“I love macarons!” I give a soft squeal.
“I know,” he answers, pleased with himself.
I narrow my eyes. “I never told you that. How did you know?”
His smile falters. After a beat, he says, “I have my ways.”
I unwrap a tea sandwich and take a bite. The bread is perfectly soft, and it’s filled with a thin layer of chicken, herbs, and Brie. All my favorites. I close my eyes. “Bliss.”
He pulls out a bag of chips.
My eyes widen. “Salt and vinegar? Also my favorite.”
He’s nailing this picnic, like some sort of mind-reading wizard.
He smiles at me. “I pay attention to what matters.”
My stomach does a funny little flip at his words.
He reaches over and steals a chip from the package I’ve commandeered as my own. I slap his hand, and he laughs.
“Don’t be stealing my chips,” I say.
“Oh, they’re yours, are they?”
“It’s your fault. You picked the only ones I can’t share. I’m greedy about them.”
He leans over, his face so close to mine that I can see the green-gold swirl of his eyes. “I’m greedy too,” he says with a husky voice. “I don’t like to share when something is mine.”
I swallow my chip with an audible gulp.
“You okay there?” he asks.
“No,” I cough out, gasping as the chip sticks in my throat. When the coughing subsides, I fake-glare at him. “It’s your fault. You did that sexy-smolder thing. You need to prepare me for it.”
“And did it work?”
My eyes meet Chase’s. I promised myself that I would be honest, even if it makes me vulnerable.
“Yes. Everything you do works for me, Chase. That’s part of the problem.”
He draws in a breath and looks away, focusing on opening the champagne bottle. The cork pops in the night, blending with the sound of the rhythmic surf.
“So, we’re celebrating more than just your risk with this champagne,” he says, sounding hesitant.
“We are?”
He fills a glass and passes it to me. Our hands brush, and there it is—the electricity when we touch.
“We’re celebrating that the tabloids have finally moved on from us.”
He says it so casually, raising his glass.
“They have? Why? How?”
“I’ve been working with my public relations team to get the tabloids away from you and focused on another story.”
I stare at him blankly.
“Another girl. With me,” he says meaningfully.
It takes a few minutes to connect his words.
“Cassidy,” I say.
He nods. “Cassidy.”
“So, when Cassidy was over at your house yesterday…”
“She made it very evident that she was visiting me. It’s all over social media. The fan sites and comment boards aren’t even mentioning you anymore, and everyone is chasing the story of Cassidy and me reunited. We’ll arrange to get photographed together a few more times, and you’ll be forgotten.” He flashes me a grim smile. “Your fifteen minutes of fame have officially ended.”
My stomach clenches. Will Chase forget me along with the fans?
“Cassidy doesn’t mind?” I ask. “I thought you broke up because she hated all the attention your relationship created.”
“Cassidy’s up for a huge movie role, so her PR team wants the extra publicity. When all this is over, we’ll both put out statements saying we’re just good friends, and everything will go back to normal.”
I bite my lip and wonder if maybe Cassidy’s motivation might also be getting to spend more time with Chase, despite what she said. Perhaps she regrets the breakup and misses their relationship. Fake dating is the perfect strategy if she wants to get him back.
“What about the stalker? Isn’t this putting her in danger now?”
“Cassidy has great security, much more than she had when we dated. She’s not concerned.”
He rubs the nape of his neck. “This is just one step closer to getting you home and back to your real life. All we’re waiting for is the fire report, which should be coming in any day.”
My gut twists with guilt over the lie about the fire report. But even worse is the knowledge that Chase seems to be in a rush to get me out of Malibu and back home. I take a sip of the champagne, but it’s ash in my mouth now. Suddenly, the picnic, this romantic setting, everything seems wrong.
“So, that’s it?” I say.