Speak of the Devil

Chapter 1

1

Catalina “Cate” Farin

Ten minutes . . .

I lower my phone to the desk in front of me, but this wait is keeping me on the edge of my seat. Staring at a “Top Mortgage Broker of the Year” award framed on the wall, I drag my sweating palms down the front of my jeans. Sage green is supposed to be calming, but I grow more anxious the longer I’m stuck staring at these walls.

Is this deal going to fall apart at the last minute?

Has a red flag popped up on my credit report?

Are the owners backing out of the sale?

I covered my bases, but I still worry that I missed some detail. Stop. Nothing was missed. Not an I was left undotted or T missing its cross. Just like getting into college, earning my master’s degree, and pursuing a career in medicine in a new city on my own, I have this. Like I always do.

But I’m glad I wore my hair in a ponytail off my neck, or I’d be sweating.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Cate,” Ross says, his eyes glued to the paper in his hand as he walks back into the office.

“No worries.” I shouldn’t have wasted my energy stressing. Now he’s back and—why is his brow hanging heavy off his forehead? “Is everything okay?”

He sits behind his desk and glides forward with a tap of the papers to align them on the hardwood surface. “Everything looks to be in order except for one piece.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Though I shouldn’t, I let concern twist my stomach into knots. Buying my first home was a huge step, especially as I was building my career from the ground up. Five years of saving every other penny for the earnest money and down payment, leaving just enough to spend on a good time every now and again, has paid off today. “Hope I’m not about to lose this house,” I joke, which isn’t the least bit funny.

Although he has the courtesy to smile, his gaze bounces from my left hand to my eyes. “Your husband’s financials weren’t in the file.”

“Sorry, come again?” I lean in because, surely, I misheard. “What do you mean by husband?”

Chuckling, he sets down the paperwork and leans back in his chair so casually that I find the briefest of comfort in the posture, like everything will work out. “I would have requested the reports sooner, but I didn’t realize you were married since your husband was never mentioned. Do you happen to have his financials in order so we can submit them?”

I have a solid grasp of the English language, but I can’t seem to understand what he’s saying. In a show of trying to prove my singlehood, I rest my ringless left hand on the desk between us. “Bring what with me? I only brought the check for the down payment, as instructed. Everything else was attached in the email, which you said you received.”

“It was all there except your husband’s assets, bank statements?—”

“My husband? You keep saying that like one will appear.” I laugh, but I’ve lost the humor in this situation. “If I have a husband, this is news to me. Obviously, there’s been a mix-up, and I don’t want to lose the house that I had to outbid eight others to win. Can’t we just update that document and finish the closing?”

“Unfortunately, we’re going to need all the same information you submitted from him as well to close this deal.”

“There is no husband,” I say as panic takes over. “No husband’s assets or bank accounts, no rings, and no exchange of vows.” I take a breath, trying to calm the frustration that’s tipping over on this poor guy. “Ross, there’s been a mistake. Can we correct it and move forward?”

“I can’t until I have all the paperwork. If you had mentioned your husband sooner, we?—”

“I don’t have a husband,” I snap, popping to my feet. “One never existed. I’ve never been engaged, married, nor have I been divorced. No man of importance has been in my life for a long time. I don’t know how to make this clearer.”

I don’t think he blinks for a good twenty awkward seconds, and then he huffs under his breath and picks up the paperwork again to study. “We use state and local records, but I can verify this online.” His voice is even despite basically calling me a liar.

I hold my tongue and sit back down, a little embarrassed by my outburst, but still annoyed that this got so royally screwed up that I’m proclaiming to a practical stranger that no guy has ever wanted to put a ring on my finger.

Ross starts tapping quickly across the keys with his gaze directed on the monitor while I sit tight, my entire future feeling a lot like it’s wrapped up in his research. I tuck my hair behind my right ear and take another breath, this time slower to let it settle the turmoil inside me.

I thought buying a house would be fun, not a judgment on my dating life . . .

Inhale.

Exhale.

A place to call my very own without the assistance of anyone, without needing to wait until I marry. Now this happens . . .

Inhale.

Exhale . . .

His fingers stop, still poised like he’s ready to test his typing speed. Then he hums, reading just softer than a whisper to himself. This is torture. He glances at me, and I catch a little accusatory side-eye as if he’s just proved I didn’t tell the truth.

I feel the cute little two-bedroom, two-bath home with the updated kitchen and large soaking tub slipping through my fingers with every second that passes. Every one of his judgmental slow blinks, the purse of his lips, and the heavy breathing through his nostrils takes me further from purchasing my charming blue home with white trim, a red door, and the orange tree that grows in the front.

