Chapter 10 Catarina
CATARINA
My husband went with me to my room so I could pick up my Saturday dress and get ready to face the day.
I kept calm as I put on my makeup, but there was no denying the surprise I’d felt at even thinking the word ‘husband’ in a real context.
I had a husband. A hubs.
“What time is your speech?” Dustin asked, leaning on the doorframe of my bathroom.
He had on a fresh suit today, charcoal grey. I wasn’t sure of the day’s dress code. I thought today might be more casual, but I certainly wasn’t complaining about the way he looked. Somehow, even after the night we had, he was poised and ready to rock. It was actually a little infuriating.
“It’s at ten-thirty,” I said, pausing from putting on my eyeshadow.
“Well. It’s not like you had a one-night stand or anything last night.”
I furrowed my brow. “I don’t get the joke. That’s exactly what I had last night.”
He grinned. “It’s not a one-night stand if you get married. Plus, we are a two-night stand, as I told my coach.”
I finished putting on some lotion and then turned to him and shook my head.
“I might have only met you last night, but I know that expression. You’re pissed. Is it because your new husband is a dick?”
I sighed. “I don’t get why you can’t be, you know, a little bit nicer.”
“I could, but girls don’t like nice guys.”
“A nice guy would have at least asked me where to come.”
“What’s wrong with coming on your chest?” he frowned.
She rolled her eyes. “Guys are so simple-minded. It’s like a caveman thing. Must come on chest. Shows I own this girl. It’s such a silly symbol.”
“Okay, so don’t come on Cat’s chest.” He pulled out an imaginary pen from behind his ear and feigned writing on his palm, an imaginary notebook. “Check that one off the list. I’m learning so much about you and we’re only seven or so hours into being married. I think we’ve got a lot of potential.”
“Don’t remind me.”
I breezed past him and under his arm, and I couldn’t keep a smile from crossing my face. Luckily, the corners of my lips didn’t quirk until I was past him.
“Cat,” he said. “I’m just fucking around. Why are you so serious all of a sudden?”
I turned around. “You’re being funny. I get it. I’m just stressed. I need to give this distinguished lecture in a half hour and I feel anything but distinguished right now.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Anything to what?”
“Anything to make you feel a little more . . . distinguished?”
“I can’t think of a thing.”
“Bullshit. What’s your favorite coffee?”
“Why do you care?”
“We’re going to have to keep this ruse up for the foreseeable future. I know we were drunk last night. But I was serious about everything I said.”
“About the ‘until death do us part’ part?”
“No, about this being a win-win situation for us. You need your papers. I need a media distraction. We can make this awkward. Or we can enjoy it. Right now, you’re making it awkward.”
“You’re right,” I said, and he took a few steps toward me, putting his hand on my cheek. “I get like this when I’m stressed. Which is a lot. It also might be part of the reason I’m still not married and haven’t been able to hold down a relationship that wasn’t mostly digital.”
“Duly noted.”
A light smile crossed my face. “I’ll try not to get as stressed, though.”
“That’s so cute.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s cute?”
“We just had our first fight as a married couple.”
I snorted. “I guess we did.”
“So . . . coffee?”
“I like a vanilla latte—not super sweet though.”
He kissed me on the lips. “That’s my girl. There’s a coffee shop downstairs. I’ll grab it, then meet you at your lecture and hand it off. Just try not to get so stressed.” He leaned in and whispered. “Maybe I’ll even ask you where you’d prefer me to come next time.”
I bit my lip and rolled my eyes. “Just when I thought you were actually sweet . . .”
“That’s for you to decide,” he winked as he walked out of the door to my room.
I made it to the lecture hall a few minutes early.
The auditorium where I would be speaking sat about three-hundred.
Today’s topic was bridging the gap between funding and research.
Basically, I had to put next year’s research goals into layperson’s terms, so that people could decide where to put their donations. It was a big deal.
As I sat in the front row going over the bullet points I needed to cover in my talk on my iPhone, I heard people begin to file in. My reading was interrupted when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Psst.” It was Phoebe.
“Hey!” I said.
She took my left hand in hers and felt it, immediately touching the ring. “So . . . that was a real Snapchat feed last night? This wasn’t just a drunken prank? You’re . . . kind of a national story, you know.”
Adrenaline rushed through me, and I recalled our pact. No one else can know this is fake.
