Page 17 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Catalina

“What are we doing here?” I ask Santiago as he leads me to a restaurant/café called Higher Ground. He went so far as to reserve a table for us, and as nice as it is, I don’t see any paparazzi to photograph us anywhere.

“We’re here because this is our first stop of the day. And because when you get hungry, you get even angrier with me, and I’m trying to avoid that,” he says right as a waitress places our cups of cappuccino in front of us, as well as the food we ordered.

“How thoughtful. Is our next stop a session of kickboxing so I refrain from kicking you, too?” His mouth stretches into one of his easy-going smiles, but he doesn’t respond as he takes a bite of his Eggs Benedict.

“Eat, mariquita . We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” he says, gesturing toward my matching eggs benedict.

I ordered first, and the jerk copied me.

“Of course, mi corazón ,” I reply through gritted teeth and a fake smile. That only makes him chuckle.

Santiago doesn’t stop talking the whole time we’re eating.

He tells me about his matches and his strategy, and I listen even when I tell myself not to.

What he’s saying is interesting, and it’s giving me ideas for my own strategy for my match the day after tomorrow.

I curse him as I ask more questions, keeping the conversation going.

I don’t want to enjoy talking to Santiago.

The silence that usually sat between us was much more comfortable than this awful feeling in my chest every time I realize how… nice this feels.

“Are you finished eating?” he eventually asks, leaning back in his seat.

I really do hate him for how effortlessly gorgeous he is. His brown hair is perfectly fluffy and styled, his amber eyes are practically sparkling with happiness, and his chiseled features and full, plump lips have me even more drawn to his face.

“Yes,” I finally manage to reply when I remember he asked me a question. My face heats in embarrassment, but for once, Santi is kind enough not to point it out and make me even more aware of how painfully attracted I’ve always been to him.

“I have an exciting day planned, but if at any point, it gets too much for you, we can stop and do something else,” he promises, leaning forward again to rummage around in the backpack he brought.

“You’re scaring me, Santiago,” I say with a breathless laugh because, while I’m not scared, I am nervous.

He doesn’t say anything else, merely slides an envelope toward me.

On the back of it, it says, “Catalina’s 24th Birthday Scavenger Hunt.”

I deflate in my seat, sinking into it as tears shoot into my eyes.

Every single birthday with my mother replays itself in my head, until my heart is crying, forcing more tears into my eyes.

It isn't necessarily in a bad way. It’s nostalgic, and while that is a bittersweet feeling in itself, I don’t hate it.

It makes me feel a little closer to the woman I loved with my whole heart and have been missing for so long.

“Hate it?” Santi asks softly, and I notice one of his hands has reached across the table in an offering. If I want his comfort, he will give it to me. If I don’t want it, at least it’ll be there in case I change my mind.

“Not even a little,” I admit, placing the letter on my chest and taking a deep breath to fight back the tears.

“It’s probably not as good as Doralis’ scavenger hunts used to be, but I did my best.”

His hand is still there, between us, and maybe it’s because I miss Mamá so much.

Maybe it’s because he did something so wonderful for me, something I’ve been missing since she passed away.

But I reach out and lace my fingers through his, letting his rough, callused hand spread warmth through my very system.

Playing as much tennis as we do, it’s difficult not to have rough hands.

To have calluses at the top of our palms. I used to be so insecure about it, but Santi makes me feel a little less alone that way.

He makes me feel less alone in many ways.

“Thank you for this, Santiago,” I manage to croak out, and he gives me a comforting smile.

“You’re welcome, Catalina.”

He urges me to open the letter for my first clue, and I can’t help but smile as I do. He chose a paper with sea turtles painted along the borders, and I feel my stomach tumble all over again because he remembers.

He met my mamá once, but he remembers what she used to say because I told him one time when we were still kids.

On the paper inside, he wrote:

I’m colorful and come in various shapes, sizes, and forms. I’m happiest when the sun finds me and when I get to drink lots of water. You can find me in a special place where people stroll past me all day, admiring me.

It’s an easy enough clue, but I don’t mind. I like that the first one is easy because I know the next ones might get harder.

