except they might be.
The thought makes my chest tighten again, but I push it down, grabbing my bag and taking a deep breath.
Santi wants me there, and that’s what matters. Nothing - and nobody - else.
“You’ve got this, Liv,” Laura encourages. “You’re going to have the loveliest time. Try to relax, and more than anything, enjoy yourself!” she smiles. “Call me if you need me, OK? I’ll be right here.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. I don’t have it in me to tell her just how much I miss her right now, but somehow, I think she understands. “Miss you.”
“Miss you too,” she smiles softly. “Now, go and watch your man do his thing!”
∞∞ ∞
Exactly on time, a sleek black car pulls up outside my apartment building. The driver steps out and opens the door for me, offering a polite nod.
“Miss Bennett?” he asks.
“That’s me,” I reply in Spanish, stepping into the car.
The interior is immaculate. It’s the kind of luxury you’d expect for someone who plays professional sports at Santi’s level, but I can’t help feeling out of place all the same.
As we drive through the city, I fidget with the strap of my bag, my nerves increasing with every mile. Music plays in the background, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears as we travel further away from my apartment.
It feels like hardly any time passes before we arrive at the stadium. When I came here with Santi a few weeks ago, it was a completely different experience. It was quiet - no fans or press around - and we went through a back entrance, skipping the main side of it.
But today, the towering stands, massive floodlights and throngs of fans streaming toward the different entrances create a palpably busy atmosphere, and I swallow thickly as the driver comes to open my door.
“Gracias,” I tell him, and he nods as he closes the door behind me.
“Enjoy,” he responds.
I haven’t been able to actually speak with Santi since he’s been busy with his team for most of the day, so I re-read his last message for what must be the tenth time.
Go straight to the main entrance and give your name at the desk. They’ll take care of you.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter under my breath, clutching my phone like a lifeline as I make my way towards the towering stadium.
∞∞∞
Although the outside of the stadium is packed out with fans, inside the main reception is actually rather quiet. It probably helps that they have security on the door, checking names on their lists and ticking them off before anyone can actually come in through this entrance.
At the reception desk, a woman in a team polo shirt barely looks up as I approach. “Can I help you?” she asks, her tone clipped and impersonal.
“Yes. Ah - my name is Olivia Bennett,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “I was told to come here? I’m here as a guest.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, scanning me quickly before she glances back down at her clipboard. “And who invited you?”
“Santiago Ortiz,” I reply, the name feeling heavy on my tongue.
That gets her attention.
Her brows lift slightly, and she exchanges a look with the man standing beside her. They murmur something in Spanish that I can’t quite make out before she flips through her papers.
“One moment,” she says, and I watch as she scans through the documents. Finally, her eyes widen and her tone shifts ever so slightly. “You’re on the list.”
Had my heart not been in my throat, then I would have probably laughed at just how audible her surprise is. Instead, I wait patiently as she picks up a lanyard with a badge attached to it and hands it to me.
“Wear this,” she says, clearly not one for pleasantries. “Someone will take you to the box.”
I nod, slipping the lanyard over my head. Though I try not to let her clip tone and questioning looks bother me, the interaction leaves me feeling impossibly more self-conscious. It’s clear that I’m nothing like the people on her list - not someone that they’re used to seeing in this world.
I hardly have to wait at all before a young man in a stadium uniform approaches, motioning for me to follow him. He doesn’t say much, just leads me through a maze of hallways and up an escalator.
When we finally reach the box, he opens the door and steps aside, letting me enter.
The space is spacious and luxurious, with plush seating and a clear view of the field. A few people are already there, chatting and laughing as they sip drinks and snack on small plates of food.
I hover near the entrance, unsure of where to go or who to talk to.
It’s then that one of the women glances my way. She’s tall and elegant with dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she does a double-take in my direction before she breaks out into a wide smile.
“You must be Olivia,” she says, stepping forward towards me.
“Yes, that’s me,” I reply.
“So nice to meet you!” she exclaims as she leans forwards and places kisses against both of my cheeks. “I’m Elena, Santi’s cousin,” she explains, her smile widening. “He told us you’d be coming today. We’re so excited to meet you! Welcome! ”
Her friendliness puts me at ease, and soon I’m introduced to a few others - her husband, a couple of his teammates’ partners, and two of his friends. They all greet me in warm, welcoming ways that have my nerves easing up just a fraction.
“So, Olivia,” Elena says, motioning for me to come and sit beside her on one of the couches. “How are you finding Valencia? Santi said you’ve only been living here for a few months.”
