Page 30 of Noticing Natalie

Huh?

“What?” My nose scrunches up. I’m confused.

“Have you not been reading the commentary about us?” Matthew takes his phone out of his pocket and taps on his screen. “Here, have a look.”

I gingerly take his phone, not sure what to expect.

“The soccer player and the girl next door who has won his heart!” I read out loud. “Seriously? Who wrote this crap?”

He blushes, snatching his phone back and stuffing it in his pocket. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the public—and my sponsors by extension—all love the idea of me and you together.”

The girl next door! My mind trips over this description. They may as well have called me wholesome. Or frumpy.

“I’m not sure what I’d be getting from this? It seems like your problems would disappear, while mine would escalate. I have photographers camped outside the ER taking photos of me while I’m working. Taking photos of me with patients.” Just the thought of what had transpired this morning has my neck burning with rage.

“I’ll handle that,” he mutters confidently, texting furiously on his phone. “I’ll get rid of them. It won’t happen again.”

This takes the wind out of my rage-sails and I sag back against my car seat.

“What you lived through this morning? That’s how I live my whole life,” he tells me, gazing sadly out of his window. “And I know I signed up for it when I joined the national team, but most of the time I no longer think it’s worth it.”

His voice is soft but filled with bitterness, and I ache for him. For this version of the boy who had been filled with guileless dreams of being the best soccer player in the country, not anticipating the cost that would come with it.

“So, how would this fake relationship work?” The question escapes my mouth without my permission and the look of hope on his face as his eyes dart to mine keeps me from pulling them back.

“We’d go on a few public dates, let the media see us out as a boring couple with no drama to fill their gossip columns. Soon enough, everyone will leave us alone.”

I think back to the news segment from the night before and don’t share his optimism. But I also don’t want to add to his troubles. “This feels like something that could go very wrong,” I warn him. “And what would I be getting from this little deal? Apart from a whole heap of unwanted attention?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking pained. “Is there anything I can do for you in return? Anything you need? I know this is a big thing to ask of you, and I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t desperate.”

My heart pitter-patters in my chest as I look into his deep chocolate eyes. I know enough of his character to trust he wouldn’t ask this of me if he really didn’t need me, but it feels…wrong? How can I pretend to date this man? Pretend to be in love with this man. And protect my heart at the same time?

“I’m not sure about this, Matthew.” His face falls. “Can I think about it?”

He exhales deeply and nods. “That’s all I can ask of you, Natalie. That you give it some thought and do what’s best for you. I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you, you know that?”

His intense expression leaves me breathless, and I nod in response. Seeing the back entrance of the hospital now in view, I know our time together is ending, I let out a small chuckle. This is not how I thought this conversation would go.

Once we pull back in next to the dumpster, I stop with my hand on the door handle. “I’ll message you tonight and let you know what I decide.”

He tilts his head at me, hip lips dipping down into a frown. “I know you don’t owe me anything, New Girl. But I really need you…your help.”

I make the mistake of looking at his velvety brown eyes and my heart stutters. “I know.”

He lets me go and I stumble out of the car, my mind reeling with everything he just said. The craziness of his suggestion. Surely, I can’t be considering going ahead with his plan? But then, why does it feel like I am?

*****

“Natalia Helena Pappas Henderson,” my Yia-Yia’s voice booms at me the moment my key turns in the lock on the front door. Uh oh, I’m in trouble. She’s adding my Greek names to the mix. This can’t be good. “You get in here and explain yourself.”

I fumble with the door handle, my nerves adding to my usual clumsiness.

“What is it, Yia-Yia?” I stand meekly in the doorway, far enough away that I can make a run for it if needed. A lesson learned from my youth; always have an escape route planned when faced with an angry grandmother.

“When were you planning on telling me about this?” She points to her iPad open on the couch next to her and I groan. She must have been scrolling through her favourite gossip sites and happened upon my little piece of celebrity intrigue.

“It’s not what you think.” I flop onto the armchair just next to where she’s sitting, fairly certain I can explain my way out of this one.

---