CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ethan
Live television is on another level, and I’m crushing it.
“987,211… 212… 216…” I announce, my eyes fixed on the colossal digital countdown clock on the stage. “We’re so close, folks! Just a few more, and we’ll hit a million!”
The words leave my mouth, but I barely hear them. My heart’s pulsing so intensely I can feel it in my teeth. The crowd, the lights, the adrenaline—it’s exhilarating.
The network execs told Chase to put on a big event, and man, did she ever. Not to jinx it, but everything’s been flawless. The stage is electric, every performance topping the last. I would sweep her off her feet, kiss her, and tell her how incredible she is, but that’s not in the script.
She made damn sure to cut out any kissing when I fake propose to her at the end.
I raise my mic. “We’re only halfway into our show, so use this commercial break to call your nanna, your auntie, your dry cleaner—heck, even your ex if you’re bold enough—and ask them to subscribe!” I wink at the camera. “And stick around because you won’t want to miss the moment when I ask the love of my life, Chase Pemberton, a very important question.”
Her voice cuts through the buzz. “And we are clear for commercial!”
I turn, hoping to catch her eye, but she’s already barking orders at the crew. “Set up for the ‘Santa Baby’ dance number. We have three minutes. Everyone to your marks!”
Taylor appears at my side. “Chase says you’re doing great.” She hands me a water bottle along with a paper. “And she asked me to give you this.”
I take a drink and glance down at the page. Written in letters so big you can see them from space, she has scrawled: STICK TO THE SCRIPT!
I let out a chuckle. “Assure her not to worry. No spontaneity, no deviation. Pinky swear.”
I say it as a joke, but I mean it.
Mid-gulp, I spot the Barrett clan. Mom is waving so enthusiastically she could be an air traffic controller. Dad is giving me not one, but two thumbs-up. And Nolan? He’s perfecting his “I’d rather be anywhere else” face, complete with an eyebrow twitch that seems to say, “I support you, but I’m also considering the sweet release of death.” I laugh.
My eyes dart back to the subscriber counter. Damn. The numbers are crawling up, each new subscriber coming in at a snail’s pace. It’ll be tight, but I’ve got this sense—we’re gonna make it.
Only minutes stand between now and me asking Chase to marry me on live television. She thinks this is all for show, but I’m planning something bigger.
This proposal? Step one.
Operation Win Chase’s Heart: Initiated.
Once we’re back in Los Angeles, I’m going to sweep her off her feet. We’ll film together for months, finishing Shamrock Shenanigans . It’ll be the perfect opportunity to prove to her I’m not some shallow playboy. I’ll be there every morning with her favorite tea. I’ll stay late to help her review dailies. I’ll listen to her ideas, support her vision, and prove that I’m the man she can depend on.
Not just on set, but in life.
What we have isn’t some Hollywood fling. It’s that once-in-a-lifetime bond, the kind she writes into her movies. I’ll wait, fight, and do whatever it takes till she admits she’s as crazy about me as I am for her.
Her grand breakup scheme once we’re home? Yeah, that’s not happening.
“Thirty seconds. On your marks!” Chase’s commanding tone makes my whole body perk up.
God, I love how this woman takes charge.
Our eyes lock, and for a split second, the rest of the world can go fuck itself. It’s just us.
“Ethan, you’re live in 3, 2…”
I step back into the spotlight, and the crowd lets out a massive cheer. Their energy surges through me, electrifying every nerve. I see their outstretched hands, and I want to crowd-surf their wave of adoration. But nah, I promised the woman I love to stay on my best behavior.
“You may call me the King of Christmas,” I say, a grin spreading across my face. “But there’s someone who rules the North Pole with more magic than I could ever muster.” I pause, letting the anticipation build. “You know who I’m talking about—Santa Claus.”
On cue, the music starts and dancers flood the stage. Santa gets wheeled out on his sled to the sultry tones of “Santa Baby.” I half expect him to break into an Elvis-style hip shake. Now that would be entertaining.
I slip offstage, mentally rehearsing the next segment’s lines, when I’m ambushed by the Perpetual Saints of Frowning—Ms. Riley and Mr. Wiley, Cherish Channel’s notoriously stiff CEOs.
