Page 49 of The Holiday Fakers
“It’s so beautiful,” she says, her gaze on the snow silently drifting down like a rainbow broken into tiny pieces of colored light.
“Sure is,” I reply, my attention solely on her.
“Thank you for doing this for me,” she says quietly, her eyes still on the view outside.
I don’t immediately reply, my brain struggling to process what she’s saying.
“I appreciate it so much.”
I huff out a laugh, and she gazes at me, her eyes questioning.
“Piper, any thanks owed are one hundred percent from me to you.”
“But—”
“It’s not just the job you’re giving me a chance at getting, you’re rebuilding my reputation, which is currently a dumpster fire.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not.”
“It is. If you’ve seen half the press I’ve generated over the past year, you’d know.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and I wonder how much she actuallydoesknow.
“I, er … You probably noticed, but I don’t drink.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“There is. If I do, I can’t stop. It gets ugly, and I don’t want to end up like?—”
I break off, and take a breath as Piper waits patiently for me to finish. I see the care and compassion in her eyes. It’s how she’s always been. Someone who always puts others before herself.
“You know how my mom struggled with addiction? Well I’m just like her.”
“That’s not true. You take care of yourself.”
“Like living off sea moss smoothies and air-fried pizza made with cauliflower and cashew nuts instead of bread and cheese?”
I shake my head. “No wonder everyone thinks I’m a dick.”
Her expression clouds and she reaches to touch my arm. “I don’t think that. Nor do my family.”
I shrug like I don’t really care, even though I do, and take a step back, breaking the connection between us. “Is this going to be our first argument as a fake couple?”
Her smile is hesitant. “That’s why I put a pillow wall on the bed.”
“You could make me sleep on Barry?”
“I’m not that mean. You need to be properly rested for tomorrow.”
“You got plans for me?”
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, then she moves further away. “I haven’t, but if this—” she gestures to the room—“is any indication of how excited Mom is about us, we’ll probably discover she’s planned a parade in our honor. You’ll be BrodySnowKing, and I’ll be your queen.”
Piper waves regally, acting like she’s on top of a float.
I give her a short bow. “Your majesty.”
She curtsies. “My liege,” she replies in a terrible British accent, and I crack up.
