Page 12 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

Manuela is sitting across from me, smirking like she’s having the time of her life.

Growing up as a twin, I’ve become used to seeing my face reflected back at me whenever I look at my sister.

We may not be identical, but we might as well be, considering how much alike we look.

We share the same nose, brown hair, amber eyes, and sharp facial structure.

But as my sister continues smirking, I finally realize why Cata hates it so much when I wear that expression.

It’s irritating.

“So, how was the concert?” my sister asks, crossing her legs and playing with the hem of her shirt.

“That was two weeks ago,” I remind her, but she shrugs.

“Well, I only came back today. I need to be filled in on everything,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest and showing off her trained forearms.

“Alright, so, the media has been posting us everywhere. Clips of the concert have gone viral. Cata and I made our relationship official on social media. We have been training together almost every single day for the past three weeks, and while we are getting better as hitting partners instead of acting like rivals, we’ve refrained from going on any more public dates.

” I take a deep breath before continuing, my eyes trained on the chaos on the table in front of me.

“We’ve had two more mandatory dinners, but we hardly spoke during those.

” Tornado jumps on the couch beside me before hopping onto my lap and making himself comfortable while I keep scrapbooking.

I swear, sometimes he’s more like a cat than a bunny in all of his mannerisms, and I know it’s because he grew up with them in his previous home, but it never fails to amaze me.

Even though I’ve finished my rant and have piled on a lot of information, Manu stays silent, still smirking.

“Okay, would you fucking stop that?” I ask, my little outburst making Tornado look up at me with annoyance in his copper eyes. I stroke his tri-color—brown, black, and white—fur.

“Stop what?” Manu asks, feigning confusion.

“That look. Stop it. I know what you’re thinking,” I reply, but she bursts into laughter.

“Oh, Santi, I doubt that.” Manuela’s vagueness is nothing new to me, but when it comes to talking about Cata, I can’t stand it. I know so little about my own feelings. The least she could do is share hers with me. “You have no other plans to be seen with her in public?”

“I do. We’re going out for New Year’s Eve tomorrow night. Matteo is throwing his annual party, which has gotten out of hand with all the people he has invited, but I’m not surprised. Matteo’s parties always turn into chaos.”

I shudder at the thought of his Halloween party three years ago.

“A party? Papá approved this?” she asks, standing up to cross the space between us, lift Tornado into her arms, and flop back onto her couch with my son while I scowl because she took him from me.

“Yeah, I discussed it with him, but since I’m taking my girlfriend , he was only too happy about it.” I clear my throat before saying, “ ‘I think that’s a great idea, mijo . One last chance to make a statement before we leave for the Australian Open a week later.’ ”

My imitation of our father has Manu laughing so hard, tears collect at the corners of her eyes. I can’t help but join her until I’m face first on the couch. I don’t know how long it takes until both of us sober up, but eventually, silence fills the space between us.

It’s comfortable.

It always is with Manu.

I go back to scrapbooking, all of my tools on the coffee table in front of me. I pick up the scissors and cut out a piece of paper from a magazine Manu brought me from when she was traveling.

“How’s Madalena?” I ask, the mention of her girlfriend’s name making her face fall from amused to irritated. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Nothing, Santi. We’re having problems, but I’m not ready to talk about them yet. Once I know how I feel, understand how she feels, I’ll let you know,” Manu says, locking her feelings away from me.

Papá thinks she’s so perfect, that there is nothing she would ever need to improve on, but I disagree.

Manu never asks for help. She always has to figure out how to deal with her feelings on her own.

Meanwhile, I go to her for everything. When I first started feeling the symptoms of my depression, I went to her.

I asked her what was wrong with me, why I was having all of those intrusive thoughts.

Why my energy levels had dropped so drastically.

When I was first diagnosed with depression, Manuela and I started looking into coping mechanisms for me.

One thing I personally gravitated toward, one thing that allowed me to silence my intrusive thoughts, was scrapbooking while listening to music.

It was both picking up a new hobby and allowing me to set realistic goals I could accomplish.

Half a page. One page if I was feeling energized enough to set that goal.

I didn’t go to therapy or on medication.

It was Manu and I who found things that helped me.

Plant-based treatments. Going on new adventures.

Talking. A lot of talking. And while that may not help other people, it did wonders for me.

I still have periods when my symptoms make getting out of bed nearly impossible, but they’re a lot more manageable than they used to be.

“You know you can always talk to me, Manu. I’m here for you,” I promise her, but she gives me a sad smile.

“I love you, Santiago, but you have to focus on more important things than my relationship. While Cata is fighting for her number one spot this season, you are defending yours. And all of that while faking a relationship. You need all your energy not to crack under the pressure. Maybe some of mine, too.”

