Fake It ‘Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER TWENTY

Chase

“Ethan! Is it true your whole relationship is fake?” a paparazzo shouts.

The police station door clangs shut behind us. Instant chaos. A mob swarms. Camera flashes explode. Voices roar from every direction. My heart hammers against my ribs. It’s hard to breathe. I can’t think.

The madness has me aching to crawl back into that cell, even after a night of choking on tears and painful silence.

Ethan’s powerful arm tightens around me, and I don’t shake him off. His body is a fortress against the increasingly hostile crowd. Aggressive shouting and shoving bombard us as we fight our way through the swell of the mob.

More questions—a jumble of curiosity, accusations, and vicious slander.

“Why were you arrested?”

“Chase! Tell us. Is he blackmailing you?”

“Are you dating each other just to promote your new movie?”

A burly man lunges, but Ethan deftly maneuvers us out of the way, his reflexes lightning fast. With each move, his muscled chest presses against my back, and despite the adrenaline surging through my veins, I find myself leaning into him, craving his touch.

The crowd inches closer. Microphones jab at my face. Cameras click rapid-fire. I’m drowning in noise and light and bodies. And then I hear a female voice that makes my blood run cold.

“Ethan, she forced you into this relationship, didn’t she?”

My stomach lurches. Thorn in my fucking life, fan club president psycho hose beast from hell, Gail.

Her eyes burn with hate, and she’s clutching a sign with our mugshots on it. Ethan looks like a handsome rascal who got caught stealing hearts (and maybe a few wallets), while I look like I stuck my head in an airplane engine. On purpose.

Ethan’s grip tightens.

Possessive. Protective. Real.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat presses into me. How can he be so calm?

Gail shoves her camera in my face and snarls, “We all know the truth. You used your director status to force Ethan to sleep with you. Admit it!”

I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, but Ethan speaks first, his voice deep and firm.

“We have no comment on our private relationship.”

The questions keep coming.

“Ethan, have you sworn off dating popstars?”

I want to hide.

“Chase, are you a childless cat lady?”

Preferably in a hole.

“Who came up with the name Chathan?”

On Mars.

I am safe with Ethan. There’s madness swirling around us, yet somehow he has this ability to make me feel like everything’s okay. But it’s definitely not okay. We’re in the middle of a paparazzi shitstorm. Wait, did I just see a “Team Ethan” T-shirt?

I spot Nolan outside the crowd, waving us toward the red Mustang like we’re about to pull off the ultimate heist. Ethan guides me into the back seat, his hand lingering on the small of my back. Instead of claiming the front seat, he slides in beside me, staying close, as if sensing my fear and refusing to let more than two inches come between us.”

The door slams. Nolan guns it. I’m thrown against the seat as we peel out, the world outside the windows becoming a blur. Behind us, a swarm of cars. Predators chasing prey.

I gulp in air, lungs burning. When did I stop breathing?

“How did they know we were there?”

Nolan’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “That crazy redhead lady, probably. She’s been everywhere. Taking pictures. Stalking the store. Showed up at our house last night when you guys didn’t come home.” He grips the steering wheel tighter, weaving through traffic. “Mom nearly unleashed Bubbles on her.”

Anxiety washes over me. I pull out my phone, fingers shaking. The Ethan Addicts page loads. My breath catches. Pics of us everywhere. Walking. Talking. Some of it shot through the Barrett house’s windows. There may not be nude photos, but I still feel exposed seeing our private moments splashed across the internet like some twisted peep show.

Nolan continues, “Bro, I don’t care what your guys’ relationship is—real, fake, or performance art gone horribly wrong—but this is not cool.”

“How screwed are we?” Ethan’s words come out clipped.

His thumb gently strokes my knuckles, our fingers entwined.

When did we start holding hands?

Nolan’s words fall like hammer blows. “Paparazzi is swarming the house. Mom’s being harassed at the store. It’s a circus out there.”

“Nolan, I’m sorry. This is my fault,” I say.

Ethan locks eyes with me, his gaze intense. “No, it’s my fault, and I’ll take care of it.”

“How?” The word comes out sharper than I intend, dripping with skepticism.

“I don’t know. But we will figure it out together.”

He kisses my hand, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach, unrelated to Nolan’s NASCAR driving. I do not deserve this—Ethan’s support, his unwavering presence beside me. This mess is my doing, a disaster I created. Deep down, I know I’ve done something far worse. And the truth always comes out…

Guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders. I want to come clean before it’s too late—to explain the ten-movie contract, to confess I took credit for his social media campaign. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to admit that I’m the ungrateful, self-sabotaging moron with an ego the size of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, not him.

I should open up completely.

And then maybe we can figure this out together. If I let Ethan in.

“Hold on,” Nolan warns as he speeds through a yellow light.

Ethan’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him as Nolan takes a sharp turn. I feel every hard plane of his body, his chest rising and falling with each breath. My heart races, and despite the speed of the car, it’s all Ethan.

