Chapter 2
2
Cate
“Sixty-six?”
I snap my compact closed, feeling better now that I’ve touched up my makeup and straightened my hair. The lighter strands of highlights against my medium brown make me look fresher. I stand, push my hair over my shoulders, and cross the dim, fluorescently lit room, every clack of my hard heels echoing across the linoleum.
“Sixty-six,” the lady behind the counter yells even louder this time.
“Hi, I’m here. I’m here.” I hustle quicker and note her name on the tag pinned to her green blouse. “Hi, how are you?”
I’m not welcomed with a smile, but I can almost understand. The lobby is depressing, and despite couples being here to get married, a cloud hangs over her tight gray curls. Her icy-blue eyes shift beside me like she’s expecting someone else. “Only you?”
“It’s just me,” I say, keeping my voice low to not make a scene that there’s been a massive error.
“What can I do for you?”
Without background to fill her in, I land the punchline of the scenario, “I don’t have a husband?—”
“Sorry to hear that. Better you find out now instead of on the wedding day.”
“Huh?” I finally realize she thinks I’ve been stood up. “No. No. He’s not a no-show to marry me. He doesn’t exist. Not in my world?—”
“Oh,” she says, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” The hand falls away as quickly as the surface-level concern from her expression did. “Death certificates are on the third floor. Take the elevator at the other end of the lobby.” Her eyes dart past me, and she calls out, “Sixty-seven.”
“No. No. No. Wait, Roberta.” I throw my hands up, ready to plead my case. “There’s been a mistake. Catalina Farin. You can look it up in the system. It says I’m married, but I never have been. The state of California has a man listed as my husband, though.”
I feel someone hovering behind me. Dealing with this nonsense, I won’t be pressured out of line prematurely. I turn around with my hands up between us. “She’ll be with you in a minute, Sixty-seven.” I nod toward the chairs, short of telling him to scram.
He grumbles but backs up, giving us space.
When I turn back to Roberta, she says, “Mrs. Farin?—”
“Ms.”
“ Ms . Farin,” she starts again, resting her hands on top of one another in front of her keyboard. “If he’s listed legally as your husband, you’ll have to divorce him. We can’t just click a button to remove him. If only we could be so lucky to rid a loser out of our lives by pushing a button.” Her laughter slips in the lobby and echoes. “You’ll need to file through the courts.” She waves Sixty-seven back up. “Approach.”
Whipping my head to the side, I give him the evil eye. “Don’t approach. I’m going to need a minute.”
“Roberta,” I say in a syrupy-sweet tone when I turn back. “There must be something you can do to help me. It’s not my mistake.” I know those are the wrong words the moment they leave my mouth.
Her eyes ice over and narrow, making me feel like the bull’s-eye she’s aiming for. “It’s not mine either,” she protests, crossing her arms over her large chest.
We stare at each other, but I know I’m the one who will lose in the end.
I thought I’d be unlocking my new house and moving in today. Ordering pizza and unpacking. That’s clearly not going to happen now because Roberta has no intention of helping me unless I can produce a man.
I’m left with no other choice but to stalk a celebrity and convince him to divorce me.
Unsuccessful in my first attempt, I return to my car to start on plan B.
Sitting in my eleven-year-old car, it’s a hot box until the air finally kicks in. I pull out my phone to start the online search now that I’m cooling down.
Shane Faris phone number.
Nothing.
Shane Faris home address.
Los Angeles. Not helpful in a way I need, but at least we’re in the same city to deal with this mess.
Shane Faris record label.
Outlaw Records.
Outlaw Records phone number.
“Bingo.”
Taking the wildest chance that I’ll get to speak with him, I call.
“Outlaw Records, how may I direct your call?”
“Shane Faris, please.” The pause is particularly long, making me double-check that I wasn’t hung up on. I bite my tongue and wait a few more seconds before I break. “Hello?”
“I can take a message.”
Disappointing but not surprising. Like I’d really get to talk to someone famous just because I’m married to him and took a stab at calling his record label on the slimmest of chances he’s hanging around the office randomly on a Monday.
I haven’t thought this through. What do I say? Hey, call your wife? Surprise! You’re married? Ugh . Is there a way to make me sound less like the stalker I am? “Is there a better time to call?”
“We only take messages for our clients.”
“Ah. Right. Okay. Can you have him call Cate. C. A.T. E. Farin. F. A. R. I. N.” I give her my number, and we disconnect. If I used her tone as a marker, he won’t ever receive that message. She probably thinks I’m just another fan. I wish it were that easy to explain away.
That’s not my case. But trying to explain that my future relies on having a conversation with one of the biggest stars in music, add in me claiming to be his wife, and I’d probably be reported to the FBI.
It was probably best to keep the message simple and direct. Whether he ever gets it is another issue entirely.
So now what?
With a bouquet in hand, my best friend double steps when she sees me. “This is how I like to be greeted.” I get a tight Luna embrace before she slips in the booth across from me. “A margarita on the rocks already waiting? You do love me.”
“No lime. Tajin on the rim.” I fluff my napkin over my lap. “Do I know you or what?”
