Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Y ou’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 - about us . It’s like I’m not even me anymore. 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.
“Oh, Livvy. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you,” my mum says finally. "I didn’t realise it was weighing on you like this."
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back into the couch, my fingers brushing the edge of the cushion. “It’s been overwhelming. And it’s not just the press - it’s the way people look at me now. Like I’m a thing they can talk about, not... not a person.”
“I get it. It’s got to be a lot of pressure,” she agrees. “But I know you, Liv. You’re stronger than that. You’ve always been able to handle whatever life throws at you.”
I smile at the sound of her voice, even though it doesn’t fully reach my heart.
“Thanks, Mum. I wish I felt as strong as you think I am.”
“Well, you are. I believe in you,” she says firmly. "And don’t let the media define you. You're more than just the headline they want to create. You know that, right?"
I nod, though I know she can’t see me. "I know, I know. But it’s hard to remember that when it feels like the whole world is watching, waiting to see me fall flat on my face. And I’m just… it sounds awful, but I’m not sure I want to keep living under this microscope."
There’s a pause before she speaks again, quieter this time.
“Are you sure that this is what you really want, Liv?” she asks. “This… relationship with Santi, I mean, I know he’s handsome, and that you like him a lot, but if it’s causing you so much stress, maybe it’s time to step back.”
I let the words sink in, a mixture of anxiety and clarity washing over me.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I love being with him. I love how he makes me feel... like I matter. But everything that comes with it - the attention, the pressure, the spotlight - it’s hard to handle sometimes. And now there’s talk about us putting stories out in the media, and about changing the narrative that people have about me - full on manipulation tactics, really - and I just… yeah. I don’t know. This isn’t my world and it’s all just a bit much, I suppose.”
“Then take a step back,” she advises. “Take some time for yourself, away from all the noise. See if it’s still what you want once you actually have some space to breathe. I’m not criticising him, I hope you know that; but you just can’t give your best to anyone, if you don’t take care of yourself first. Not even Santi.”
“I guess you're right,” I murmur, nodding slowly. “Maybe I’ve been so focused on us that I forgot about me for a while.”
“Exactly,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “You need to make sure you’re happy in your own skin, without anyone else’s opinions getting in the way. And if Santi truly cares about you, he’ll understand that. You deserve to be your own person, not just an extension of his life.”
I pause, letting her words settle in. “I suppose that was the whole idea with the change of narrative, but I… yeah, I do kn ow exactly what you mean. Thanks, Mum. I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“I know you will. Just don’t let anyone - especially not the press - tell you who you are. You’re Olivia Bennett, and that’s enough.”
It feels poignant, and I swallow a thick lump in my throat before I speak again.
"I… needed to hear that."
“I’m always here for you, Liv. You know that.”
“I know. Love you, Mum.”
“Love you too, sweetheart. Talk soon. And don’t avoid me again, okay?!”
I laugh softly as I end the call, but once the phone has been cut off, I sit there in the quiet, the weight of everything slowly sinking in.
My mum’s words echo in my mind. She’s absolutely right: I’ve been so consumed with everything happening around me - Santi, the press, the way people see me and behave towards me - that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to just be Olivia .
I need to find my footing again. I need to reclaim who I am, outside of everything else.
It’s later that evening when my phone buzzes, showing a message from Javier.
Olivia, we’re ready to move forward with your first interview. Are you available to discuss the details?
Taking a deep breath, I reply immediately.
Yes. Let’s do it.
The knot in my stomach tightens, but this time, it feels different .
This time, I’m doing it on my terms.
∞∞∞
The next few days are a blur of activity.
The media’s attention hasn’t let up, but now, instead of feeling like I’m drowning in it, I feel a bit more anchored. The decision to take control, however small, has made a world of difference in how I see things.
It’s almost as if I’ve stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
Some stories have been drip-fed to the press, carefully curated to highlight my work and my role in the summer programme, allowing the public to see me for who I truly am - not just as Santi’s girlfriend.
Javier has been strategic in this, picking and choosing moments to share, letting the media nibble at the surface without overwhelming me all at once. He insists that we should take our time, adopt a slower approach and let the interest build gradually so that it doesn’t feel too much too soon.
I’m happy to follow his lead, trusting that this measured pace will allow me to ease into the spotlight without getting lost in it. There’s no rush, no need to dive into the deep end all at once. It feels like a more controlled, deliberate way to reclaim my narrative, and I’m grateful for the space to find my footing.
Santi has been supportive, of course, but I instinctively know that my interview is something I have to do on my own.
He’s not going to be there when the journalists ask me questions or when the world forms opinions about me, but in a way, I feel a lot more ready for it than before. I’ve spent too long in my own head, worried about what others think; but now, I’m feeling much more ready to show them who I am.
By the time Friday rolls around, the interview with a local reporter has been scheduled, and my nerves are tingling with both excitement and apprehension. I’ve spent the last few days reviewing what I want to say, ensuring that the focus remains on the students and the summer programme I’ve been working so hard to develop.
I want them to see me as a dedicated teacher, not just someone tied to the celebrity world of rugby.
As I sit in the small coffee shop where we’re meeting, waiting for the reporter to arrive, I try to calm my nerves by going over my notes. My phone buzzes, a message from Santi flashing up on the screen.