Thirty minutes to the beach on a good traffic day.

A lively coffee shop two blocks over.

Two indie bookstores within a five-minute drive.

The home where I planned to start a garden and raise a few kittens is about to be given to the next bidder on the list. I can’t let that happen. “What does it say?”

Turning back to me, he steeples his fingers. “You’re legally married in the state of California, so we’ll need your husband’s financials to close this deal.”

“There must be a different Catalina Farin in your system.”

“It’s not my system. This is public records for the state, so if you’ve been confused for someone else . . .” He’s right, knowing he can’t change what the state got wrong. “This Catalina Farin matches your current occupation of nurse practitioner. There can’t be two, so you’ll need to take this up with them.”

My temper cools as reality sets in, my heart crashing to the pit of my stomach. “Them, as in the state? Go plead my case like I have something to hide. I’ve never been married, Ross. I swear I haven’t.”

“I believe you, but I’ve never had something like this happen.” He looks back at the screen as if he’ll get a different answer this time. “Only one Catalina Farin shows up in public records.”

“It’s a unique name,” I say as if recounting a story from my childhood. I hated it growing up, so I became Cat back then. Switching my mind away from anything that will lead to me having to explain my life’s journey, my emotions begin to well in my throat.

“I’m sorry, Cate, there’s nothing I can do to change the records, and as long as you’re married in the eyes of the state, I can’t hide assets on this purchase.”

Taking a sobering breath, I ask, “How do I clear this up? Where do I even begin, and please don’t tell me to get my husband’s financials again.” The laugh comes easier, the tension slowly dissolving. “Considering I don’t have one and have no idea who the state of California has legally bound me to, that’s not a viable option.”

Ross comes around the desk and sits in the chair next to me. “I don’t have a solution. This is a first for me as well.” His tone is sympathetic, his eyes rounding at the edges as the smallest of smiles squeezes between his cheeks. “Start with the county office where marriage licenses are filed.”

“The county. Got it.” That’s a start. “I’ll leave now, but be honest with me. Am I going to lose this house?”

“There is no clause to protect a buyer in this circumstance, but I’m sure they’ll give you a few more days to get it sorted. I’ll send a message to the real estate agent.”

I stand, taking my phone and bag in hand. “I appreciate it, Ross. Hopefully, I can get it corrected in the system and close on this house.”

He moves back to his chair. “My guess is it’s just a clerical error. Fixed in a jiff.”

“Let’s hope.” I start for the door when a little laugh bubbles up. “If I had known I had a husband, I would have taken advantage of the benefits.” I reach the door and open it, wishing I had thought twice before speaking. Nothing says loneliness like admitting I want to take advantage of someone who doesn’t exist. Real classy. “Instead, I’m tracking down some imaginary man I’m attached to.”

“He’s not imaginary,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. “So he’ll need to fix this on his end as well.”

“What do you mean? He exists in real life?” I close the door and return to the desk. “Not just on paper?”

“There are two names on the marriage license.”

“Who’s my husband?” The words rush out as if my life depends on it. It sort of does.

Tapping the screen, he says, “Shane Faris.”

My head jerks back. “Shane Faris?” My past and present come together slowly in my mind and are quickly followed by images from high school peppering my memories, flashes of flirting, and the kiss we once shared.

Out of all the people in California, how did I end up married to someone I went to high school with? This isn’t feeling so random after all. “Are you sure?”

As if his eyes still deceive him, he squints. Turning the monitor toward me, he draws a line across the screen. “That’s what it says right here.”

“I know him.” I stare at his name, disbelieving what I’m seeing with my own eyes. My chest squeezes as I try to riddle through how this could have happened. “We went to high school together.”

“That’s interesting,” He leans back, rocking in his chair. “If you’re going to be mistakenly married to someone, it could be worse than someone rich and famous. Am I right?”

I can’t even force a laugh, still stuck on marriage and Shane Faris being said in the same sentence as my name. I catch up quickly, Ross’s words hitting me on the head. “What in the world?” I whisper, still staring at the name on the screen. “Shane Faris is my husband?”

“I saw his band Faris Wheel play last summer. . .” His words blur as my mind tumbles through what this means.

What does it mean? “I’m married to Shane Faris.”

“Incredible drummer. Top five of all time . . .”

Oh.

My.

God.

According to the state of California . . . I’m married to a rock star.