Page 48 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Catalina

Breathing has become easier than it has been in years.

After winning Roland Garros and losing the German Open, I went on to win Wimbledon, too. Layla and I were in the final together, and I won it in two sets.

It was amazing.

Santi’s ankle has been doing much better, and he’s planning on going back to playing tournaments after a couple more weeks of physiotherapy.

The season is still long, but three Grand Slams are already done, which means the last one will be the US Open and a few more WTA tournaments, ATP for Santiago.

My boyfriend and I have been doing really well together, too.

More than well. Being with Santi is Earth-shatteringly incredible.

In every way. Emotionally and physically.

He fulfills all of my needs in a single breath, and I can’t help but glue myself to his side whenever we’re together, which is easy considering he’s never more than a step away from me when I’m close to him.

He gives me space if or when I need it, but otherwise, he’s not ashamed in the least to show everyone that he could spend all of his time with me without ever getting bored.

I’m happy.

Every part of my life has found a rhythm I’m truly content with, and while I know it won’t last forever, some things always fall out of balance, I won’t worry about that. Life is all about living in the moment, not to miss the little things.

Or the big things like meeting Valentina Romana and doing hot laps with her around the Monaco circuit, only a couple of days before she’s racing in the Monaco Grand Prix.

Ever since she got a seat in F1, the Monegasque has won her home Grand Prix every single year in a row.

She’s my favorite F1 driver, a complete badass, and a role model to every little girl who wants to make it in racing.

She even opened her own driver academy with Formula One legend Leonard Tick to give kids who aren’t born with privileges a chance.

“Your hands are shaking,” Santi says, and I tilt my head to the side and back to look up at him.

“Well, I’m about to meet the woman I used to have the biggest crush on, who also happens to be my favorite athlete of all time. It’s a lot,” I explain, and Santi starts grinning at my response.

“I don’t blame you. I also used to have a crush on her. Her and her brother,” he replies, and I nod in agreement because I get it.

But then again—

“She’s my celebrity crush. Mine,” I tell him, pointing my index finger at him warningly. Santi grabs me by the hips and pulls me into him, kissing my lips firmly before responding.

“Don’t worry, carino . You’re my celebrity crush. You’re my everything crush,” he says, and I hate that I’ll never get tired of hearing him be so sweet to me. That my body will forever melt into his at the words.

“We’ve come such a long way,” I point out with a little chuckle, and Santi smiles brightly.

“All thanks to a stupid fake dating agreement set up by our managers,” he says, nudging my nose with his in a soft, tender gesture. “Thank you for following through in faking this relationship with me,” he adds, brushing his mouth over mine.

“Thank you for being mine,” I reply with a wicked grin.

“Always.”

His mouth moves back onto mine, but we’re in a rush, so neither one of us lingers. We’re making our way through the paddock. There are only a few people here, nothing like how it would be during the race weekend, and I find myself enjoying the privacy of the moment.

Santi’s and my relationship has been so public from the very beginning, it’s nice when people aren’t constantly watching our every move. When we get to have these quiet moments when it’s just the two of us.

I step on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw as we walk, bringing a full smile to his handsome face.

The sight of Valentina Romana leaning against a bright red Velocità Rossa sports car with sunglasses and a charming smile on her face has my breath hitching a little.

This woman exuberates power, and I feel my feet cement themselves to the ground.

Santiago keeps walking and tries to pull me with him, but I’m immovable.

“Cata, what’s wrong? She’s right there,” Santi says, and I nod several times, swallowing hard.

“I know she is. That’s why I can’t move,” I explain as I study her long, curly, dirty-blonde hair. She’s accomplished so much. Broken down so many barriers.

“She probably can’t wait to meet you, Cata. You are also famously known for changing the world of tennis, you know?” he says, placing his hand on my cheek and rubbing comforting circles with his thumb.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say, looking up at him and nodding even though I don’t feel confident at all. I just feel nervous. “I did do that. I’m cool, right?” Santi chuckles softly, his thumb still tracing circles.

“The coolest person I know, yes,” he replies, so I shake out my arms and take a deep breath. “ Vamos ,” he says, taking my hand again and leading me to Valentina.

Her face lights up at the sight of me.

