Page 74 of A Follow-Through in Faking
Most of all, I love the way the night paints Santi in a very specific light, dark, yes, but light enough to see his bright eyes and chiseled face.
“Santi, can I ask you something about your depression?” I ask, and he tilts his head down to bring his attention back to me.
“Of course.” I chew on my bottom lip while I think about how to phrase my question.
“Do you know when your depression started?” I ask, and he squeezes my fingers, telling me he’s surprised by my question.
“Not entirely. I…I don’t know. I think I realized I had depression when I stopped enjoying things in life that I used to love. For example, when I went to Christmas markets as a kid, I was always so excited, but then all of a sudden, I didn’t enjoy it anymore. I didn’t enjoy anything. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t enjoying life, and then my anxiety started because I also didn’t want to die. I never wanted to die, but my depression made me think I couldn’t enjoy anything in life anymore. It was a vicious cycle that I spiraled through over and over,” he explains, holding onto me a little tighter as he shares his story with me. “Manu helped me figure out what was happening. We found things I enjoyed. Actually, there is something I can show you that made me realize there were still things I loved doing.”
As soon as he’s finished speaking, he pulls me back toward his apartment. He’s so excited about whatever he wants to show me. Santi brings me all the way into his bedroom, where he gently guides me to sit. He rummages around in his closet before pulling out a box and carrying it to me. He settles down on the bed beside me, the box between us.
“Don’t laugh,” he says, a shy laugh of his own escaping him.
Then he lifts a notebook-looking thing out of the box, handing it over to me. On the front, in letters clearly cut out of a magazine of some sort, the words “Santi’s Private Thoughts” are spelledout. There are pages and pages covered with his, well, private thoughts. A page covered by his dream house. A page filled with his dream car—mine. A page dedicated to all the places in the world he has traveled to and another for all the places he still wants to go.
A page for all of his victories in tennis.
A page for… me.
“Santi—” I start but cut off because I’m not entirely sure what to say.
He doesn’t force me to finish my sentence, simply places his fingers on my chin, lifting it to bring my mouth to his. He kisses my lips, my cheek, my temple, and then smiles down at the page covered with pictures of me and us together.
“That’s my favorite one,” he says, but I don’t manage to reply. All I can do is lean my head against his shoulder and snake my arm around his as he explains more pages of his scrapbook to me.
And it’s the first time I feel it deep inside of me.
Deep in my chest as a wave of emotion hits me.
I’m falling in love with Santiago Castillo.
Again.
Chapter 31
Santiago
Catalinatookcareofme.
She chose me over going to her family.
She organized a date for us.
All of these things are so difficult to wrap my head around. Not because I believe Cata is a horrible person. On the contrary. But it still surprises me when she offers me that level of kindness because I most certainly haven’t deserved it in a very long time.
It’s been over ten days since it happened, and neither one of us has spoken about it because we’ve been so busy training and winning matches at the Miami Open to get a second to be truly alone. Charlie and Papá have been on our asses to focus more on the tennis aspect of our fake relationship/hitting partner agreement, so Cata and I are on the court for so long, neither one of us has energy to do anything but pass out on our beds.
Even when there is so much I want to do with her. While I can still study her as much as I want—I can’t be blamed, watchingCata do the littlest things brings me the utmost joy—I also want to take her on more dates. I want to kiss her until she’s sick of me. And fuck, I finally want to take my time exploring her body, find all the ways her body quivers in pleasure. I want to make her come for the first time, then repeat it a million more times.
Because I’m in love with her.
My father was right. Manu was right. Matteo was right. Thomas was right. Everyone in my life was right when they told me I was in love with Catalina. I was too blinded by my supposed hate for her to see it, but it was never truly hate. It was my heart fearing her rejection, after she rejected me so suddenly when I fucked up, so it convinced itself it hated her, too. It never did. It loved her from the very first moment I saw her play tennis all those years ago.
And I’m a million percent sure it is going to love her until it stops beating.
“Sage is being a very difficult patient, according to Ness,” Cata informs me as she joins me in the gym room where we get to warm up for our finals match.
A smile immediately brightens up my face at the sight of her.
