All Chapters of Fake To Fall : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

LakeThere are a few things I never planned on doing with my summer.Pretending to be the doting husband of a neurotic psychology professor? Not even on my bingo card.Yet here I am. Sharing a tiny cabin with Ivy Monroe—Miss All Work, No Play, Queen of Color-Coded Calendars—and pretending we’re madly in love. It’s either going to be a disaster or... well, definitely a disaster. But at least it'll be a profitable one.The moment we stepped into that cabin and she saw the one bed, her whole body froze like she’d just walked into a bear trap. Honestly? I almost felt bad for her. Almost. But watching her panic while trying to maintain her composure? Kinda entertaining.I tossed my duffel onto the mattress and gave her a grin. “This is going to be fun.”She didn’t respond. Just glared at the bed like it had personally insulted her PhD.The truth is, I wasn’t doing this just for the money. Okay, fine—that was a big part of it. I needed the cash. My last gig filming a docuseries about burnou

LakeIt started as a joke. At least, I thought it was.Willow had handed out the couples’ activity schedule during breakfast — homemade granola, fruit slices, and yogurt so healthy I started missing bacon with an ache in my soul — and Ivy, of course, was already circling tasks in her neat little planner like we were back in grad school.“Kissing practice?” she murmured, brows furrowed.I leaned over her shoulder, sipping the most tragic green tea of my life. “Let me see.”There it was: Welcome Dinner: Couples expected to demonstrate a shared moment of affection — kiss, story, or dance.I grinned. “Well, guess we better make out then.”She whipped her head around. “We are not actually—”“We are,” I cut in. “I mean, if we don’t want to get eliminated before dessert.”“You really think people care that much?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.“Babe,” I said, deliberately emphasizing the fake pet name, “we’re surrounded by couples who probably have matching tattoos and soul contracts. If we

LakeI’d survived shooting in the Amazon rainforest, sleeping in a car in New Mexico, and dodging feral goats on a documentary set in Morocco.But nothing… nothing… had prepared me for the sheer chaos of one damn mosquito in a tiny, overly romantic, couples-retreat cabin.It was around 2:37 a.m. I know that because the clock on the nightstand kept blinking like it knew I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. The bed creaked as I shifted, already warm from Ivy’s body being three feet away — and yet somehow radiating across the mattress like the sun.I was half-asleep, one arm behind my head, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether faking a marriage was supposed to make you this alert when I heard it. The sound.That high-pitched, whiny buzz of doom.Bzzzz. Close to my ear. Too close. Then a sharp sting on my neck.“Shit!” I hissed, slapping the air. The buzzing veered off. Somewhere in the dark, wings flapped like a horror movie villain preparing a sequel.A rustle came from Ivy’s side

LakeThe day was already awkward, and it wasn’t even noon yet.The retreat’s “Couple Olympics”—a chaotic, camp-style team-building day with games ranging from trust falls to three-legged races—sounded like a sitcom waiting to happen. Ivy read the itinerary with a face that screamed dread.“‘Trust Toss,’ ‘Intimacy Obstacle Course,’ and...” she squinted, “...‘Spontaneous Chemistry Round.’ That sounds made-up.”“It is made-up. Like us.” I tossed a granola bar into my mouth and grinned. “C’mon, Dr. Stoneface. Let’s go win the gold in Pretending to Be in Love.”We made our way to the lakeside meadow where everything had been set up—colorful banners, yoga mats, and an excited Willow in a sunhat that could double as a sail.“Today is about chemistry, cooperation, and connection!” Willow called out. “The winning couple gets dinner alone at the hot springs!”“Alone?” Ivy whispered.“Hot springs?” I raised a brow.She groaned. “We have to win, don’t we?”The games began. Ivy and I nailed the th

LakeThe cabin felt impossibly quiet that night, but Ivy’s thoughts were anything but. The fire in the small stone hearth had burned down to a sleepy orange glow, casting lazy shadows across the wooden floor. Somewhere across the room, Lake was flipping through a book like he wasn’t half-naked under the world’s thinnest blanket. She, meanwhile, was pacing—back and forth, back and forth—over the creaky boards that probably hated her by now.A mandatory spooning exercise. Who in the world thought that was a good idea?She could still hear Willow’s voice from earlier that evening—calm, confident, that tone of a team-building instructor who clearly believed in the power of forced intimacy. “Trust through physical proximity,” Willow had said. “Shared warmth breeds emotional openness.” Ivy had nodded along then, pretending to agree, but now, standing three feet from the bed where Lake lounged like a smug cat, she regretted every life choice that led her here.“Hey,” Lake said casually from