Ms. Riley, a bundle of tweed and disapproval, stands with her frail frame swallowed by an oversized blazer. Her hair is pulled back so tightly that her eyebrows are practically on the back of her head. Beside her, Mr. Wiley, a walking raisin with glasses, has jowls so droopy they could double as a neck pillow. His sunken eyes peer through thick, horn-rimmed glasses.
“Mr. Barrett,” Ms. Riley’s voice creaks out. “Your little… performance, seems to be drawing attention.”
Wow. This is literally the biggest compliment she’s ever given me.
Mr. Wiley’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Yes, quite the spectacle. Though I doubt if allocating resources to this endeavor will be money well spent. For your sake, I hope it is.”
Talk about friendly fire in a hostile environment. I feel a twinge of guilt for all the times I stirred up trouble on set and Chase had to fight with these soul-sucking fossils for our productions.
My expression stays neutral. “Glad you’re enjoying the show.”
Ms. Riley’s lips purse into a thin line. “Enjoyment is irrelevant, Mr. Barrett. What’s important are results. Numbers. Subscribers.”
“Speaking of which,” Mr. Wiley interjects, “we’ve made some practical decisions regarding your future projects.”
My heart races. This does not sound good.
“We’ve never let an actor direct their own film,” Ms. Riley continues, her voice devoid of any enthusiasm. “It’s a frivolous allocation of budget.”
Mr. Wiley nods, his bald head gleaming under the stage lights. “However, Miss Pemberton made a rather… impassioned argument on your behalf.”
I blink, struggling to process this information. “She did?”
“Yes,” Ms. Riley says, her tone implying Chase’s passion was more of a nuisance than a benefit. “She seems to believe you’d make a… skilled director.”
“She also credited you with the idea for the social media stunts,” Mr. Wiley adds, adjusting his glasses. “Why anyone would squander their time on such trivial matters is beyond me.”
My mind is reeling. Did Chase really fight for me? Maybe winning her heart won’t be as tough as I imagined.
“Effective immediately, however,” Ms. Riley interjects, her voice sharp and cold, “Miss Pemberton no longer wants you two working together. She’ll be assigned to a different project, as your collaboration has reached its natural conclusion.”
The fluttering in my stomach plummets like a broken elevator. I bite my lip, desperately willing my face not to betray me.
Mr. Wiley nods solemnly. “Yes, we’ve already selected a new director to complete Shamrock Shenanigans . Time waits for no one, Mr. Barrett.”
Wait, what? Our Saint Patrick’s Day rom-com with two months of shooting left? The one I was counting on to win Chase back?
Gone.
Just like that.
“But it’s her script. She doesn’t want to oversee it?” I ask.
“She deems this separation is best to advance both your careers,” Ms. Riley says. “Ms. Pemberton was quite insistent upon it.”
Mr. Wiley adds, “Details later. Time is currency, Mr. Barrett. Don’t squander it. Now back to work.”
With that, they shuffle away, leaving me stunned and disoriented. My gaze shifts to Chase, drawn to her like a magnet. She’s across the stage, locked onto her monitor, completely in her element. The sight of her, so close yet impossibly far away, makes my chest ache.
It’s already over.
She’s closed the door on me.
Making it impossible for me to change her mind.
Taylor’s voice disrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Ethan, we have press interviews lined up right after the broadcast. No time for a wardrobe change.”
“What about Chase?” I ask, a sense of unease growing in my gut.
Taylor’s phone rings, and I overhear a conversation that shatters what’s left of me. Chase is leaving. Tonight. For her cabin.
I don’t wait for Taylor’s call to end. “She’s not staying here for Christmas?”
“Shit. You weren’t supposed to find out,” she admits, looking guilty.
“Taylor, please. What’s going on?”
“Fine, but you didn’t hear it from me. Chase is taking off as soon as the show ends. I’ve got a car waiting.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! She’s running.
The stage lights dim, and suddenly Chase’s face fills the giant screen. My breath catches in my throat. She’s so goddamn beautiful it hurts.
“Ethan Barrett. Where do I start?” Her voice is soft, almost shy. It’s a side of her I rarely see, and it makes my stomach clench.
