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)
The next day, Sarah and I make our way to the stadium in a sleek black car that Santi had insisted on sending for us.
As the vehicle weaves through the bustling streets, Sarah is practically vibrating with excitement, her face pressed to the window like a kid on a road trip.
“This is unreal, Liv!” she exclaims for the third time in as many minutes, tugging her team scarf tighter around her neck.
She’s already taken at least a dozen selfies, snapping photos of the city, the scarf and me, despite my protests. Still, I can’t help but smile, feeling so comforted by her presence.
When we pull up towards the stadium, the energy is immediate and overwhelming. We can’t get as close as we’d like due to the heavy traffic, so we dive out of the vehicle and walk the rest of the way up towards the main side of the stadium. The roar of the crowd, the rhythmic chants of the fans and the smell of street food wafting through the air create a charged atmosphere that’s impossible to ignore, and we walk arm-in-arm as we make our way through it all.
“Liv, look at this place!” Sarah says. She tilts her phone to snap a panoramic shot of the massive stadium looming before us, its bright lights illuminating the early evening sky.
I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
“Just wait until we get inside,” I say, tugging her toward the entrance.
As we approach the security checkpoint, an attendant steps forward, his posture polite but purposeful.
“Miss Bennett?” he asks, his French accent soft but noticeable.
I blink in surprise and nod.
“If you’ll follow me, please. Mr. Ortiz has arranged for you to watch the match from his box.”
Sarah gasps audibly and grips my arm so tightly that I wince.
“A private box? Are you kidding me, Liv?”
“I didn’t know,” I murmur, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
Her wide-eyed grin is anything but subtle.
“You have so been holding out on me.”
I laugh nervously, trying to brush it off as the young man leads us through the VIP entrance and into the stadium. The corridors here are quieter, more polished - a stark contrast to the chaos of the stands.
I’m relieved to find that, for once, nobody seems to be paying us any particular attention. It’s a refreshing change from the lingering stares I’ve grown used to.
We step onto an elevator before we make our way over towards where the private boxes are located. The journey is brief all-in-all, but Sarah spends every second of it peppering me with questions.
“So, do you sit up here often? Is this, like, his usual thing? Are we going to be surrounded by celebrities?”
“Sarah, calm down,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I have no idea. I’ve only ever been here once, and I was sat in the friends and family box that time. This is just... Santi being extra, I guess.”
“Extra?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Liv, this isn’t extra. This is iconic.”
When the attendant opens the door to one of the smaller private suites, Sarah practically bursts with excitement.
The box is sleek and modern, with a wall of glass offering an uninterrupted view of the pitch. Plush leather seats line the front row, and behind them, there’s a small but fully stocked bar with an assortment of drinks and snacks.
The space is intimate, yet it feels luxurious, like something out of a movie.
“Holy... Liv, this is insane,” Sarah says, her voice hushed with awe as she takes it all in.
I can’t help but smile as I glance around. It is impressive, but it’s also undeniably Santi.
Thoughtful, generous, and just a little bit over the top.
“Well,” Sarah continues, dropping into one of the cushioned seats and stretching out like she owns the place, “I’m officially jealous. And I think I love your boyfriend.”
I laugh, settling into the seat beside her.
“It’s just Santi’s world, you know? Besides, I didn’t know for sure he’d be doing this. I didn’t want to assume.”
She shakes her head, still in disbelief.
“Liv, if this is ‘just Santi’s world,’ you need to let me visit more often.”
As the stadium begins to fill, the energy in the air becomes almost tangible. Even through the glass, the roar of the crowd and the rhythmic chanting of the fans sends a thrill down my spine. Sarah is practically bouncing in her seat, the team scarf draped over her shoulders as she waves it enthusiastically.
“This is insane,” she says again, her eyes glued to the pitch as the players start to jog out for their warm-up. “Look! There he is!”
My eyes immediately find Santi, his figure unmistakable even from a distance. He moves with an effortless confidence, his presence commanding and magnetic.
“He’s so...,” Sarah trails off, searching for the right word.
“Mesmerising?” I offer, unable to tear my gaze away.
“Yes! That’s it. Liv, I totally get it now. Not that I didn’t before, but he’s... he’s really something.”