Page 50 of The Holiday Fakers
“Hey! It wasn’tthatbad!”
“Not at all,” I say in a perfect British accent. “It was practically perfect in every way.”
Her jaw drops, and she stares at me like I’ve just demonstrated I can fly.
“Oh, my god!” she whispers. “Do it again! Say something posh!”
I don’t hesitate. “Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, nor services to do, till you require.”
Her cheeks flush with color, and her mouth opens and closes like the cutest little fish at the fair.
“Shakespeare,” I say, by way of explanation.
She takes a step back, fanning her cheeks. “Holy British shitballs, Brody. That was … objectively hot.”
I don’t know what to do. I want to say more. But I’m not using Shakespeare’s gift of words and my ability to mimic any accent to make Piper like me.
So I bow as if I’ve completed a performance and turn to the window. “Should I close the drapes?”
She doesn’t immediately reply, and I keep my gaze on the street outside.
“Could you leave them open for a bit? I’d quite like to watch it from under the comforter.”
“Sure.” I open them a little wider and join her on the bed, her under the covers, me on top.
My body aches just to hold her hand again, but she’s tucked in like a child, only her head showing, propped up on two pillows so she can see the snow falling.
“I forgot to blow out the candles,” she says. “But I kind of don’t want to. They’re so pretty, even though they’re a massive fire hazard.”
“I’ll blow them out later.”
She stifles a yawn. “Thank you. And you can get under the covers, you know.”
“Maybe later.”
“I told you, I sleep like the dead, so I’ll definitely stay on my side, and there’s the pillow wall as well. You’ll be safe. I promise.”
I make a non-committal sound in response.
The room is silent, save for the soft sound of snowfall on the windows.
At the edges of my vision, Piper’s eyelids grow heavy until they close. I wait, listening to her breathing change. After a few minutes, she turns on her side to face me, shuffling further under the covers, as if the two pillows under her head are now too high.
I carefully pull the bottom one out and add it to the pillow wall between us.
Piper wriggles a little as she repositions herself, then lets out a contented sigh.
She’s so cute right now, I can’t stop smiling.
Her perfect little mouth opens. “Habajuh puh-puh,” she mutters.
Huh?
“Jar bahjuh jup purrr?”
I press my lips together to stop a laugh escaping as she begins a garbled conversation with herself.
“Bah buh-buhbrum.”
