Page 11 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

I’m nervous. This is the first time Cata and I are going out, and the fact it’s for a fake date makes me want to run and hide forever. Usually, I’d be excited to go out and find a nice, beautiful person to lose myself in.

I won’t be losing myself in Cata tonight or… ever.

“Let’s get this torturous night over with,” Cata says, forcing reality back into my thoughts.

“With that pessimistic attitude, of course it’s going to be torture.

But if you allow for the possibility of tonight to be fun, it could be!

” I say, packing as much cheer into my tone as I can.

Cata, my little rain cloud, frowns at me.

“Fine, it’s going to be hell, but at least we’ll get to see Isabella Ada. ”

That almost makes her smile.

“Thanks for making this our first date, cabrón ,” she says and punches my shoulder. It’s too hard to be considered playful, but it doesn’t hurt either, so I’m too busy hyperfixating on the fact that she chose to put her hand on me. No matter how briefly.

“You can’t call me that tonight,” I remind her.

“Then let me get them all out now. cabrón , cabrón , cabrón . Okay, I’m good.” I burst into laughter, but Catalina opens her door and gets out of the car, leaving me to stare after her for a moment.

We make our way through security without anyone recognizing us, or, if they do, they don’t approach us.

I got us VIP tickets, so we get to go through first. Crowds make me uncomfortable, so I always make sure there are no lines I have to stand in.

Cata heads for the merchandise table without waiting for me to put my wallet and phone back into my pocket.

I catch up to her with a groan, grabbing her hand once I’m beside her again.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, attempting to snatch her hand back, but I hold on as I smile down at her.

“What do you mean, carino ?” I ask, still faking a smile at her. She rolls her eyes at me.

“Just because we’re dating —” She breaks off to shudder visibly. “—doesn’t mean we have to touch all the time.” Her blue eyes give me a challenging look.

“You’re supposed to be in love with me. Do you remember how you treated your ex-girlfriend when you were in love?” They couldn’t stop touching. Everywhere they went, cameras caught their adorable PDA moments.

And I definitely wasn’t jealous.

“Fine, you’ve got a point.”

Cata drags me toward the merchandise table, her brown hair perfectly bouncing because of the sway in her step.

As soon as we’re in front of the person selling the shirts, hats, tote bags, and posters, Cata leans into me.

I instinctively place my hand on the small of her back to bring her closer while she studies the merch and gasps loudly.

“You want to buy me one of each because Isabella Ada is one of my favorite artists? You’re the best, mi corazón ,” Cata announces to everyone at the stand, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw a moment later.

I grind my molars together, both because I can’t believe what she pulled but also because she kissed me and it’s muddling my brain.

“Of course, my ray of sunshine. It’s my pleasure,” I say through gritted teeth, faking a smile at the salesperson. “One of everything in a medium size, please.”

Cata’s hand pulses on my shirt as she attempts to step away, but I push her toward me by the small of her back, cupping her chin with my other hand. Her breath hitches as I grin down at her, loving the way her skin flushes pink at our proximity.

“I’m a millionaire, Cata. This may annoy me, but if your intention was to hurt my bank account, you’re going to have to try harder than that.” A defiant glimmer enters her eye, and it only makes me smirk harder.

“I didn’t want to hurt your bank account. I wanted to annoy you, so I’m glad it worked.” Both of us are keeping our voices low, speaking so close together, to any outsider it would look like an intimate conversation.

If only they knew.

“ Bruja ,” I whisper, leaning in so our mouths almost touch. Cata doesn’t lean away, even though the grip I have on her chin is as light as a feather.

“ Cabrón .” Her lips almost touch mine as they form the word, and I get a little weak in the knees thinking about what it would feel like to kiss her. “Santi,” Cata breathes out, making a shiver of pleasure run down my spine.

“Yeah?” I croak out, still watching her mouth.

“What are you doing?” She’s still not moving away, and I almost give in. But it wouldn’t be right, not while she doesn’t want my lips on hers.

“Might change my mind about the no-kissing rule,” I admit, caressing the small of her back until she melts into my touch.

“Why?”

“I want to know if it would make you hate me less.” Kind of. Mostly, I want to know what Catalina tastes like. I always have.

“Then kiss me and find out,” she challenges, knowing full well I would never.

Not while she looks at me like she wants to kill me.

“Here you go, one of everything in a medium as well as the tote bag and cap,” the salesperson says, interrupting our moment.

Cata smirks as she steps away, grabbing the bags handed to her while I pay the outrageous sum. I refrain from rolling my eyes as we make our way to our front row seats.

There’s a little skip in her step when she sees how close we are, and I smile at her happiness.

Ever since her mom passed away about ten years ago, Catalina has lost a bit of the joy she used to carry around like a second skin.

It broke something inside of me when I first noticed the change in her, something that hasn’t been repaired since.

But, right now, as she spins on the spot because one of her favorite songs is playing over the speakers, I feel that part of me getting its first stitch in years.

All because I brought her here.