Catalina is wearing a golden dress. It’s sparkly and tight and…

Fuck me .

She painted her eyelids in a glittery gold, too. Her lips are painted red, and she added some blush to the apples of her cheeks, making her glow.

My plan was to get out of the car and open the door for her, be a true gentleman, but I can’t feel my legs.

The sight of her in that dress, which was somehow made to fit all of her curves perfectly, has me feeling lightheaded.

And when she turns around to make sure the door of her apartment complex closes properly, revealing that the dress is backless, I feel even more so.

Sucking in a sharp breath doesn’t help the tension building everywhere inside of me.

I wish someone would dump a bucket of ice-cold water on my overheating body.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to actually get out and open the door for me,” she says as she gets into the car. She reaches for my door, which opens upward instead of sideways, shutting it once more.

“I tried,” is the only answer I muster. She gives me a confused look but doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

“Try harder next time, cabrón . Would you let me open my doors if I was your real girlfriend?” I open my mouth to answer, but Cata keeps talking before I get a chance to. “The answer better not be ‘yes.’ I opened every single door for my ex-girlfriend because that’s how it’s done.”

“So why don’t you open my doors?” I challenge, but instead of smiling at my teasing, Cata rolls her eyes.

“Because I hate you far more than you dislike me.”

My heart sinks in defeat as I pull out of her apartment complex and onto the main road.

Silence lingers between us until I can no longer stand it. Until the question I’ve been meaning to ask for weeks finally bursts out of me.

“Why do you?” It’s long overdue to ask that question, and Charlie’s words continue to haunt me.

“I’m assuming you don’t know because that only makes you slightly stupid. If you know and are pretending it wasn’t your fault, then you’re not just an asshole but also the most emotionally incompetent person I’ve ever met.”

What the fuck did I do?

“Hate you?” she asks to clarify, and I nod as my fingers wrap more tightly around the steering wheel. “Do you truly want to get into this before a party where we have to play people who are in love with each other?”

“I want to know why you don’t trust me to touch you. I want to know why the mere sight of me is enough to ruin your day. Most of all, I want to know how to fix that,” I rant, pointing at the street in front of us like it will give me all of the answers.

She waits until we’re all the way at the party venue, staring down at her hands as she answers my questions.

“You left me.”

Cata’s hate for me vanishes to reveal how deeply she’s hurting because of what I did.

“We were in the doubles finals, our school having made it to the top in the country because of us, and you left me to play a singles game,” she explains, making realization set in.

She’s right. I did do that. I had the chance to qualify for one of the biggest junior tournaments in Spain, and it was on the same day as our game.

After I qualified, I didn’t really think about Cata or missing our match.

I was too busy being selfish to remember, and then I blamed her for the tension that was suddenly between us.

I was mad at her for not being happy for me, and she was disappointed in me.

Angry because I left her.

Catalina accused me of prioritizing my career over any goals we had as partners, and for the first time since I chose myself, I realize she’s right. I didn’t remember, didn’t even think twice about it, and I was so mad at her. So upset because she wasn’t happy for me.

Now I know.

My fake girlfriend’s hate for me is justified while mine for her is completely and utterly not.

I hate myself a little bit right now.

“We lost the match, we lost our standing, and we lost our reputation for being the best there is. I looked like an ass, waiting there for you for forty-seven minutes until they called it.” She lifts her gaze, revealing that she’s shut down her emotions.

“You can’t fix that, Santi. You can’t magically take away the resentment I’ve built toward you,” she explains, shaking her head as she lets out a sad laugh.

My hand reaches out to grab her chin between my fingers, keeping her attention on me as I say, “Don’t underestimate my determination, Cata. I’ll earn your forgiveness, and I’ll prove to you that my career isn’t more important than our goals.”

Cata gives me an unimpressed look I wish I could wipe off her face.

“Sure, Santi, and tomorrow, pigs will fly,” she says, leaning away to break skin contact and get out of the car.

Determination fills me as I follow her.

If there is a way to make Catalina forgive me, I’ll find it.

I’ll earn it.

Because, if I’m being honest with myself, all this time, I’ve been looking for a reason to stop pretending.

I tell myself I don’t like spending time with her, but a mere moment in her presence has me smiling almost excessively.

And I’m not irritated with her. I’m always irritated because I don’t know how to talk to her without making her angry.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make her hate me less. I’ll beg. I’ll get on my knees, whatever she needs, because Catalina deserves it.

After what I’ve done, she deserves the world laid at her feet.

Now I only have to figure out what that means for her.