I nod as I sit down, the plush cushion sinking slightly under me. “I love it,” I say honestly. “It’s such a beautiful city. I feel really lucky to be here.”
Elena beams at me, her enthusiasm infectious. “That’s wonderful,” she says. “And you’re a teacher?”
“Yes,” I tell her, feeling a little more comfortable as I settle against the couch. “I teach English at one of the local school’s.”
“That must be so rewarding, working with children,” she smiles. “But you must tell me - how did you and Santi meet?! He’s been tight-lipped about the details, which is very unusual for him.”
I can’t help but laugh. “He was? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”
“ Exactly !” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “That’s why we’re all dying to know.”
I pause, considering how to explain it. “Honestly, we just met by chance. I was new to the city, and we kept bumping into each other. First at a bar, then a café; and somehow, we just kept crossing paths.”
“And the rest is history?” Elena teases, winking.
“Something like that,” I reply, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks .
Elena’s husband, who’s been chatting with one of the others, leans over and chimes in. “Well, you must be special if Santi brought you here. He’s protective about his family, you know.”
“Very protective,” Elena agrees, nodding. “He doesn’t just bring anyone into the circle. The fact that you’re here says a lot.”
My eyes flicker between them, my smile faltering ever so slightly as I take in their words. My chest tightens in a way that’s both overwhelming and strangely comforting all at once.
“Well, he is my boyfriend,” I say, laughing a little nervously.
Before I can say anything further to embarrass myself, a sudden roar erupts from the stadium below, the sound vibrating through the walls of the box. Everyone shifts their attention to the field, and my gaze follows.
“And there he is,” Elena says, gesturing toward the pitch.
I spot Santi immediately, his white and black jersey clinging to his broad frame. My abdomen clenches tightly at the sight of him, a mixture of pride and nerves swirling inside me.
“He’s been in great form lately,” Elena says, leaning closer to explain. “The whole team’s been working hard, but Santi is always pushing himself.”
I nod, my eyes glued to him as the game begins. The energy in the stadium is electric, the crowd roaring with every pass, tackle and try. I’ve never watched a rugby match before, and I quickly realize just how physical and intense it is.
“He’s incredible,” I murmur without thinking, the words slipping out as I watch Santi dart past a defender and send the ball soaring across the field.
Elena glances at me, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, he is. But don’t let him know you said that. His head will get even bigger.”
I laugh, relaxing a little more as the match unfolds. The others around me cheer and clap, their excitement infectious, and slowly but surely, the tension I’ve been holding in my chest begins to ease.
By the time halftime arrives, I feel like I’ve ( sort of ) found my footing. Elena and the others have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome, sharing funny stories about Santi’s antics during past matches. Apparently he has form for running out onto the pitch without his gum shield, causing brief delays on more than one occasion.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Elena says, laughing as she recounts the story. “He might look composed out there, but he’s had his fair share of slip-ups over the years.”
“He’ll kill me for telling you that,” her husband adds with a grin.
I laugh along with them, starting to feel like I belong, even if just a little. The nervous edge I’d been carrying when I first arrived has softened, though I’m still acutely aware of how new all this is.
I sip my drink, glancing out at the field where the players are regrouping. The break has given them a chance to catch their breath, and a few of them are chatting with the coaches, their movements calm and calculated.
And then I spot Santi.
He’s standing near the halfway line, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing as he speaks to one of his teammates. His jersey clings to his broad shoulders, damp with sweat and scattered with mud from his tackles, and even from this distance, I can tell that there’s an unmistakable intensity in his stance .
Almost as if he senses my eyes on him, his gaze suddenly shifts, scanning the crowd before locking directly onto the box.
Onto me .
My breath catches as our eyes meet through the glass. He doesn’t smile, not at first, but I can see his expression from where a camera has zoomed in on his face and has him blown up on one of the large screens.
I know that he can't see me, exactly - not from so far away - but his expression softens all the same, a quiet warmth replacing the focus he’d worn just moments ago, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck.
“He’s looking at you,” Elena says beside me, her voice full of amusement. I glance at her, startled, and she laughs softly. “Oh, come on. Don’t play coy, now.”
“Oh, I - I don’t know,” I mumble, though my cheeks are burning hot.
Elena shakes her head, still smiling as she reaches out to place one of her hands against my upper arm in a comforting, gentle hold.
“Trust me, Olivia. I’ve known him his whole life, and I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”
Her words stick with me as the players return to the field for the second half. The roar of the crowd picks up again, and I find myself watching Santi even more closely, my heart swelling with pride.