Chapter Forty
T he rest of the morning passes in a gentle haze, with Santi and I moving at an unhurried pace.
There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet hum of a lazy morning together.
After taking our time showering - Santi predictably making sure that I’m thoroughly cleaned - we eventually make our way downstairs for breakfast, where he whips up a delicious yet simple dish of scrambled eggs, fresh bread, and coffee so strong it could wake the dead.
As we eat, he watches me with an amused glint in his eyes - like he’s got some kind of secret he’s just dying to share.
I call him out on it immediately.
“Okay,” I say, setting down the bitter coffee. “What is that look about?”
His dark brow quirks. “What look?”
“The ‘ I’m up to something’ look.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re planning something. I can tell.”
Santi smirks, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before leaning back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Maybe.”
I huff, already knowing he’s going to make me work for it.
“Just tell me.”
“Nope.”
“Santi.”
He shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “Not. A. Chance.”
I sigh, slumping dramatically in my chair. “ Fine . But at least give me some kind of hint.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto mine. “Trust me, okay? You’ll love it.”
His voice is soft and reassuring, but there’s something in the way he says it that makes my stomach flutter.
I tilt my head, studying him. “That’s not a hint.”
He grins. “Sure it is.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. I know I won’t get anything more out of him, so I let it go.
For now.
After breakfast, we finish getting ready. Without a clue of where we’re going or what we’re doing, I spent extra time and care styling my hair and putting on my make-up. I opt to wear a light yellow sundress and tan sandals, satisfied that wherever we go, I’ll likely be dressed appropriately.
After all, the summer heat is scorching.
Santi disappears for a few minutes to grab something from his room while I gather my things. When he returns, he gestures toward the door.
“Come on,” he says, tossing his keys into the air and catching them effortlessly. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I try one last time, but he just chuckles, shaking his head as he opens the door for me.
“You’ll see.”
With a resigned sigh, I follow him out, the warm morning sun greeting us as we step outside.
We head for his car, and I slide into the passenger seat, eyeing him suspiciously as he starts the engine.
“Can I at least know how long of a drive this is?”
Santi glances over at me, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Long enough for you to keep guessing.”
I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat as he pulls out onto the road, his laughter filling the car.
The bustling streets of Altea - the charming city he has brought me to - begin to fade away as we head toward the quieter outskirts of town.
“Are we headed to the coast?” I ask.
“No,” he says, his smile widening as he finally takes pity on me. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes!” I laugh.
“Alright. Well… we’re going to visit my mother.”
“Wait... what ?” I say, my voice a little higher than usual. “You’re taking me to see your mum?”
He laughs softly at my reaction, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
“Don’t worry - it’ll be great. You’ll love her. She’s been asking about you.”
I feel a bit of tension in my chest at the thought of meeting his mother.
What if I make a bad impression ?
What if I say the wrong thing?!
I’ve heard so much about her from Santi, but I’ve never had the opportunity to meet anyone in his family other than his cousin, Elena. I’ve seen photos of his mother on his instagram, and I know from the things that Elena’s told me that his family has always been important to him.
I also know that meeting his mother is kind of a big deal, and I can’t believe how casual he’s being about it!
“You’re sure about this?” I ask.
He turns to me, his voice steady and confident. “I’m sure. I want you to meet her. She’s an important part of my life, and I want her to get to know you.”
I swallow the nerves swirling in my stomach and nod, forcing myself to relax. Santi chatters away to me as we continue our drive, and I try not to build this up into something huge in my head. After all, he seems relaxed enough about it - if I had anything to worry about, he’d surely be a little more nervous himself, right?
Finally, we approach a small, charming house nestled between the hills. The whitewashed building has a simple, rustic beauty, with bougainvillea climbing up the walls and a stone pathway leading to the front door. It’s hardly a luxury mansion, but it’s incredibly pretty all the same.
I swallow thickly as we pull up into the small driveway, and I take a deep breath as Santi turns off the engine. He reaches for my hand, his grip warm and reassuring.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice soft, yet there’s a slight glimmer of nervousness in his eyes.