“Give me your keys. I’m driving,” I say and hold out my hand. Santi doesn’t waste a second to place it in the palm of my hand, smiling when he realizes I’ve already figured out where we have to go for the first clue.

We drive to the Royal Botanic Gardens Victoria here in Melbourne, and I jump giddily in my spot when Santiago tells me to find the second clue, we will have to go explore the gardens. I’ve always loved being in nature, and this is a perfect way to spend my birthday.

I find myself inching just a little closer to Santi without meaning to, simply because it feels right. When he notices, he takes my hand without commenting, and I tell myself it’s because we might be surrounded by people who will recognize us or photograph us.

Not because he wants to hold my hand.

The best way I can describe parts of the botanical gardens is as a jungle you can easily walk through, with paths made by people for people. I admire all of the different types of plants and trees, studying the flowers even more closely.

Santiago and I walk and talk the whole way, and I find myself smiling so much, my cheeks burn. His amber eyes land on me the entire time, and when I see the pure joy in his eyes, I can’t help but return it because this gift is so thoughtful.

“A clue hides in this section, so look even more closely,” he says, and I see him staring at one tree about a hundred meters from where we are right now.

“You’re horrible at this, Santi!” I scream before running to the tree, only to find nothing there.

“Am I?” he challenges once he’s taken his sweet time walking toward me. I place my fists on my hips, staring at him as if that would tell me where the clue is. The smug smirk on his face tells me he didn’t hide the clue anywhere here.

He must still have it on him, somewhere.

“Is it on you?” I ask, but he merely shrugs.

“Put your hands on me and find out,” he offers, lifting his arms as if to invite me to inspect him.

“ Eres un cabrón ,” I mumble with a suppressed smile as I stalk toward him, raising my hands to his chest. Santi continues to watch me with amusement, but lust creeps into his gaze too, making my heart race.

I slide my hands over his arms and back, but I find nothing. He waits patiently, but I hesitate when I reach his chest and stomach. My hands hover over him, my body almost shaking from what I’m doing.

What I’m about to do once he gives me the permission I’m seeking.

“Please touch me, carino . I’m dying for you to,” he begs, and I shiver visibly, something that doesn’t go past Santi.

He snakes two fingers around my wrist, pressing down on my pulse point.

“Does this excite you as much as it does me?” he asks, using his free hand to lift his shirt and then guide my hand beneath it.

“No,” I lie, but when I finally make contact with his abs, when I feel the hardness of them underneath my fingertips, I shiver all over again. My other hand slips under his shirt too, and Santiago tenses, his muscles pulling even tighter.

I barely bite back a surprised gasp, but I don’t have time to celebrate keeping it inside when Santi shifts, making my fingers drop to the V-line that disappears into his pants. My stomach tumbles, and I feel a pulsing very… very low in my body.

I swallow hard.

“Santi, the clue isn’t on you, is it?” He takes another step toward me, his eyes glazed over with desire.

“You haven’t explored my mouth yet. Maybe it’s hiding in there,” he says, his voice hoarse.

He leans down, his nose pressing against mine.

“If I beg you to kiss me, will you?” God, would I?

I do love it when men beg, preferably while they’re on their knees, but everything with Santi is so complicated.

I need to slow things down.

Before I make a mistake.

“For someone who didn’t want to kiss at the start of this, you sure have been taking every opportunity to try and get my mouth on yours,” I say, his breath ghosting my lips, but he doesn’t get closer. He never does. He always leaves it up to me if this is something we’re going to do or not.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, Catalina. Put me out of my misery.” His words make the breath in my lungs turn to sand.

“I think you miss having sex, Santi. I don’t think you want this.”

“Two things can be true at the same time,” he replies with a shiver, making me notice my hands are still under his shirt, my fingers mindlessly tracing his abs. “Do you want this?” he asks as I inhale, taking in his enchanting scent.

I blame that on finding him so irresistible right now.

“I don’t know what I want.” It’s the honest answer, but if I’d known he’d pull away from me a little, I wouldn’t have said it.

Which means I do know what I want.

And that turns my whole world upside down.

“One day, when you know, I’ll ask again, and I hope you will kiss me then.

” He presses his lips against my cheek, then pulls back entirely, causing my hands to drop from his stomach.

