Page 140 of The Holiday Fakers
I can’t focus or think straight. My head’s too full of fire.
“How could you?” I manage.
Brody’s eyes widen. “What?”
I can’t breathe fast enough. It’s like someone’s standing on my chest. “You’re the only other person who’s ever seen them! How could you betray my trust like that?”
“You thinkIdid this?”
“Who else?” I shout. “You’re the only person other than me who has copies of them!”
Through the fog of my anger, I’m dimly aware of people around us watching the show.
“I wouldneverdo that!” Brody runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even have access to?—”
“Yes, you do. Cara gave it to you yesterday so you could post the video of you and Billy.”
His expression stills, then he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. I promise.”
But I’m not listening. Every part of me is howling with rage and anguish. I’ve never experienced pain like this. And the worst part of all? I’d trusted Brody enough to fall in love, to hope and dream of a future with him.
“Is it because of the job?” I cry. “Did you think it would swing it for you?”
“No! Jesus Christ! I couldn’t give a shit about that right now. It’s the last thing on my mind.”
“Why? Marv said you wanted it more than anything. I thought it was all that mattered to you.”
“No!You’reall that matters to me!”
“Why?”
“Because I love you!” he shouts.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“What?” I whisper.
“I love you,” he repeats. “I loved you when we were growing up, and I love you even more now. You’re my everything, Piper. I would never doanythingto hurt you.”
“You … you love me?” I ask, my heart tripping over itself while my brain struggles to catch up.
Brody nods, and his eyes are so full of tenderness that mine prickle with tears.
“Every part of me loves every part of you,” he says, and the sound of women sighing with happiness ripples through the air.
He cups my face. “It’s not the job I want anymore,” he murmurs, then brushes a kiss across my lips. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow. “You love me,” I repeat, clearly not as up to speed as everyone else.
Brody nods, then kisses me gently again, like he’s sealing a promise.
“Oh.” I blink at him, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “But … then who?—”
I jump as the front door to the bookstore is flung open with an almighty crash and a jangling of bells.
Marv staggers in wearing shades, his usually slicked-back hair disheveled and his coat buttoned up like he got dressed in the dark.
“Piper! Brody!” he calls across the crowd to us before lurching forward like a drunk Frankenstein. “I’m so fucking sorry!”