I concentrated on how the way my pulse quickened around him was real. So was the attraction I felt toward him. And my O face last night definitely wasn’t exaggerated.
“It’s crazy,” I said. “I realized I’d met him like ten years ago in college before he was even famous or anything.”
First lie. And I was off to the races.
“Seriously? How did you not remember meeting Dustin freaking LeBlanc?” She squinted.
I plastered a smile on my face, and I couldn’t resist embellishing just a little, for realism. “It’s crazy, I know. I guess that’s how love works. You feel like you’ve been walking in the desert for months, and then—bam!—it hits you out of nowhere.”
She nodded, and I could feel her squinty eyes studying my face. “What’s really going on?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s going on?’ We fell in love and got married. That’s that.”
She crossed her arms. “Something’s up, though. You just cringed when you said ‘in love.’”
“Did I? If I did, it was an accident.”
I didn’t like this. I was being exposed to an interrogation—by my friend. If Phoebe was going to give me the third degree, I was even more worried what other people might ask.
Fellow employees.
Bosses.
Most importantly, the immigration office.
What were the repercussions if they found out our marriage was a temporary ruse? I hadn’t looked up the consequences of using a fake marriage to overstay one’s visa—mostly because I never in a million years thought I would actually take Phoebe’s off-handed suggestion and run with it.
“It’s your fault, you know,” I winked. “You were the one who first planted the idea of a marriage.”
“Well, you’re welcome for giving you that great—although totally sarcastic—idea. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
I shrugged. “It’s wild, I know. But, I’m really pumped for a life together with him.” I wanted to vomit in my mouth as I said life together.
Phoebe let out a small gasp. “Who are you, Catarina Vidal?!”
Just then, I saw Dustin striding down the aisle with two coffees. Not like I could have missed him—not like anyone could.
He was tall with stubble and devilishly handsome. The people in the auditorium turned to stare at him as he came in. Most doctors weren’t known for their physiques—not their fault in my opinion since they worked long hours saving lives—and Dustin seemed quite out of place.
“Hey baby,” he said as he approached. I had to hand it to him. He was a fantastic actor. He sounded like it was the two-thousand and fifth time he’d called me baby.
I stood up to take the coffee, and he gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Medium vanilla latte, not too sweet, just how you like it.”
Phoebe’s jaw opened, and I thought it might fall to the ground.
“Hey there,” Dustin said, putting a hand out to her. “Doctor Reynolds, so nice to see you again after our outing yesterday. How’s Chip?”
“So . . . it’s . . . for real?” she asked with a confused face. “I’ll be honest. When Chip and I saw the video, we thought this was a total practical joke.”
Dustin took me by the waist and kissed me.
“For real? Yes, of course. I love the fuck out of this girl. Knock ‘em dead up there, babe,” he added.
I smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
On the podium, I felt extremely lucky to have my notes and the coffee.
I started my talk with an informational overview of where cancer research was going the following year.
From there, I branched off into the true seriousness of the profession and the life and death we dealt with each day.
Toward the end, I had lined up a couple of light-hearted jokes that encouraged donors to up their contributions.
The laughs were much louder than a normal conference speech, and when I looked up, I realized there were more people in the room than there had been for any speech I had given in my career. And everyone seemed to be really listening.
My stomach, all of a sudden, felt rock hard.
I was glad I hadn’t taken the time during my speech to look around the room, though. There were people standing. And cameras. Why were there cameras?
The CSC never had any cameras. Every year was a battle to get people to actually care about the research we were doing. Why were they suddenly very interested?
On the surface, I kept my expression even as the moderator walked out.
“Let’s give a big hand for Doctor Catarina LeBlanc!”
My eyes bulged out of my head as I processed how she emphasized the last word.
LeBlanc.
My name change was an extra detail I hadn’t thought about before this very second.
I cleared my throat and took the mic. “My business cards still say Vidal, so you can stick with that for now.”
The moderator seemed surprised. “Well, alright then,” she said. “We’re now going to open it up to the audience for questions about Doctor LeBlanc—I mean Doctor Vidal’s—talk.”
Not very many hands shot up immediately. After a few moments, a woman in the back, who was wearing a Chicago Tigers jersey, raised her hand and they handed her the microphone.
“So when are you going to get the name on those business cards changed?! Woooo! Love you, Dustin!”
I glanced down at Dustin, who grinned.