“Come on, Santi,” she says, and I realize I’ve been standing in the same spot, watching her, for longer than I should.

But how could I not?

Cata enchants me.

“We’re so close,” Catalina mumbles as we sit down, wiggling in her seat a little. Excitement wafts off her, and I can’t help but smile as she moves to the edge of her seat, staring straight ahead at the stage.

Along with having a general admission area, Isabella Ada’s concert venue also has seating near the stage.

They’re separated, making sure we won’t be crowded in later while also getting to be in the front row.

If this option hadn’t existed when I was getting the tickets, I’d have had to seat us somewhere in the back, away from everyone else.

“Your claustrophobia really came through with these seats,” Cata says, surprising a laugh out of me.

“What?” I ask, my hands starting to sweat.

“Your claustrophobia. It’s why we’re so far in front and away from the people, isn’t it?” she asks, finally turning to me again. Her eyes drop to my mouth before she catches herself, and I temporarily forget about what we were talking about.

“I never told you about that,” I point out, catching the way she leans forward a little and takes a deep breath.

Is she… smelling me?

Fuck, my heart stumbles at the very possibility.

“You didn’t have to, Santi. We’ve known each other for over a decade,” she replies, turning her head to face the stage again.

We don’t speak for a while after that. I simply place an arm around the back of her seat in casual affection, mulling over her words.

I wonder what else she knows about me that she’s found out by watching me.

“You ask for a picture,” I hear someone whisper from a little way behind us.

Cata’s shoulders shake as she covers her mouth, and I realize she heard the same thing I did.

I play with one of the strands of her hair, but she doesn’t seem to notice because she’s too busy snickering into her hand.

It’s such a wonderful sight, I can’t do anything but stay as still as possible so I don’t interrupt her.

Only once she lowers her hand and rolls her lips to hide her amusement do I say, “I think we’ve found ourselves some fans, mariquita .

” Catalina’s hair flies a little as she moves her whole body to face me once more.

“Should we kiss? Demonstrate that we’re together?

” I ask even though I was the one who said no kissing.

It was me.

She asked me if we should, but I said no. Maybe if I remind myself of that, I’ll stop asking her to put her mouth on me.

“Be my guest, but I should warn you, my lip gloss may or may not have poison in it.” She’s so full of shit, but I love the way she smirks, challenging me.

I dip my head without thinking. My lips are so close to hers, my nose brushing over hers in a playful sort of way that has her breathing hitching.

The thought of her not moving away because she has to be here, because this is the image we have to uphold, has me placing a kiss on her cheek instead of her lips.

She doesn’t trust me yet, and Cata needs trust to be touched intimately, even if it’s something as simple as a kiss.

Then again, I doubt kissing Catalina is anything but simple.

“Catalina Sanchez? We’re so sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a picture with us?

We’re huge fans,” the person, whose voice I heard only minutes ago, asks, their breathing fast and uneven.

They’re obviously nervous, but my fake girlfriend has this energy about her that puts people at ease.

“Of course. Santiago will take it,” she assures both fans before standing up to get in the middle of them, smirking in a way that lets me know she’s enjoying the fact that they recognized her but not me.

“Well, I think they probably took enough video evidence for us to be covered by every news outlet in the world,” Cata says after the fans leave and she sits back down beside me.

“Then we can finally make it social media official, too, and Charlie and Carlos will be happy.” I place my arm around the back of her chair again, continuing to play with her hair.

“Yeah,” I reply, not sure what else to say.

My eyes stay on the side of her face, realizing for the millionth time since meeting her all those years ago that Catalina is physically flawless.

At least to me.

The slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, her slightly bigger-than-average forehead…

she’s flawless. I know she would never agree.

She was bullied for most of her school life because of her broad shoulders and strong body, but I find it just as stunning as the rest of her.

My ladybug has the kind of body that will win her the big trophies.

“Santi?” she says, not looking at me.

“Yes, Cata?”

“Stop staring at me. I’m getting hives.” That makes me burst into laughter.

“Sorry,” I say, forcing my gaze to the stage.

Luckily, we’re distracted by the opening act. Neither Cata nor I know them, so we stay seated, clapping whenever they finish a song and showing respect to their performance even if it's not our style.

However, as soon as Isabella Ada makes her way onto the stage, we’re on our feet.

Cata is screaming at the top of her lungs, clapping as enthusiastically as I am.

The first few songs are fast-paced, and Cata sways her hips to the music in a way that has me watching her with a smile instead of focusing on Isabella almost the whole time.

When one of her slower songs streams through the speakers, I slip my fingers through Cata’s and twist her until she’s pressed against me.

“ Baila conmigo, carino .”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, the desire to voice them too strong to resist. She rolls her eyes but places her arms around my nape, allowing me to put my hands on her hips.

Her fresh, senses-consuming scent fills my nose as I place my cheek on the crown of her head, swaying to the music.

It’s so very difficult to remember that this is fake when nothing has ever felt this right to me before.