Chapter Twenty-Two
M onday morning starts just like any other.
The air conditioning unit has been playing up over the last few days, so I’d opened my bedroom window during the night in an attempt to let in some cooler air, meaning I wake up to the hum of the city outside shortly before my alarm. I make myself a quick breakfast and head off to school, putting in one of my headphones and listening to music on the walk over.
My students are usually a lively bunch, but there seems to be something different in the air today.
I just can’t quite put my finger on it.
It starts off small. Little glances exchanged between the kids followed by bursts of muffled giggles. Knowing looks shared and flushed cheeks upon realising I’m looking at them.
At the start of the day, I just put it down to typical teenage behaviours. At twenty-five, I hardly consider myself to be old, yet these kids have a way of making me feel as though I’m ancient at times. Although their focus should really be on their end-of-year exams, I figure that they’re just excited about the fact that their summer holidays are quickly approaching and it’s something related to that.
But as the day goes on, the strange energy in my classroom only intensifies .
I notice that the classes are quieter than normal. Usually, the kids are shouting out and chattering amongst themselves, but today, they seem to huddle together and speak in low voices, whispering furiously and being mindful to speak in hushed tones. Others glance at me and then quickly look away, as though they’re afraid of being caught looking.
Even the usual troublemakers seem more focused on whispering with their peers than on finding ways to disrupt my lessons.
It’s bizarre , and by lunchtime, my patience is wearing thin.
“Alright, that’s enough,” I say, clapping my hands together to get the attention of my current group of fourteen year olds. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, it can wait until after class.”
Although their hushed whispers and snickering dies down, I can still feel the undercurrent of something brewing.
I try to brush it off and focus on the lesson, but the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach won’t go away.
We’ve recently been practicing mock exam papers, and so I opt to have lunch in my classroom while I go through and complete my marking. It’s not ideal - usually, I prefer to eat in the communal staff lounge - but at least this way, I won’t have to do as much work at home.
Plus, I get to bask in the peace and quiet for a while.
∞∞∞
It’s during my second-to-last lesson of the day that everything finally comes to a head.
One of the boys raises his hand, which is suspicious in itself .
“Yes, Javier?” I say, my tone a little wary.
“Profe,” he begins, dragging out the word and barely suppressing a grin. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” I ask, confused.
“That you’re dating Santiago Ortiz.”
The room erupts into chaos as my students gasp, laugh, and chatter all at once; their voices overlapping in disbelief and excitement.
I blink, stunned. “Excuse me?”
“It’s all over the internet!” another student pipes up, holding up his phone as if to prove it. “You’re on El Mundo Fútbol. There are photos of you at his match!”
My heart drops into my stomach.
El Mundo Fútbol ?! I can’t claim to know the publication in any way, but for crying out loud - Santi plays rugby, not football!
“I - phones away,” I manage to say, my voice uncharacteristically sharp. “ Now .”
The students reluctantly obey and seem to recognise that they’ve pushed me too far on this, but it’s too late.
The damage has been done.
My mind races as I try to keep the rest of the lesson on track, but it’s impossible to focus. I stumble and stutter unprofessionally over my words, and I can’t even find it within me to smile at my errors when I trip up over my basic Spanish phrases.
As soon as the bell rings, I retreat to the teachers’ lounge, my hands trembling as I pull out my own phone.
It doesn’t take long to find what they were talking about. My face stares back at me from the screen, clear as day, sitting in the box at Santi’s match.
There’s a series of photos of me smiling nervously, talking to Elena, sipping my drink, watching the match; and then, there’s the opening line of the article:
“Santiago Ortiz’s Mystery Woman: The Rugby Star’s New Love?”
Oh my god.
I think I might vomit.
Despite how physically unwell I feel, I still scroll through the article, unable to look away despite the horror that I’m reading. It’s full of speculation, piecing together details from the match and claiming to have insider information about our relationship. There’s even a quote from an anonymous source who says that they spotted us together after the game, leaving the stadium hand-in-hand.
I feel so exposed - like my private life has been ripped open and put on display for everyone to see.