Luna takes a sip, closing her eyes and savoring the liquid like it’s been years since she’s had such delights. It’s been two days since we last went out. When her eyes reopen, she grins. “Better than any man ever did. Did I ever tell you how my college boyfriend used to always bring me six-packs of Stella Artois?” She’s not really asking because she’ll answer herself in three, two, one. “He just refused to believe I didn’t love exactly what he did. I’ve always been a margarita girl. I love coffee. He loved tea. I think he was just pretentious.”
“For loving tea?”
“No, the tea wasn’t the issue. It was his collection of bags that outnumbered mine. He had like thirty Prada backpacks.” She shrugs. “I didn’t even know they made that many.”
“And I thought I needed a drink.” I adore her, but I feel like I’m about three drinks behind her when she’s only on her first.
“God, I needed this after the day I’ve had—Oh, here.” She hands the bouquet over the table. “Congratulations on the new home. Why aren’t we celebrating at the new place?”
“Thank you, but I didn’t close on the house.” I smell them before setting them on the table.
“Oh no. What happened?” Her drink is forgotten, but her fingers find the basket of chips.
“There’s been a mix-up with the paperwork. I spent hours trying to fix it but couldn’t.”
Reaching across the table, she gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry. How are you feeling?” As an actress, Luna fills every one of her stories with life, imagery, and big feelings. As my best friend, she’s always there for me—quieter, ready to listen, never throwing judgment around, and caring.
The adrenaline I’ve been running on all day drained away the moment I sat down, knowing I’m in a safe place to be able to tell her anything. “I’m not sure how I feel—numb, nervous, or frustrated by the situation. Maybe all the above.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“You want the long or short version?”
As she reaches for a chip, her eyes widen. “There’s a long version? Is that why we’re drinking at three in the afternoon?” she asks as if it’s odd for us. It’s not. But day drinking is not usually a workweek event since I have a full-time job. The chip crumbles under the bite, causing crumbs to fly everywhere.
“I’m still processing what happened, so let’s talk about you first.”
She’s dusting off her shirt when she replies, “The audition was terrible. I had absolutely no chemistry with the guy they cast as the lead, though I had sex with him three years ago in the pool house after an after-after Oscar party.”
We met at a Hollywood party and instantly clicked. Birds of a feather and all that jazz. We lead two entirely different lives, but we found common ground in the things that matter—friendship, loyalty, having each other’s backs, and dating mishaps.
But four years into this friendship, she still manages to blindside me with some of her wilder stories. “Yikes. That bad, huh?”
“Yes, he was horrible in bed. How am I supposed to overcome that tragedy?”
“Well,” I start, my head bobbing side to side. “That’s kind of the purpose of your job. Pretending.”
She can level me with a look, but she can never hold it and starts laughing. “True.
I didn’t really want the part anyway. I just went because my dad pulled some strings to get me in the door.”
“But you made it past the first three rounds all on your own. It’s a hard business.”
Anchoring her head to the side, she grins, but it’s lacking the joy she usually carries with her. “They were doing my dad a favor.” She takes another sip and then shrugs. “I have a feeling that nepotism has struck again.”
Her dad is one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He adores two things: his job and his daughter. After floundering around a few careers, she said she wanted to try acting at twenty-five. He cast her as a lead in a major motion picture that immediately panned her skills as “self-indulgent acting.”
Self-indulgent? Maybe a little, but they missed the spark she brought to the part. I quite enjoyed her performance.
Luna Daize is hard to deter. She scrapped her team and started acting classes. Years later, she still can’t land a role unless her dad is behind it. She loves the lifestyle he affords her but wants to earn the roles she gets.
She picks up her drink. “Enough about me. Tell me what happened with the house. Give me the long version.”
I’ve debated how to tell her or anyone else. It’s not a secret since it’s only a mistake, but should I keep this on the down-low until after it’s fixed? I need to vent, and who better to listen to my woes than someone who has heard and seen it all in LA?
Waggling my ringless fingers, I say, “I’m married.” Margarita spews from her lips. “Luna!” I jump up, but my arm has already received the bulk of the liquid.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rushes around to rub me down with her napkin.
Batting her away, I say, “I have it. I have it.” This is hardly the first time she’s spewed her drink on me. We’ve made some great memories. “Can you turn away from me next time?” I tease, patting my skin dry.
She turns her attention to wiping the booth but still cackles under her breath. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that.”
Already giggling, I reply, “Apparently.”
“I thought we were opposed to marriage.”
“ You are opposed to marriage. I’ve always been open to the idea. What I’m opposed to are the toads I’ve had to date to find my Prince Charming.” Settling back into the booth, I reach over and pull her drink closer to me while I finish the story. For my safety because if that got her going, the rock star detail will finish her off, and drench me in the process. “As I was saying?—”
“You’re married?”
I nod, acting like any part of this is normal. The mental gymnastics of wrapping my head around what happened has worn me out. “According to the state of California, I am.”
“I’m so confused. I feel like I’ve missed the start of the story.” Swirling her finger in the air, she adds, “Rewind.”
