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)
Family and friends.
To Santi, that probably doesn’t sound intimidating at all - no pressure. But to me, it feels like a lot.
I can picture it now: the unfamiliar faces, the casual conversations, the questioning glances, the knowing looks between them…
And of course, the unspoken expectations.
So far, it’s just been the two of us. Easy. Comfortable. Private.
There’s nobody here to judge me for being English, or because my Spanish isn’t the most fluent, or because I don’t know much about the game. There’s certainly nobody here to question why Santi’s even interested in me when he could be with any woman that he wants; a woman who’s more glamorous, who’s more put-together, more prepared for that kind of lifestyle.
I don’t want to come across as ungrateful to him. I appreciate how open he’s been with me and how effortlessly he’s folded me into his life, even when I’ve tiptoed around parts of his.
But family and friends… Ugh.
It feels very much like stepping into uncharted territory, and I’m not so sure I’m ready.
In my previous relationships, it has taken a hell of a lot longer before we’ve even started talking about meeting each other’s families, and even then, it’s felt like a big deal. And I get it - if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always have what you’ve always had.
But Santi asking me to do this when everything between us is still so new makes my chest instinctively tighten with doubt.
My thoughts are practically spiralling now.
Because what happens if his family and friends don’t like me?
What if they see me for what I am: an outsider who doesn’t belong here?
The idea of being surrounded by people who know Santi much better than I do feels overwhelming. He belongs to a world of cameras, fans and media attention; a world where he’s admired and respected.
I’m just... me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, hoping to dodge the conversation for now.
His expression softens, though I can see a flicker of something in his eyes - disappointment, maybe. Or concern. Still, he doesn’t push; and instead reaches out and takes one of my hands in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he lowers them to his chest.
“Take your time,” he says. “No pressure, I promise.”
I nod, giving him a small smile, but my chest still feels tight as I try to focus back on my book.
The truth is, no matter how much he assures me, stepping into his world feels like stepping into the unknown. And that scares me more than I want to admit.
Patient though he may be, Santi also isn’t one to let things go easily, and he taps his fingers against the back of my hand as he blinks over at the television.
“Don’t think too hard, profesora,” he says softly. “You might miss something good.”
∞∞∞
“Olivia, darling! Come in, come in!”
Sarah’s apartment is a snug haven of soft blankets, bottles, nappies and tiny clothes, and I smile warmly as I step inside. She moves to clear some from the couch so that I have room to sit, but I make my way over towards the other side of the room first.
Who knew babies needed so much stuff?!
“Don’t mind the chaos, will you,” she says, looking more exhausted than I’ve ever seen her. “We’re very much still adjusting.”
The chaos, as she calls it, is surprisingly sweet. Her baby - a tiny little girl with a mop of dark hair and rosy cheeks - is dozing in a bassinet near the window, undisturbed by my arrival.
“She’s beautiful,” I say in a hushed voice. I lean down to get a closer look, but I’m also conscious that I don’t want to wake her.
“No need to whisper,” Sarah says with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been adamant since the day we got home from the hospital that we’re not to be quiet around her, and it seems to have worked: she sleeps well despite noise.”
Impressed, I move to sit on the couch. “Well, that sounds like an almighty success.”
“Thanks,” she says, collapsing down beside me. “She’s a total diva already. I feel like I haven’t slept properly in weeks.”
We laugh together at that, and I take in the peaceful domesticity of her life now. It’s different from what I’ve been experiencing lately, but in a way, it’s nice. Refreshing, even.
“How are you holding up?” I ask.
“Exhausted, but happy,” she says. She chatters for a while about how her parents had flown over for the first two weeks to help her and her husband adjust, meaning she got to spend some quality time with them, too. “How about you? How’s teaching?”
I smile, leaning back against the couch. “It’s good!” I tell her. “Busy, of course; with the end of the term coming up and everything. The kids are great, though.”
“And Santi?” she presses. We’ve spoken briefly about him over the last few weeks with messages here and there, but with everything Sarah’s had going on, I’ve not really had much chance (or, honestly, desire) to fill her in.