And more than that, I feel humiliated.
My final class of the day passes in a blur. I go through the motions of the carefully planned lesson, but my mind is elsewhere the whole time, spinning with a mix of anger, embarrassment and confusion.
I wait until long after I know everyone will have gone before I leave my classroom and head towards the school gates. The last thing I want is to see anyone - pupil, parent or colleague. Thankfully, the grounds are deserted as I leave, and I can’t help but scan the streets as I walk back to my apartment at a brisk pace.
As soon as I step inside, I call Santi.
He picks up almost immediately.
“Olivia,” he says, his tone calm but tinged with concern. “I was going to call you, but I thought you might still be working. I saw the articles. Are you OK?”
“What the hell, Santi?” I say, unable to keep my voice steady. I know I shouldn’t take it out on him - after all, it’s not his fault that this happened - but I’ve had nobody to speak to about it, and after building it up in my mind, my words now come out with a touch of heat. “How the fuck did this happen? Who told them?!”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “From what I’ve read, my guess would be someone at the stadium. It happens sometimes: people talk and things get leaked. Not to excuse it, of course, and… I’m so sorry, Olivia. I should have prepared you for this.”
I don’t know what I want to do more: scream, cry, or run away.
“Honestly? I don’t think anything could have prepared me for this,” I tell him, my heart pounding as I pace back and forth across my living room floor. “I’m not - fuck. I’m not used to this, Santi. People knowing things about me. People making assumptions. It’s overwhelming.”
“I get it,” he says softly. “But listen to me, mi cielo - this will pass. They’ll move on to the next story in a few days.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You’re a high-flying, famous athlete! What is it they call you - Spain’s golden boy?!” I huff out a laugh of disbelief, still in shock that this has happened. “Some of us have to live in the real world, Santi. I’m supposed to be a professional . Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the phone, and the quiet has me feeling immediately guilty.
“Shit, I’m… Santi, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out. I need some time to process this,” I tell him, my chest tight. “A… a little space, okay? ”
He hesitates before he answers. “If that’s what you need, Olivia, then… of course. I understand. But I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, and I end the call before I can second-guess myself.
I continue to pace the length of my apartment with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself, and after a few minutes of repeating the same steps over and over, I give in to my instincts and pull up Laura’s contact.
I press the video call button, and relief washes over me as Laura’s face appears after a few rings, her bright smile lighting up the screen.
Clearly, she’s clueless.
I can only hope that means the news hasn’t - and won’t - reach anyone at home.
“Liv! How’s sunny Spain treating you? You look... wait, what’s wrong?”
Her smile drops the moment she really looks at my face. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.
I swipe at my eyes, swallowing hard. I knew that this would happen: I knew I would be able to keep it together until I spoke to her.
I just about manage to croak, “It’s everywhere, Laura.”
“What is?” she asks, concern evident in her tone.
“My face. My life. Everything .” I force myself to take a deep breath. “I’m all over these bastard Spanish gossip sites. There are photos of me at Santi’s match - clear photos - and now everyone’s speculating about us.”
Laura’s mouth falls open. “Wait, what ? You’re in the tabloids? ”
I nod, my throat tightening again.
“Yeah. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they know we’re dating. They’re calling me his mystery woman and asking anyone who knows me to give them my name, no doubt so that they can over-analyse every detail of my entire life - as if they have any right to. Ugh, ” I groan, sniffling pathetically before I continue. “Someone at the stadium must have leaked it. And now everyone here knows. Including all of my students.”
My lip wobbles, and I can’t fight the tears from falling down my face.
“Oh, Liv,” Laura says softly, her eyes full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, I’m - I don’t know what to say. That’s fucking awful .”
“It’s more than awful,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I feel so stupid. I was humiliated today, Laura. I’ve been completely exposed, and now all of my students know. What are their parents going to say?! Oh, god - what is my boss going to say?!”
I know that I’m spiralling now, but I can’t help it. My mind is in overdrive, and anxiety is taking over me.