“Alright, well, the clue isn’t on me,” he admits with a laugh, but my head is still spinning, and I’m having a hard time getting over the fact that I’m… disappointed.

“Then where is it?” I ask once I find the ground under my feet again.

“Keep looking. It’s in an obvious spot a little further ahead,” he promises and walks past me, still smiling.

There’s a new tension to his body, but I have a feeling it isn’t from anger.

Maybe our moment had the same effect on him as it had on me.

“ Vamos , Catalina,” he says when all I do is stare at his magnificent, round ass.

“ Ya voy ,” I call back, blushing again.

The note ends up being taped under the table we pass, and I only notice it because Santi nudges me in the right direction.

This one reads:

I hold a thousand stories. A thousand lifetimes can be lived in here. I hold secrets from people who have never lived in our world. I hold the kind of love and magic the real world will never offer.

This one doesn’t take me any time at all to figure out either, because he picked another favorite place of mine.

A bookstore.

“Which bookstore is it?” I ask, my gaze meeting his.

“I may have made these too easy. You keep finding out what they mean in three seconds,” he says with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Santi, they are perfect. I love them so much,” I say because I think of my mother’s notes and how difficult it always was to figure out what she meant. I love Santi’s because I don’t think I could handle it if every detail was the same.

This is Santi’s version.

Just his.

The Paperback Bookshop clue led us to the National Gallery of Victoria.

From there, we went to the State Library Victoria, where we are right now.

We can’t speak loudly here, but Santiago keeps making me laugh anyway.

We walk through the romantasy section, my favorite one, and I hate him for knowing that about me as well.

I hate that he put the last note of the day in here.

“You pay way too much attention to me,” I say as I pull it out from between not only one of my favorite books, but two of them.

“I disagree,” he replies, tugging a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His thumb briefly caresses the shell of it, but I stare down at the note to ignore how the tips of my ears are now burning.

If you hadn’t become a tennis player, this is where you would have spent one out of twenty-something important weekends of the year.

I furrow my brows for a moment, not knowing what it means.

“I think I’m going to need another clue,” I say, so he takes a step toward me, handing me another envelope.

I giggle at the two words written on this one.

Vroom vroom.

When I was a kid, I used to go karting with my friend Lucian. For a while, I even thought about getting into racing, but tennis has always had my heart. And suddenly, his note makes complete sense.

“Please tell me this means we get to go to the Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit.” Santi just holds out his hand, gesturing for me to go back to the exit and into the car.

I’m sprinting. Then, I’m almost speeding down the road to get there. It’s seven in the evening now, but I’m too overfilled with adrenaline to feel tired. Santi is still grinning beside me, my happiness making him happy.

Because the race isn’t for another couple of months, the track looks very different from how it does during the race weekend. But I still take it all in, joy ebbing and flowing through me in waves.

“This is the best gift anyone has given me in a long, long time, Santi,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand as it forms an O-shape from pure amazement.

“Actually, I think this might be even better than the scavenger hunt,” he replies, grabbing my free hand to twist me his way, all the way against his chest. He’s holding another envelope, and I take it out of his hand, feeling extra greedy.

Inside hide two paddock passes to the Monaco Grand Prix and a note from Santi saying I will be able to get the hot lap experience with none other than my favorite Formula One driver.

Valentina Romana.

“The Monaco Grand Prix is at the same time we both have a little bit of a break. I thought we could attend it together, but you can take Charlie or—” I cut him off by wrapping my arms around him in a fierce hug.

I know he’ll figure out my feelings for him are changing. It was our bet, after all, but I can’t help it. The tears I was doing my best to hold back all day finally drop down my face, but at least I’m getting my revenge on Santi by soaking his nice shirt with them.

“I really thought you’d be the worst fake boyfriend, but you’re actually pretty decent,” I say, my palms flat against his muscular back.

“I’ll take pretty decent,” he says with a chuckle, and I feel his lips pressing against the crown of my head.

“Thank you for everything, Santi. I’m so happy right now,” I add, because I know tomorrow I can go back to being irritated with him.

For now, he’s done something so sweet, it feels wrong to let our past taint the moment.

“Happy birthday, mi mariquita .”