Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
I laugh lightly, holding up my phone.
“Well, you’ve certainly given the media plenty to work with.”
His expression tightens briefly, but he shakes his head.
“Fuck them. Let them talk - it doesn’t matter. What matters is us, Liv.”
There’s such conviction in his voice that I feel my worries ease, if only a little.
He glances at the clock on the wall, his brow furrowing slightly.
“This week’s going to be crazy. Training, meetings, prep for Thursday’s match -it’s nonstop. But after that...” He pauses, his green eyes softening. “I’m all yours.”
I smile, reaching up to rest a hand on his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”
∞∞∞
Later that morning, after Santi leaves for training, I sit alone in his apartment with my cup of tea and my thoughts.
The world outside feels distant as I stare out at the city skyline, the hum of traffic below muffled by the thick glass.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not gossip or Instagram comments - it’s a reminder from my work calendar.
Exam season begins: Final exams, Week 1 of 3.
My students. My classroom.
My life before all of this.
Slowly but surely, I’ve been rebuilding that part of my life, and though the whispers in the halls haven’t completely faded, I’ve noticed the looks on my students’ faces have changed. They’re curious, yes -
But there’s also a flicker of pride in their eyes when they ask, “Is that really you in the pictures with him?”
It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
There are just three weeks left until the end of the school year, and I can already feel the weight lifting. Summer is on the horizon, bringing with it the promise of long, sunny days and a more relaxed schedule. I’ll be running the school’s summer languages programme, of course, but without the pressures of exams and strict lesson plans, it’ll feel like a breath of fresh air.
The thought fills me with quiet excitement.
As I sip my tea, my mind drifts back to everything that’s happened since the first time I met Santi at the bar. The whirlwind of emotions, the challenges, the moments of doubt… it’s all brought me here.
Here, where I can wake up to roses and laughter.
Here, where I can balance my life in the classroom with the unpredictability of this new world I’ve stepped into.
Here, where the future doesn’t feel so daunting anymore.
I glance at the bouquet again, the white petals almost glowing in the sunlight. Santi’s words from this morning echo in my mind.
What matters is us.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found my footing. Like maybe I’m not just surviving anymore. Maybe I’m growing.
And as I look out at the sprawling city below, I can’t help but think that, despite everything, I’ve come so much farther than I ever thought I could.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The stadium is a thunderous sea of noise, waves of chanting and applause crashing through the stands as the final match of the season kicks off. The energy is absolutely electric - almost tangible - buzzing in the warm evening air, and from the friends and family box, I grip the edge of my seat, my heart pounding in sync with the pulse of the crowd.
Every chant reverberates through my chest, and the rhythmic stomping of feet makes the very ground beneath us tremble.
The players begin to take their positions on the field, their movements sharp and precise. I can’t help but think of how much they look like warriors preparing for battle. The roar of the fans swells, a wave of raw emotion sweeping across the stadium as the referee’s whistle slices through the chaos.
Santi is easy to spot among his teammates, his broad shoulders and confident stance commanding attention even in the frenzied atmosphere. He stretches his arms above his head, shakes out his legs, and casts a quick glance toward the stands.
For a fleeting second, I let myself imagine that glance is meant for me.
Beside me, Santi’s cousin, Elena, sits cross-legged, completely calm, sipping on what looks like sparkling water. Her dark hair is swept into a sleek ponytail, and she’s dressed in a chic cream blazer that somehow makes me feel underdressed in my jean shorts and team jersey.
“Breathe, Olivia,” she murmurs without even glancing at me. “He’s got this.”
I attempt to unclench my fingers from the edge of my seat.
“I’m fine. Totally fine.”
“You look like you’re about to throw up,” she side-eyes me with a small smirk. “Relax. This is rugby, remember. It’s a game, not a gladiator fight.”
I shoot her a flat look. “Have you seen the way they tackle each other? It might as well be.”
She chuckles and leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“True. But Santi’s tougher than he looks. And trust me - those boys love the drama. A few bruises and a bit of blood just make the victory taste sweeter to them.”