I give him a small smile, trying to match his calmness. “Ready.”
We step out of the car and walk toward the front door. Santi knocks gently before opening the door, calling out in a voice full of affection.
“Mama, estamos aquí.”
From inside, I hear the sound of light footsteps approaching, and then a petite woman appears in the doorway.
She’s beautiful, with a warm, welcoming smile. The moment she sees Santi, her entire face lights up with pure joy.
“Mi hijo!” she exclaims, stepping forward to embrace him. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my love.”
Santi wraps his arms around her tightly, and I watch the exchange with a soft smile, touched by the genuine love between them.
After a moment, Santi pulls back, and his mother turns her attention to me. Her warm blue eyes are kind, and she studies me for a moment before smiling.
“You must be Olivia,” she says, her voice filled with an unmistakable warmth that immediately puts me at ease. “I have heard so much about you from my son and also my niece. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
I smile back, feeling a wave of relief wash over me at her pleasant aura. “I am. And it’s lovely to meet you, too.”
She pulls me into a gentle hug, her slender arms wrapping around my shoulders, and after a beat or two, I relax into the embrace. When she pulls back, her gaze flickers between Santi and I, and I can tell she’s studying our connection with curiosity.
“You two make a beautiful couple,” she says confidently.
I feel my cheeks heat. “Thank you,” I reply softly, the weight of her approval already making me feel more at home.
She leads us inside with enthusiastic waves of her hands, and I can’t help but think of how the living room is a perfect reflection of the woman who welcomed us in: warm, inviting and filled with life.
Framed photographs line the walls and clutter the wooden shelves, each one a glimpse into Santi’s past. There are baby pictures - one where he’s chubby-cheeked and grinning, another where he’s barely a toddler, clutching a ball that’s nearly as big as he is. A few faded black-and-white portraits must be of older relatives, and then there are more recent shots of Santi with his teammates and a picture of him with his mother at what looks like an awards ceremony, both beaming with pride.
The furniture is simple but well-loved. A plush sofa sits against one wall, draped with a handmade crocheted blanket, and a low wooden coffee table is stacked with magazines and a small bowl of candies.
It’s not lavish or grand, but it doesn’t need to be. I glance over at Santi, watching the way his shoulders relax the moment he steps inside.
She leads us through the living room and into the kitchen, a space that feels just as warm and inviting as the rest of the house. The walls are a soft, sun-bleached yellow, and the scent of simmering spices and home-cooked warmth lingers in the air.
Copper pots and pans hang from hooks above the stove, and a small, well-used radio hums softly in the background.
The kitchen table is a sturdy wooden piece, slightly worn but full of character, and Santi’s mother instructs us both to sit down at it. She moves around the kitchen with effortless grace before placing a bowl of glossy green and black olives in the center of the table along with a loaf of crusty bread, a small dish of golden olive oil and a selection of cheese that looks perfectly aged .
Santi reaches for a piece of bread almost instinctively, but his mother swats his hand away with a sharp flick of a dishtowel.
“Ay, nino - at least let me finish setting the table first!”
I can’t help but laugh as Santi leans back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh.
“Mamá, tengo hambre,” he complains, his voice teasingly dramatic.
She clicks her tongue but is clearly amused, setting down a glass of deep red wine in front of each of us.
“You’re always hungry,” she retorts before turning to me with a warm smile. “He was like this as a boy, always running into the kitchen before dinner and trying to sneak bites when he thought I wasn’t looking.”
Santi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, instead nudging my knee under the table.
“She exaggerates,” he murmurs.
The mischievous glint in his green eyes tells me otherwise.
I take a sip of the wine, savoring the rich, velvety flavor.
“This is amazing,” I say, glancing between them. “I think I could get used to this.”
His mother beams, pleased, before sitting down across from us. “Good. You are always welcome here, mi nina. ”
The simple words send a warmth through me that has nothing to do with the wine.
As we begin to eat, she keeps glancing at me, her eyes full of curiosity.