“ Hola , Catalina. Es un honor a conocerte ,” she says in flawless Spanish, and I can’t help but let out a nervous laugh as I shake her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” I say and cover my mouth, but she simply shrugs off my apology.

“You’re all good. I’m touched you’re so nervous to meet me. To be honest, I was the one who was nervous about meeting you. You just won two Grand Slams and became the number one tennis player in the world. That is incredible,” she compliments me, and I feel my mind leaving my body for a second.

“I think I just passed out a little,” I admit, making Valentina laugh again, a sound I think angels would make.

“Hey, Val, do you mind telling me where you put Nevaeh’s other camera bag?

She’s looking for it,” another familiar voice says, and I turn my head to see Adrian Romana approaching.

He looks exactly like his sister, only much taller and with sharper features.

Beside him is Gabriel Biancheri, who is paying me no mind as he smiles at his wife, Valentina, and honestly, I can’t blame him.

“It’s in my room, on the chair in the corner,” Val tells her brother, who finally shifts his attention to me.

His face widens in surprise.

“No way! You’re Catalina Sanchez. Oh my God, please wait here. I have to get my wife,” he says before running the opposite way.

“Sorry, he’s always all over the place, but Nevaeh would really like to meet you. She’s a huge fan,” Gabriel explains, and Adrian’s excitement about my presence finally settles my nerves.

“Nevaeh Fuchs, right?” I ask, feeling Santi’s hand slip onto my hip before he pulls me against his side.

“Yes, do you know her?” Val asks, lifting her sunglasses off her face to show me the excitement in her eyes.

“I used to play with her and told Catalina about her,” Santi explains, and I nod in agreement.

Minutes later, Adrian is walking beside his very pregnant wife. He’s practically holding her stomach while she continues to swat his hand away. He looks happy and worried at the same time, and the sight makes my heart swell because I know one day, if Santi and I both want it, it’ll be us.

“Adrian, I won’t break apart, I promise.

She’s fine and I’m fine,” Nevaeh assures her husband, placing her hand on her swollen stomach.

He doesn’t look any less concerned, but he lets her approach Santi and me by herself.

“Santiago, it’s so nice to see you again.

And Catalina, I’m a huge fan. I watch every single one of your matches,” she says more calmly than I greeted Valentina, but she’s probably used to meeting celebrities she likes and having to stay calm.

As a journalist, it’s part of her job.

“I’ve read all of your articles,” I reply, which finally brings a blush to her face to let me know maybe she is affected by my presence after all.

“Not to rush you all, but I have a few places I need to be today, one of those being my academy to meet with Estrella and James, so let’s get this show on the road,” Valentina says, tilting her head in the direction of the car.

We move through the procedures of the pre-hot laps, people telling me it’ll be filmed and helmets being put on our heads—mine by Santi, and Valentina’s by her husband, even though I know she doesn’t need help—before we get to sit in the car.

Valentina wastes no time driving onto the track.

Or more accurately, flying across it. I barely hold back my amazed screams as she drifts into the corner.

Adrenaline and fear go through me in tidal waves, but I welcome the odd sensation.

The F1 champion beside me even starts talking to me to distract me, and we end up having an easy, genuine conversation about our careers.

“You know, I may drive three hundred-something kilometers on the track, but you actually serve… about a hundred and seventy kilometers on average?” she asks, and I smile as awe settles in my chest because she’s right.

The speed of my serve is fucking impressive when comparing it to the speed of a sports car.

“Yeah, that’s my average. My fastest ever was two hundred and twenty,” I reply, grinning when she lets out a whistle.

By the time everything is done and I get out of the car, happiness has consumed every part of me. I run straight toward Santi, without whom this would have never happened, and I kiss him deeply, fully, until I’m sure I’ve shown my gratitude through my kiss.

Then I add, “Thank you so much for the best birthday present ever.” He kisses me again, lingering longer than I did.

“The best for now. I’ll outdo myself next year, and then the year after, and then the year after,” he promises, pressing his forehead to mine.

“A lifetime full of you outdoing yourself every year sounds perfect to me.”

“A lifetime with you by my side sounds perfect for me,” he adds, and I melt fully against his body as he presses his mouth back onto mine and wraps his arms around me.

“I love you, mi corazón .”

“I love you, mi mariquita .”

The End