Nolan jerks a hard right down an alley. Seconds later, he cuts across three lanes of traffic, tires screeching in protest. A gleaming high-rise condo comes into view with a discreet entrance to an underground parking garage. The vehicle groans as it veers down the ramp, until finally, we lurch to a stop. I realize I’m practically in Ethan’s lap, my hands gripping his biceps tightly.

“Nobody fucks with my family,” Nolan says, channeling his inner Vin Diesel.

Who is this guy? How can this be the same Nolan who sweats nervously through gaudy tropical shirts? One minute, he’s showboating as the most fabulous dancing drag queen I’ve ever seen, and the next he’s driving like he’s trying out for The Fast and the Furious: Miami Drift ?

Nolan turns around, tossing a set of keys to Ethan. “Go to my place. Hide out. I’ll keep the paparazzi off your tail, but fix this.” He pauses then adds with unexpected firmness, “Seriously, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Don’t let this ruin our Christmas.”

“Understood, bro. Thanks for your help.”

Ethan exits the Mustang and offers me a hand. My feet have barely touched the ground when Nolan slams on the gas, the car’s tires shrieking against asphalt as he tears out of the parking garage. The smell of burning rubber lingers in the air, and the filmmaker in me can’t help but admire the scene. I may have to hire him as a stunt car driver in my next movie.

If there is a next movie.

Ethan ushers me to the elevator, staying close, his hand wrapped around mine. He doesn’t let go, not even for a second.

***

We step into Nolan’s twelfth-floor apartment. I’m immediately blown away. It’s nothing like the cozy, knickknack-filled Barrett family home. This place is legit. Picture bachelor pad meets tech mogul—all clean lines, modern design, and tasteful furnishings. Now, imagine a wall of windows, ten times larger than normal windows, that let in gobs of natural light and, more importantly, offer an expansive view that leaves me awestruck.

I practically float to the balcony, irresistibly drawn by the jaw-dropping, panoramic Gulf vista stretched out before me. “I thought Nolan lived with your parents?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because he’s staying in the bedroom next to yours.”

“We always stay in our old rooms for Christmas. It’s tradition.”

Of course it is. Another wholesome Barrett family tradition that’s so pure it pulls at my heartstrings.

“Nolan left home before I did. Right out of college, he got snatched up as a data analyst for some big tech company in Silicon Valley. He was totally killing it there. When the pandemic hit, they let him work from home. So, he came back to help our folks and missed it so much, he decided to stay. Still works his analyst gig from here and helps Mom part-time at the store.”

My chest tightens as it sinks in. Both Barrett brothers, incredibly successful, unwaveringly devoted to their family. I didn’t know. The guilt burrows into my mind. This family is so united, endlessly loving and supportive of one another. And here I am, an intruder. The one who created all of this drama. And for what?

My career?

I must look as distraught as I feel because his arms are suddenly around me. I welcome his embrace, greedily drawing in the comfort, despite the guilty voice in my head.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We’ll sort this out.”

His phone chimes. “It’s my mom,” he says, glancing at it before answering the FaceTime call.

Darla’s concerned face fills the screen. “Ethan, sweetie, y’all okay?”

“Hangin’ in there, Mama.”

“Let me get a look at Chase,” Darla demands.

I paste on what I hope is a convincing smile.

“Oh, thank goodness, hun. I was worried to bits about you being in that jail cell.”

“We were both there,” Ethan interjects.

“Yes, but you’re not some pretty little thing that needs protecting.” Darla says and then quickly adds, “Not that a tough cookie like you can’t handle herself, Chase. Still, who knows what kind of ruffians they have in there.”

I pause, not sure how to respond, when Doug’s face suddenly crowds into the frame. “Okay, you two,” he says, his tone serious. “Time to fess up. Are you fakin’ it like they’re saying on the news?”

My heart plummets. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep lying to these people who’ve shown me nothing but kindness. They deserve to know, even if it means losing everything I’ve worked for.

Ethan takes his phone back, angling it away from me. “It’s real,” he says firmly. “Gail, my fan club president, has hated Chase ever since we got together. She’s behind the rumors.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Why is he lying? Why is he digging us deeper into this hole? I want to grab the stupid phone and spill the truth. But I'm speechless.

“Ooh, I knew she was a freaky one when she turned up at our door last night,” Darla says.

I’m so exhausted. I’m tired of pretending, worn down by this whole charade. If I just take the fall and bare my soul right now—

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. The caller ID reads Wiley and Riley .

Oh, fuck.

“Sorry, but I have to take this. The network is calling.”

At the same moment, Ethan’s phone chirps. “It’s my agent. I’ll call you back. Love you both.”

He ends the FaceTime with his parents. Then, without warning, Ethan pulls me in for a kiss so nuclear that my mind melts and my legs almost give out. A soft, needy moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. My phone’s ringing sounds are distant compared to the roaring in my ears and the feeling of his hard body pressed against mine.

He shifts away, still cradling my head in his hands. His piercing eyes fix on mine. “I’m here,” he says gently. “We got this.”

Is he right?

Could we make this work?

RIINNGGG!

Is that what Ethan really wants?

Do I?

RIINNGGG!

No time to untangle the mess of my thoughts; the network is waiting.