“What the hell is this?” I mutter.
“She filmed this interview earlier today.” Taylor’s whisper hardly registers.
On screen, Chase continues, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “He drives me absolutely crazy. He’s always cracking jokes at the most inappropriate times, and his ability to push me to do outrageous stunts is, well… I guess you’ve all seen, haven’t you?”
The audience bursts into laughter as clips from our past livestreams play. There we are kissing Brutus the alligator, braving that insane polar plunge, and our inflatable raft soaring through the air before crashing spectacularly into the water. I can’t help but grin.
But something’s off. This Chase… She’s different. It’s like seeing behind the curtain, the unedited director’s cut of the woman she keeps hidden. Has she been this good at acting the whole time? Is that why it’s so easy for her to walk away? Has everything been an act?
“Ethan has this… this infuriating ability to find joy in everything. He can make me laugh when all I want to do is scream or cry. He’s sunshine in my world that’s been serious for far too long.”
My smile fades. There’s a rawness in her voice that hits me deep. This isn’t the Chase I’m used to seeing.
“If I’m doubting myself, he’s the first one to remind me of what I’m capable of. He’s so encouraging.”
She pauses, her gaze drifting off-camera for a moment. I know that look. She’s searching for the right words, and suddenly I realize—this isn’t scripted. This is Chase, stripped bare.
She’s talking to me.
“He makes me brave,” Chase continues, her voice thick. “There’s this constant push to be better, not only behind the camera but within myself. My defenses, my masks—they all disappear when we’re together. Ethan accepts me. The real, messy, imperfect me.” She inhales shakily. “That’s why my heart belongs to him.”
Did she just say…?
“Okay, man, it’s almost time.” Mike’s voice permeates the fog in my brain. He’s holding out the ring holder like it might explode. “Go slow pulling the ring out of the case. The band is a little slippery since I just had it polished. Can’t be too careful when you’re broadcasting live.”
I nod, only half-hearing him. My eyes are glued to the screen, to Chase.
“He’s shown me a love I thought only lived in my imagination,” she says, eyes glistening. “I never expected to fall in love with Ethan, but it’s the most incredible Christmas gift I’ve ever been given.”
My vision blurs. Fuck, I’m crying. She actually loves me.
But she’s still leaving. Why the hell is she bolting if she loves me?
And then, like a wrecking ball to the chest, it hits me. She’s scared. Just like I am. Because what we have… It’s not some bullshit PR stunt. It’s raw and real, and it’s fucking terrifying.
The lights come up. The video’s over. My heart’s hammering, my palms slick with sweat.
What the fuck do I do?
I promised to perform her words exactly as written, but right now? I want to light that promise on fire. Screw the network and this manufactured engagement crap. I’m done with this fake bullshit. I want to tell Chase I love her—actually fucking love her.
I shove the ring box into my pocket and step into the spotlight. The crowd roars, but I’m only thinking about Chase. How do I make her understand that being afraid together outweighs being safe apart?
I'm in full performer mode, but my brain’s doing backflips. No way am I letting her ghost me after this is over. Not without one hell of a fight.
“Who’s ready for the premiere of Fa La La Love ?” My voice booms through the speakers, steadier than I feel.
The crowd roars. I glance at the subscriber counter: 994,703… 705… 712… So close, but we’re not going to make it.
Stick to the script, Barrett. You can fix things with Chase later.
“But first…” I inhale deeply, centering myself. “It’s time for my Christmas wish. Let’s bring out the film’s director, Chase Pemberton.”
The camera pans to Chase, who is holding a clipboard and wearing a perfectly positioned headset. She pretends to be surprised at being called up, but I notice her eyes narrow slightly, a clear sign that she’s on guard.
God, I want to grab her hand, admit everything. But I can’t. Not yet.
“Chase and I have been secretly dating for months,” I say, the lie tasting bitter. “We tried to keep it quiet at first.”
“My fault,” she quips, her laugh a touch too high. “I blurted it out in that interview.”
The audience laughs, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.
“Yeah, you threw me for a loop with that one,” I reply with a chuckle before announcing, “But now it’s my turn to drop a bombshell on live TV.”
