Page 101 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“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 nomind 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.