“I thought I could handle being with someone like Santi, but I can’t,” I confess. “I thought I was braver. Stronger. But this is only the beginning, and I just - I can’t do it. I’m not any of those things, and I can’t do this”
“Hey, hey, stop that ,” Laura says firmly. “Don’t you dare start doubting yourself like that. You are brave. You are strong. Do you hear me?”
“No, I’m not!” I cry, the words spilling out in a rush. “I can’t do it, Laura. I’m so serious right now. I’m overwhelmed. My anxiety’s come back worse than ever. I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m drowning . And the worst part is, I chose this. I walked into it thinking I could handle it, but I was wrong. So wrong.”
Laura lets me finish, her face calm but serious. “Liv, I want you to listen to me for a moment, okay? You are allowed to feel overwhelmed. You’re allowed to be scared and anxious and upset. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
I shake my head, fresh tears streaming down my face. “I just… I feel like everything is ruined now,” I tell her. “I was building something here. And yeah, it might have been temporary, but it was a fresh start, and it was mine. But now it feels like it’s all falling apart - like the rug’s been pulled out from right under me, and… Oh, god. I’m not cut out for this.”
Laura’s voice softens, but there’s still a firmness in her tone. “But the thing is, you’ve already done the hard stuff,” she says. “You left behind a life that wasn’t right for you. You moved to another country, started over from scratch, and found a way to thrive. You’ve proven how strong you are over and over again. And I appreciate that this isn’t a nice situation for you to be in - that it’s a total invasion of your privacy, that it feels violating, and that it’s wrong. I get that. But you’ve done so much, and you’ve done so well. You can’t let this be the thing that rattles you.”
“This feels different,” I say. “This feels... bigger .”
“Of course it feels bigger,” she says. “It’s bigger because you care. About Santi, about what you’re building together. About your students and your professional reputation. You’re a loving, caring person; and you wouldn’t feel this overwhelmed if those things - those people - didn’t matter to you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of handling it. It just means you’re facing something new.”
I bite my lip, her words sinking in but not quite settling the storm inside me.
“I just hate that people think they can pick apart my life,” I sniff. “That they can take pictures of me and write whatever they want without even knowing my name. And then when someone finally does tell them - because someone will, of course they will - then it’s just going to be a free for all, isn’t it? And I just… I feel like I’ve lost control of everything.”
“That’s the thing, though - you haven’t lost control. Not really. You can’t control what other people say or do, so you never had that power in the first place. But what you can control is how you respond. You’re still the Olivia we all know and love: the one who takes scary things and finds a way to handle them. You dating Santi doesn’t change any of that.”
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping at my damp face.
“That Olivia feels like a stranger right now.”
“She’s not a stranger,” Laura insists. “She’s just overwhelmed. And that’s okay. You’ve got people in your corner. Me, Santi, your new friends in Valencia. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I told Santi I needed space,” I admit, my voice small. “I panicked, and now I feel terrible about that, too.”
Laura tilts her head, her expression thoughtful.
“Santi cares about you, Liv. He’ll understand. But you should talk to him. Properly . Not over the phone. He’ll want to help, I’m sure.”
I nod, her words making sense even as my chest still feels heavy. “I know. I just… needed to let it out first.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she smiles. “And you’ve absolutely got this. One step at a time, yeah? Take a deep breath, make a brew, talk to Santi, and then figure out what you need to do next. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve proved that over and over again.”
Her confidence in me is like a lifeline, pulling me out of the spiral I’ve been trapped in. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
“Thanks, Laura,” I say softly, my voice steadier now .
“Always,” she replies. “But listen - I’ve got to go, I’ve got a gym class in half an hour, and if I cancel it now I get a fine. Jokers. But please take care of yourself, and if you want me to call you when I’m back, just let me know, okay?”
“Okay,” I promise.
As I end the call, I sit in the quiet of my apartment, Laura’s words echoing in my mind.
One step at a time.
She’s right. This isn’t ideal at all, but I’ve absolutely been through worse, and each time I’ve come out stronger.
So maybe I can handle this too.