Michael had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m not proud of that. But I’ve truly repented, and now I’m called to make things right with you—”
“You can make things right by telling the media that you were the one who cheated, not me.”
When I saw the horror on his face, I gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
“I know I’ve sinned,” he said. “But God has forgiven me. As for the media—maybe we can approach them together, as a couple, and say that we were both led astray by our sins—”
“Both led astray? Inevercheated on you. Not once.”
“No, but you must have known we were unhappy,” he said, reaching out to me again. I stepped away and walked onto the bridge, not able to look at him right now. “And unhappiness in a marriage is the responsibility of both the husband and the wife to fix,” he called after me as he followed.
I turned and gripped the railing of the bridge. I imagined it was his neck. “I did everything for you, Michael.Everything.And it was never enough.”
He snorted. “You call that everything? You barely tolerated sex with me!”
“What do you thinkeverythingis to someone who grew up the way we did? What do you think it’s like to be a girl and hear over and over again that any breach in purity will stain you forever, and then be expected to flip a switch the moment you get married? Sexhurtat the beginning, and then when itstopped hurting, it still never felt as good for me as it seemed to feel for you. I didn’t even have an orgasm until—”
I stopped. That wasn’t his business.
But his eyes flashed with some intense emotion. “Until when, Winnie?” he said softly. “Until you started filming pornography?”
I groaned. “This isn’t pornography, Michael.”
“It might as well be!” He pulled his phone from his pocket and woke it up to show me a screenshot from Dominic Diamond’s website. There was a picture from theSanta, Babyset the other day, of Kallum pretending to screw me against a wall. Despite everything, a surge of lust arrowed to my belly. I knew it wasn’t real, that it was just a shot from a take—and a slightly blurry one at that—but Picture Me looked like she was having the ride of her life.
And Real Me remembered exactly how it felt to have Kallum’s warm body crowded against mine, his beard tickling my neck.
“‘Winnie Bacher-Baker Back on the Naughty List,’” Michael read aloud from the screenshot. He read his own last name with the German pronunciation and accompanying throat-clearing noise on thech—like Bach the composer.
“I’m not Winnie Bacher-Baker anymore,” I interrupted, but he kept reading.
“‘This troubled child star is baring it all for the Hope Channel’s risky venture into the world of smut, and sources from the set tell us that viewers can expect to see a very bold side of Winnie Bacher-Baker that will leave no doubt she’s no longer the sweet role model fromTreasures in Heaven.’”
Ugh, I really needed to have Steph put out a press release about my name being plain oldWinnie Bakeragain. Androlemodel??? My character had been sick inTreasures in Heaven, suffering and dying (and then miraculously living) as prettily as possible while the neighborhood bad boy, played by Michael, found redemption through her sweetness and goodness. The onlyroleshe modeled was how to hide as much of your pain as possible—and also how to repeatedly forgive crappy people.
But that role, and the movie along with it, had been beyond huge—the kind of success that spawned tie-in books, a platinum single, and years of speaking engagements.
It had also been fifteen years ago.
“Maybe it’s about time that people know I’m not the girl fromTreasures in Heaven,” I said tightly. “And you’re not the boy.”
“But people want us to be,” Michael said, dropping the phone. He exhaled like he’d just lost a pawn on a chessboard and faced me, his face full of gentle understanding.
“I know I hurt you, Winnie, and I have to live with my weakness forever. But is it worth all this? Hurting your parents with this kind of behavior?”
His words stirred up all kinds of old shames, but I was tired of letting shame inform every decision I made. “My parents don’t have to watchSanta, Babyif they don’t want to.”
“But it’s hurting you too, babe. Because”—he put his hand over mine and squeezed—“True Vine wants to make aTreasures in Heavensequel. Asequel.”
His eyes were shining now, and he couldn’t stop the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was excited about this. He thought I would be excited about this too.
And all the pieces slotted together to make a very clear picture.
“So that’s why you’re here,” I said slowly. “You want to make aTreasuressequel, but you know the True Vine studio execs will never go for it if I’ve releasedSanta, Baby.”
“Winnie, think of how big it would be. People have been asking for this sequel for over a decade. We’ll couple it with a book deal of our own, license out the journals, workbooks, all of that, and then? If it’s clear we’re together, that the movie brought us back together? Then the sky’s the limit! A book deal every year, a production deal with a major streamer, a company to rival Addison’s—you name it and it’s ours, because the only thing better than a success story is a redemption story.”
He stepped closer, close enough that my white costume boots bumped against his gleaming ones. “We can have it all, and we can have ittogether. All you have to do is come back.” He took my hand off the railing, held it between us. “I know you wanted a family, Winnie, and just think of it—you and me, together and making movies again, you sleeping as much as you want.”
