“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.
“Not sure still,” I said dryly, into the mic. My morning drunkenness was rapidly converting into a hangover, my head starting to throb.
“I think what Doctor LeBlanc—oops, I mean Vidal! Sorry, LeBlanc just fits you so well—is trying to say, is let’s see if there are any questions about theresearchshe mentioned.”
Crickets.
I took a deep breath and summoned all of my available mental energy to stay focused with a straight face.
“Alright, looks like you gave a perfect speech, Doctor L —“ she cleared her throat. “—Vidal! Now let’s get Bustin’ Dustin LeBlanc up here so he can take a few questions with his new wife!”
I felt my body heat rise, as the crowd got up for a standing ovation.
To reiterate: The crowd (standing room only) stood. On their feet. They clapped like they were at a Tony Robbins seminar.
Somehow, music started playing. The lights flickered on and off as the crowd started cheering. Did they have someone sneak in here and set up a light show? Where did they get the lights? This would have been great if I were a rock star. The problem, though, was that I wasn’t a rock star. Today was supposed to be about cancer awareness. I sighed.
Well, at least there were a few more people in the room who would beaware.
Dustin, in his charcoal grey suit and looking fine as ever, strode up the stairs to the stage, offering a few waves like he was the King of England or something.
Smiling, he wrapped his arms around me and swooped me toward the ground like we were doing the finishing move of a world-class tango dance, and kissed the hell out of me.
I hung on to his shoulders for dear life—I had to in order to avoid hitting the floor.
When I registered which song they were playing over the loudspeaker, I opened my eyes, wanting to give my thoughts to Dustin.
His mouth was covering mine, though, and instead of saying anything audible I just moaned into his mouth. My stomach fluttered, and for a split second, the crowd faded away and all that registered was an overheated feeling in my body.
The crowd clapped andwooo’dand after a few seconds Dustin scooped me back up to my legs and raised my hand with his.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered to him out of the side of my mouth. “Do we really need to kiss like that in front of everyone? There are literally cable news stations here recording this right now.”
The applause seemed to grow louder, and there were whistles mixed in too.
“Exactly.” Dustin smiled and moved his head a little closer to me so only I could hear him. “After the video got out last night, we’re in this together, honey. We’ve got to give the people a show. It’s go big or go home.”
I giggled as a stray thought crossed my mind. “It reminds me of that scene in Hunger Games. You know, the part where Peeta and Katniss pretend to be a couple to sell a dream to the people of true love so one of them doesn’t have to die.”
“Holy shit,” he remarked. “It’s exactly like that! And your name is Cat!”
“Ha! That’s true.”