Good luck today, baby. I’m so proud of you.
I smile at the message. He’s always been my biggest supporter, but I know this is something I have to do for myself.
The door chimes as the reporter walks in. She’s a young woman in her late twenties, her hair pulled back in a neat bun and a camera bag slung over her shoulder.
She smiles when she sees me and walks over, extending her hand and introducing herself as Claire.
After some small talk, we settle into a quiet corner of the café, where she sets up her recorder.
“So,” Claire begins, her tone professional but warm. “I’m sure you’re aware that there’s been a lot of media interest surrounding your relationship with Santiago Ortiz. But I want to focus today on something different. I want to talk about you. Your work. Your passion for teaching. ”
I feel a small wave of relief at her words, the interview taking on a direction I can get behind.
“I’m happy to talk about that,” I say, my voice more confident than I feel.
Claire smiles. “Great! I understand you’re working on a summer programme for your students, correct? Can you tell me a little more about it?”
I nod, launching into a detailed explanation of the summer tutoring initiative I’ve been planning; how it focuses on helping students improve their language skills in a more personalised, one-on-one setting. I talk about the various activities I’ve organised, from conversation practice to cultural immersion, explaining how the program will give students the opportunity to grow in a supportive, engaging environment, and also travel, if they want to.
As I speak, I realise how much I do want to share my work, how much pride I take in it.
This is what defines me. This is who I am.
Not just as someone dating a rugby player, but as an educator, as a person trying to make a difference.
Claire listens intently, asking follow-up questions, her interest seemingly genuine. The more we talk, the more I relax, feeling like the narrative is finally turning back in my favour.
She sets her pen down on the table, her eyes focused on me with the kind of interest that makes me feel seen, not just as a subject of a story, but as a person.
“So, Olivia, you’ve been in the spotlight recently, for obvious reasons. But do you ever feel that pressure? What’s it like, balancing your career with the public’s perception of your relationship? ”
I shift in my chair and take a breath, careful not to rush my words.
"It’s not easy," I admit, my fingers gently tapping the side of my coffee cup. "I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect this much attention, especially not on my personal life. It’s been hard, figuring out how to deal with people’s perception of me. They don’t see the work I’m doing; they only see me next to him." I pause, gathering my thoughts, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ve learned that people will talk, no matter what. But the key is making sure they’re talking about the right things."
Claire leans forward slightly, her pen hovering over her notebook. Her eyes are focused on me, but there’s a certain sharpness to her gaze, as if she’s searching for something deeper.
“I understand. But the media doesn’t always paint a clear picture, does it? They see the glamorous side of things, the fancy dinners and the spotlight, but they don’t see the struggle. They don’t see you: Olivia Bennett, the woman trying to balance it all. So, what’s it like? Is there ever a moment when you question your place in this world?”
The question hangs in the air, and I swallow, feeling the weight of it. My heart beats faster, but I know I have to answer.
This is the kind of question I’ve been avoiding in my head for weeks.
I hesitate, glancing down at my coffee cup.
“I do question it, sometimes. I’m not used to this kind of attention, and there are moments when I feel like... like I don’t belong in his world, you know?” I let out a slow breath. “It’s hard to reconcile the woman I’ve worked so hard to be with the one people think I am because of who I’m dating.”
Claire nods, her expression sympathetic. “And how do you deal with that?”
I look up at her, surprised by how personal the conversation has gotten.
This doesn’t feel like just an interview anymore. This feels real.
Raw .
"I focus on what I know. I focus on the work that I’m passionate about. The kids I teach. The programme I’m creating. The things that matter most to me. And honestly, some days, that’s all I can hold on to."
Claire’s pen scratches across the paper as she smiles warmly at me.
"You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished. People want to see the real you, not just the woman in the headlines, and from what I’m hearing today, you’ve got a lot to be proud of."
I sit back in my chair, feeling the weight of her words settle in. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not just part of Santi’s story.
I’m finally writing my own.
But just as I’m starting to feel comfortable, her next question cuts through the moment.
“And do you ever feel like, maybe you’re trying to prove something? I mean, you've not been in the public eye for long - it has to be overwhelming. So do you ever feel like you’re pushing yourself so hard on purpose, so that you’re seen as more than just Santiago’s girlfriend? And is that what’s becoming exhausting?”
I blink at her, startled by the directness of the question.
“I—” I pause, unsure how to answer. “I don’t think it’s about proving something. It’s just that... for so long, I’ve felt like I’ve been defined by him, by his world. And I’ve never wanted that. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this, with anyone caring about my life - but if they do, then I want to be my own person. To be known for what I do, not who I’m with.”
Claire watches me carefully, her gaze assessing, but not judgmental.
"I suppose many would say that it’s a fine line. Finding that balance between maintaining your identity and supporting someone you care about. But from everything you’ve said, I think you’re doing that. You’re here, telling your story. And that’s powerful."
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation settling over me.
“Maybe I’m starting to believe that. Maybe I’m starting to find my voice again.”
As the interview wraps up, I feel strangely calm. More confident, even. Claire thanks me profusely, and I thank her back, feeling the weight of the conversation settle inside me.
This is a new chapter for me, one where I’m not just a side note in someone else’s life.
This is my story. And I’m finally telling it.