I steady my breath as I step out onto the balcony, the Gulf breeze doing little to cool the heat in my cheeks. With a calm exhale, I answer the call. “Chase Pemberton.”

Riley’s angry voice crackles through the speaker. “Jail? Cherish Channel associates do not get incarcerated in penal institutions.”

“We thought you had this under control,” Wiley says.

“I did—I do. All press is good press, right?”

“No,” Riley snaps. “This is bad. We are not the Spice Network. We are in critical damage control.”

I wince, bracing myself for the axe about to fall. Instinctively, I look to Ethan for comfort, but he’s pacing, deep in conversation on his own call. Our eyes meet briefly, and I’m startled. A hurt look flashes across his face before he turns away.

Oh shit. What’s happening? What’s his agent saying?

“Well, Ms. Pemberton? Can you handle it or not?”

Dammit. I should have been listening. “I’m sorry, you cut out,” I lie. “Say that again.”

Wiley’s voice turns stern. “We’ve had to tap into our reserves to hire a Florida PR firm who swear they can make the public forget about your recent… activities. They’ve already started planning a Christmas Eve livestream event in Marco Island. You have twenty-four hours to work together and make this happen. Do not disappoint. We anticipate crowds, we expect buzz, and there better be stellar performances.”

“And a happy ending!” Riley adds.

“Our directing offer with you still stands,” Wiley says, “ if you hit that million.”

“Ensure you do!” they finish in unison.

“Yes, I’m truly sorry,” I stammer. “I will give it 110 percent. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“We’ll be there in person to be sure of that,” Riley says ominously as the line goes dead.

“Fuck me in the fucking fuckhole!” I sag against the balcony railing, both enraged and defeated.

Ethan’s still on the phone, so I take a moment to collect myself. He finishes his call just as I step inside. Immediately, I’m confronted with the full force of his anger.

“You’re firing me?!”

“What? No—well yeah, I was, but that was before—”

“Before you tricked me into boosting your career?” he says, cutting me off. “What the hell, Chase? My agent found out about your little scheme. A ten-movie deal without your leading man !”

The disappointment in his eyes cuts deeper than his rage.

“This whole time I’m trying to get you to trust me, but you were going to dump me after we hit a million subscribers? You’re the one who can’t be trusted!”

I match his outrage. “Drop the innocent act—you wouldn’t have lifted a finger if I’d told you the truth. And you should be fucking thanking me. I secured both our futures. You get to keep your perfect little King of Christmas title where everything’s easy and you don't have to make hard choices.”

“I don’t understand how you could do this. How can you pass me off to another director? We’re the magic, Chase. You and me,” Ethan insists softly.

“No, we’re not. Remember how it is when we’re on set? We don’t work well together.”

“Seriously? Look what we’ve achieved. Sure, it’s stressful sometimes. But the spark of our movies only happens because we push each other.”

His raw vulnerability threatens to shatter my determination.

“This vacation has been a wild ride of emotions, and every single one of them pointed to one truth: we are incredible together. I’ve never experienced anything like it with anyone else. It’s something extraordinary. Can’t you see it? Why are you denying this pull between us?”

His voice, passionate and pleading, is a wrecking ball to my heart, each word pounding into me, demolishing who I am and what I stand for.

It’s too much.

Too intense.

Too scary.

I clench my eyes tight, the past rushing in, a tidal wave of memories. Suddenly, I’m that little girl again, watching my father crumble, promising myself I’d never let love consume me like that. Never give someone the power to leave me in ruins.

I take a deep breath, strengthening my resolve. It’s time to walk away and protect myself.

My face hardens. “We’re both getting a good opportunity. Let’s not get in the way of each other’s goals.”

“That’s what I am? In the way?”

The pain in his voice, the agony etched on his face—it’s all I can do not to fall apart. But I need him to stop this pursuit. I hold his gaze, even as every piece of me is breaking.

“You’re in my way. Every. Fucking. Day.” The words are like poison, but I force them out.

“So that’s your plan? Fire me and find another pretty face?”

“Exactly. Someone who listens and doesn’t give me so much goddamn grief.” The moment the sentence leaves my mouth, I wish I could take it back. “Ethan, I didn’t mean—”

He silences me, cold and unforgiving. “Understood. You want us finished? Fine. But I’m not letting my fans down. From day one, you didn’t hide that you don’t give a damn about them, but I do. I won’t let you ruin anyone else’s Christmas.”

The Ethan I know—the guy who’s always full of warmth and happiness—is gone, replaced by a cold stranger. “So, what’s the solution, boss? How are you gonna fix this?”

“I’m going to do what I always do,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Write the unrealistic ending that everyone wants. And this time, you better perform it word for word.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Why am I not surprised? Fine. You win, like always.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes dark with resentment. “I’ll be your puppet. Send the damn script. But you’re staying here. Away from me and my family. I’ll have Nolan bring your things.”

And then, he’s gone—the door slamming behind him. A trembling gasp gives way to uncontrollable weeping. The tears come hot and fast. I sink to the floor, my cheeks flooded with emotion.

I had to let him go. This is control. This is my choice.