Page 92 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

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 discreetentrance 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 forThe 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’stwelfth-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 timeslarger 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.

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