I drop to one knee, my heart pounding so hard I swear the front row can hear it. The velvet feels like sandpaper against my sweaty palms.
“Chase Pemberton,” I start, willing my voice not to shake. “You’re everything to me. You’re the girl—”
“STOP!”
A high-pitched shriek rips through the air. What the actual fuck?
A blur of red hair streaks across my vision. Gail. Oh, shit.
Time slows. I see Gail’s wild eyes, her fingers clawed like a predator’s. Chase, still processing, is totally exposed.
Protect Chase. Nothing else matters.
I lunge forward, but I’m too fucking slow. Gail slams into Chase with a force that knocks them both to the ground, hard.
“He’s mine!” Gail shrieks, flailing like a demon possessed. “Ethan loves me!”
The audience gasps in unison. Cameras whip around frantically. I hear a producer shout, “Security!”
I grab Gail, trying to pry her off. “Gail, stop this!”
She twists in my grip, eyes blazing with a manic intensity. “No, Ethan! You love me. I know you do!”
Chase tries to stand, but Gail spots her and lashes out with a vicious kick that sends her crumpling back down.
“Chase!” I yell.
Gail’s elbow crashes into my eye and I stumble back—pain exploding in my face.
Motherfucker!
In my moment of distraction, she breaks free, darting across the stage. What is she doing? The ring.
Gail snatches it up, jamming it on her finger. “See, Ethan? It fits! You’re meant to marry me, not this lying skank!”
I position myself in front of Chase, shielding her. She’s clutching her stomach, face pale with pain.
“You okay?” I murmur, fear and concern battling inside me.
She nods, wincing.
Gail’s still going full psycho. “Stop this fake relationship nonsense! You love me, baby!”
Ice floods my veins. Fake relationship. She said it. On live TV. Fuck!
“Gail, stay back,” I warn, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. “This fantasy needs to end.”
“Your relationship with her is fake!” she screeches, eyes wild. “ I’ve got proof, assholes! It’s all over my Ethan Addicts fan page!”
Security finally gets their shit together, closing in on Gail. She ducks and weaves like a cornered animal.
“They’re scamming you!” she yells to the stunned audience. “This whole relationship is one big lie! You gave them exactly what they wanted—subscribers!”
The crowd’s murmuring grows louder, a wave of confusion and disbelief. I can feel their eyes on us, questioning, judging.
As security drags Gail away, she lets out one final, chilling screech: “Watch your back, you lying bitch! He belongs to me!”
The stage is in chaos. The Christmas tree’s toppled over, fake snow everywhere. A camera lies smashed on the ground, a casualty of the madness.
Gail’s words hang in the air, ugly and accusing. The crowd’s murmurs fade to static as I kneel down beside Chase. My heart’s slamming against my ribs so hard I’m sure it’s gonna crack a bone.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice raw with fear. “Chase, talk to me. Are you hurt?”
My hands hover over her, desperate to touch, to hold her close, but afraid she’ll reject me. Her eyes are frantic, scanning the mess we’ve made like she’s trying to find an escape route.
“I’m fine,” she says, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. Her hands are shaking, fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles white with strain. She’s holding on by a thread, and it’s killing me.
“Bullshit,” I growl, low and urgent. “None of this is fine.”
“Gail’s right,” she whispers, almost inaudible over the confused buzz of the audience. “This is fake. We can’t… We can’t keep lying.”
My heart nosedives into my stomach. This is it. The moment of truth, where our carefully constructed lie comes crashing down. She might hate me forever, might never wanna look at me again, but I have to go off script.
I’m not waiting another second.
“It’s not fake for me,” I admit, the words spilling out. “I love you, Chase. I love you so goddamn much, it scares the shit out of me. Love was just a word, an empty line I recited for the cameras. But then you came along and turned my life into a romance movie written uniquely for us.”
Her eyes widen, a storm of emotions raging in them. Hope, fear, disbelief, longing—all there, raw and exposed.
“And I feel like I’ve already lost you,” I continue, my voice cracking with the weight of my fear.
She looks away, tears welling in her eyes, and I hate myself for putting them there. Gently, I turn her face back to mine, my touch as light as I can manage with my trembling hands.