“So, Olivia,” she says, breaking the comfortable silence, “how did you and Santi meet? ”
I glance over at Santi, who is watching me with a small smile, clearly interested in how I’ll tell the story. There’s no way he hasn’t told his mother about it already - I smile back, feeling a little bit shy but eager to share.
“Well,” I begin, taking a deep breath, “we met in Valencia. A bit of a coincidence, really - on a rooftop bar, of all places. And then we kept meeting one another.”
His mother raises an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Tell me - what happened?”
“Well, first we saw each other outside of a restaurant in the city - although we didn’t actually speak. We were both with friends, and Santi was just arriving as I was leaving. And then I had gone to a cafe to do some lesson planning when I bumped into Santi again - that time, we did talk for a while. And then, one day when I wasn’t expecting it at all, Santi turned up at the school I work at to ask me on a date.”
Santi’s mother smiles knowingly, her eyes twinkling. “I can see why you agreed. My son has always had a way of drawing people in.”
The conversation continues effortlessly, with Santi and his mother exchanging playful teasing and laughter. I feel myself relaxing more with each passing minute, grateful for how welcoming she has been.
His mother is wonderful, and reminds me of my own in so many ways.
Santi was right: I had nothing to worry about.
∞∞ ∞
The golden glow of the setting sun spills across the front of the house, casting long, dappled shadows over the quiet street. Santi’s mother stands in the doorway, her expression filled with quiet affection as she looks between us.
“I’m so glad you brought her here, Santi,” she says, her voice gentle but sure. “You both make a lovely pair.”
Santi’s hand tightens around mine, his thumb brushing over my skin in a silent message. “Thanks, mamá. That means a lot.”
Before I can react, she turns to me and pulls me into a warm embrace. It’s unexpected, but I melt into it. Her arms tighten around me, her hand smoothing over my back like she’s memorising the moment.
“Take care of my son, Olivia,” she whispers into my ear. “He’s a good man.”
Emotion rises in my throat, sudden and overwhelming. I swallow past it and nod, my voice soft but steady.
“I will.”
She pulls back, studying my face like she’s searching for something. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, and she gives me one last gentle squeeze before letting go.
Santi’s arm slips around my waist as we step off the porch, guiding me toward the car. The evening hums with the distant chirp of cicadas, the air still holding the last bit of warmth from the day.
As we reach the car, he turns to me, his eyes bright with something unspoken.
“That went well, no?”
“Your mother just gave me her seal of approval,” I exhale a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I think I might cry. ”
He grins, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to my temple before opening the passenger side door for me.
“Told you she’d love you.”
A deep sense of contentment settles over me as I climb into the car. Meeting Santi’s mother has been unexpected, but it’s a moment I will cherish forever.
As he slides into the driver’s seat, he reaches for my hand again, lacing his fingers through mine before starting the engine. His smile is wide, full of something that looks an awful lot like pride.
I glance down at our joined hands, at the way his thumb brushes slow, soothing circles against my skin, and suddenly, I can’t hold it in anymore.
“I love you.”
The words slip out effortlessly, falling into the space between us like they were always meant to be there.
Santi stills.
Slowly, his head turns toward me, his expression unreadable for a beat.
And then, just like that, his entire face transforms. His smile softens and his beautiful green eyes shine with something so raw that my heart tightens.
“Say it again,” he murmurs, voice rough around the edges.
I swallow past the emotion rising in my throat and squeeze his hand, my lips trembling slightly as they curve into a smile.
“I love you, Santi.”
A slow, breathtaking smile spreads across his face, and before I know it, he’s leaning across the console, cupping my face in both hands as he presses his lips to mine .
It’s not a rushed kiss, not desperate or hurried or impatient. Instead, it’s slow, almost reverent - like he’s memorising the words I’ve just said through touch alone.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“I love you too. You know I love you more than anything in this world.”
My chest tightens, overflowing with something so big, so profound, that I think I might float away from it.
And as Santi pulls out onto the road, one hand still gripping mine, I know, without a doubt, that this - he - is home.
And I’m never looking back.