So I dive into the story, not leaving out any details. “. . . And then Ross says, Shane Faris is my husband.”
“Shane Faris?” Her head drops lower, along with her jaw. “The drummer of Faris Wheel, Shane Faris ?”
Grinning like a fool, I reply, “The very one.” All I can do is laugh about this situation now.
She works hard to rid herself of the lines between her brows, but right now, they are out in full force despite her best efforts. “The same Shane Faris who made the sexiest man alive edition?”
As if this is my burden to bear, I try for solemn, but I’m not the actress and can’t keep a poker face for anything. I end up smiling like a jackpot winner. Why not embrace this technicality while it exists? “I’m married to a rock star.”
“Oh my God, Cate. That means?—”
“I deserve the perks of being his wife? Luxury yachts, spontaneous trips to Europe . . .” I fluff my hair. “Spa memberships to use anytime I want?”
She cracks up laughing. “I was going to say that you never signed a prenup, so it’s kind of the same thing. And trust me on the luxury yachting. It’s overrated.” Luna would know, but I’d love to find out for myself one day.
“Technically, I never married him either, so I’m not getting carried away thinking I’m winning half his estate. I wouldn’t do that to him anyway. I don’t want his money. I want my house, and right now, he’s the only thing standing between me and the biggest purchase of my life, my little garden, and the kittens I want to raise.”
“Listen,” she says, scoping out the restaurant as if we’re surrounded by spies. “You need to play this just right.” Her green eyes return to mine, and she quirks a brow. “Sexy. Talented. Top of his game. He has everything going for him.”
“Including a soon-to-be ex-wife.” I hold up my glass. “Cheers to that.”
I’m side-eyed instead. “Let’s think big picture here?—”
“I’m not asking him for anything other than my freedom.”
“Have you seen him lately?” She grabs her phone, ready to prove a point.
“I don’t need to see him except when he’s at the county office sweet-talking Roberta into fixing this error.”
Glancing up, she asks, “Who’s Roberta?” Then she squeals with a bounce in her chair. “See? Look at him!” Between gritted teeth, she grinds, “He’s gorgeous.”
I stare at the photo on her phone, finding myself smiling just looking at him. He really is an attractive man. More than . . . He was back in school as well. I had such a crush but did not have the nerve to act on it.
He did.
I remember the bonfire after graduation, the moon hanging over the horizon, and taking a walk with Shane down the beach to get away from the ruckus of the party. I haven’t thought about that night in so long that it feels more like a dream to me now. Pressing my hand over my chest, I can feel my heart beating faster the moment I recall his lips touching mine.
One kiss. That’s all we shared.
Of all the men in the world, I end up accidentally tied to him. Go figure.
“What happens now?” she asks, picking up her menu like this is totally normal. That’s Hollywood for you. While she decides between the guacamole salad and the chicken tacos, I’m back to spinning, unsure what to do. Or order.
“I’ll wait to see if he returns my call.”
“You called him?”
“Called. Multiple times, but I didn’t want to sound desperate.”
“I think we’re past that point.” Tugging the basket of chips closer, she adds,
“Why rush things? You should enjoy the title of Mrs. for a while.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the chaos of my life.”
“It’s quite exciting compared to your normal day-to-day.”
“True, but I’d rather deal with bickering retirees at Parkdale than be caught up in this mess.” I pluck a chip from the basket, already knowing it’s going to be hard to return to my patients when I’m so close to losing it all. “I don’t need this kind of excitement. I need this resolved, or the house will go to the next highest bidder.”
“Only you would luck into accidentally marrying a rock star and not want to take advantage of the situation.” She smiles from the heart, saying, “You’re too good for LA, Cate.”
“Then why do I always fall for jerks?”
“Because they were fun when you met them.”
“And then they show me who they really are.” The last one sent me an invoice for an Uber because I chose a restaurant in Pasadena, which was too far for him to travel to meet me. That’s his version. My side is that he thought he’d get laid on the first date because he bought me a burger at Hal’s Burger House. I never paid. Asshole . “I’m starting to think Prince Charming doesn’t exist.”
“I gave up on that fairy tale a long time ago, but for you, I hope it comes true. Maybe Shane Faris?—”
“Shane Faris,” I whisper, not meaning to say it out loud as I roll his name around my thoughts. The images of him at the bonfire are still blazed into my memories.
“What are the chances?”
I think about it, toying with the idea of a coincidence. “One in a billion based on his fame. The odds are better, I suppose, that I’ve met him. Still, what are the chances . . .”
Turning to the server, she orders, “I’ll have the chicken tacos with a guacamole salad on the side.”
When a fresh basket of chips is delivered, Luna immediately grabs one, and says, “I can’t resist.” I laugh, though my mind is still on the coincidence that Shane Faris and I were put on the same marriage certificate by accident. Tapping her glass, she pulls me from my thoughts. “We’re having another, right? Because I need to tell you about this date I went on last night, and you need to tell me how you know Shane Faris. You kind of left that very important tidbit out.”
“I took the day off. Might as well make the most of it.” I catch the server’s attention and order, “Another round, please.”