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 match begins with an explosive energy that leaves no room for distraction.
Every pass, every tackle, every near miss has the crowd on the edge of their seats. Sarah and I are no exception, leaning forward in unison as the action unfolds.
When Santi breaks through the opposition’s defense and scores a try, the stadium erupts. The noise is deafening, the cheers vibrating through the glass as fans leap to their feet in celebration.
Sarah grabs my arm, practically shouting in excitement.
“Did you see that? He’s amazing!”
I can only nod, my heart swelling with pride.
This might be Santi’s world, but for the first time, I feel like I’m truly a part of it.
By the time the final whistle blows and Santi’s team emerges victorious, the energy in the stadium has reached a fever pitch. As the crowd begins to dissipate, Sarah and I are escorted down to the players’ area by a staff member where we find Santi waiting for us.
He’s still in his kit, his hair damp with sweat and mud streaked over his arms, but his smile is wide and triumphant.
“You were incredible!” Sarah gushes, throwing her arms around him without hesitation.
Santi laughs, clearly taken aback but amused.
“Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot.” He turns to me, his smile softening. “And you? Did you enjoy it?”
I step closer, placing a hand on his arm as I lean in to kiss his cheek. I’m not quite as unbothered by the sweat and mud combination as Sarah is.
“You were amazing, Santi,” I tell him.
His green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. In that instant, it’s just the two of us - and for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this world of his isn’t so far from mine after all.
∞∞∞
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the warm light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Santi’s bedroom, casting a golden glow over the sleek furniture and soft, neutral tones. He must have opened the remote-controlled blinds, but I won’t complain - it’s a pleasant change from waking up to the dull, cloudy skies back in England.
The second thing I notice is my phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand, a relentless vibration that pulled me from my sleepy haze in the first place.
I groan, reaching for it as it buzzes again.
A quick swipe reveals dozens of notifications: instagram, news alerts and text messages. My stomach sinks as I realise what’s happening.
Olivia Bennett and Rugby Star Santiago Ortiz Make It Official?
Ortiz’s Mystery Woman Spotted in VIP Box.
Is This the New Power Couple of the Sports World?
The headlines blur together as I scroll, my face growing hotter with every word. There are photos of Sarah and I at Santi’s match yesterday, tucked away nicely within the security of the small private box. There are some photos of Santi scoring his try, too, and even one of us leaving the stadium hand-in-hand once he’d showered and freshened up, his muscular arm slung protectively over my shoulders.
The comments on the articles and photos are a mix of admiration, speculation, and outright nosiness.
I set the phone down, exhaling sharply.
“Not again.”
Before I can sink too far into my thoughts, the scent of roses pulls my attention. I turn, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of a massive bouquet of white roses on the table across the room.
I don’t know how I’d missed them. The arrangement is stunning, the blooms so perfectly arranged that they look almost too beautiful to be real.
Sliding out of bed, I pad quietly over towards them, my fingers brushing against the soft petals. There’s a small card tucked into the bouquet.
For Olivia, my love,
Because you make each day brighter.
Yours always,
Santi.
My chest tightens, and despite the chaos on my phone, I can’t help but smile.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention, and I turn to see Santi emerging from the kitchen, two steaming cups in hand. No doubt one of them is a coffee for himself and a tea for me.
He’s dressed casually in a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt, looking unfairly handsome with his mop of dark hair slightly tousled and his green eyes wide and sharp.
“Good morning, my love,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep as he sets the mugs down on one of the bedside tables.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended. I gesture to the roses. “These are beautiful, Santi. Thank you.”
He steps closer, his large hand raising up towards my face so that he can brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I smile as his fingertips ghost over my jawline in a gentle, tender caress.
“Well, what can I say? You are a beautiful woman, which means that you deserve something beautiful to wake up to every day. It’s the least I could do for you, really”