“I'm so sorry,” I say, the apology feeling pathetically inadequate. “I let you down, with the subscribers and when we worked together on set and—”
“I don’t care about that. I…” She stops, and I notice that familiar wall creeping into her eyes.
“No, don’t shut me out,” I plead. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Please.”
She takes a shaky breath. “I’m scared, Ethan. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much.”
I nod, understanding flooding through me. Shit, I’m scared too. Hell, I’m terrified. But losing her? That’s the kind of fear that threatens to swallow me whole.
How do I ease this tension?
How do I get her to smile?
How can I make her feel safe again?
I cradle her face in my hands. “Falling in love is like stepping under this mistletoe. It’s thrilling, maybe a little nerve-wracking too. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, waiting for the moment you take my hand and say, ‘Let’s see where this Christmas magic leads us.’”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Are you quoting your character from Jingle Jokes & Mistletoe ?”
I give her a charming wink. “See, sweetheart, I CAN memorize my lines. And I’ll recite every word you’ve ever written if you keep smiling like that.”
The audience has gone quiet, hanging on each statement we make. The cameras are still rolling, broadcasting our personal drama to the whole world, like an unsanctioned soap opera.
I take a deep breath, knowing my next words could change everything. “Chase, I need you to stay. Don’t quit on us. We’re just getting started.”
She meets my gaze, her eyes filled with doubt. I can see her hesitating, on the brink of a decision. I push forward, baring my soul.
“Say it’s not just me. Tell me you feel it too.” I swallow hard, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “If you trust me with your heart, I swear I’ll fight like hell every day to be worthy of it.”
A laugh bubbles out of her. “Maybe you don’t need me to write your lines after all.” Her eyes flash with that familiar spark as she smirks. “You better believe I’m gonna hold you to that promise, Ethan Barrett.”
Joy explodes in my chest. I pull Chase into my arms, crushing her against me, and kiss her like she’s the air I need to breathe. The crowd goes absolutely wild.
I let the kiss consume us, my tongue exploring hers, demanding more with every movement. Her fingers press into my shoulders, anchoring herself to me, like she can't get close enough.
A loud, celebratory bell rings out, forcing us apart. We’re both panting like we’ve run a marathon. I catch a glimpse of the subscriber counter out of the corner of my eye—it’s skyrocketing past a million.
Artificial snow falls, turning the stage into a wintry scene.
“Chase, we did it! A freaking million subscribers.”
“I don’t care,” she says, fisting her hands in my shirt. “Kiss me again.”
“You’re the director,” I say, grinning like a fool as I draw her close for another kiss. This one is deeper, more passionate, and I swear sparks are flying between us. The lights go down, and I vaguely register our movie, Fa La La Love , starting on the big screen.
Without warning, I scoop Chase up in my arms.
“Ethan!” she squeals. “What are you doing?”
I tighten my grip, loving the way she fits against me. “I’m not letting you go, sweetheart. Not now, not ever.” I lower my voice, just for her. “Tell me where I’m headed.”
Chase’s eyes darken, and she leans in close, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “Your trailer. Now. Let me show your limp fish dick just how much I love you.”
“Really? That’s how you’re gonna say you love me for the first time?”
She laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “I love you more than Fernando the clit-flicking fish. That better?”
She sticks her tongue in my ear, and I nearly trip over my own feet. “Fuck, I love you,” I groan, sprinting to my trailer.
I kick the door shut and set her on the couch, drinking her in. Flushed cheeks, messed-up hair, eyes blazing with love and lust. I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous in my life.
I’m about to rip my shirt off when her expression turns serious. Shit. Did I fuck up already? Move too fast?
“I love you, Ethan. Not the King of Christmas, not the fantasy, and not your handsome face. I love the real you. The guy from Florida.”
My heart swells, threatening to burst. “I told you that you’d fall in love with Florida,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Shut up and get naked.”
“You got it, boss.”
Our lips meet, and this kiss feels like the perfect fade to black—except it’s just the beginning. Chase has directed us into our own happily ever after, no scripts needed. And me? I’m not acting when I say she’s stolen my heart.
This is real. This is love.
Chase Pemberton, I’m ready for my forever close-up.