“The work thatyouwere going to take credit for?” I hiss, shaking him off. “Like when you used my ideas inThe Snow Globe?”
Elliot lets go of my arms, his face ashen.
“I was never planning to publish your writing under my name … um, my pen name, I mean,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have done that. I was going to tell you who I was. I was going to persuade you to publish it under your own name. I swear to you, Holly; that’s what I was trying to do. It was about you, not about me. And as forThe Snow Globe… well, I’ve already tried to explain that to you. I don’t know what else to say except that I’m sorry. I messed up. I really, really messed up.”
He sits back down and puts his face in his hands. I stand there next to him, anger slowly fading as it occurs to me that there’s much more to this story that I still haven’t heard.
“Wait,” I say, going over to one of the display tables and picking up a copy of Vivienne Faulkner’s newest release. “There’s something I still don’t understand.”
I thrust the book under his nose, forcing him to look at the photo of ‘Vivienne’ on the back cover.
“Who’s this?” I demand. “And why did I spend a bunch of my time feeling sorry for her, what with the mystery illness that was apparently stopping her from writing her book?”
Elliot takes the book and turns it over in his hands, as if he’s never seen it before.
“Look, Holly, I never intended for anyone to find out about this,” he sighs at last. “I’ve probably just destroyed my reputation by talking about it now, in fact. That was never part of the plan. I’ve already got at least a dozen missed calls from my publisher on my phone. So believeme when I tell you that I didn’t set out to purposefully deceive anyone with …. this.”
He places the book on the coffee table in front of him, and I perch on the edge of the sofa, interested in spite of myself.
“So, what did you set out to do?” I ask softly. “And who is she?”
“She’s a model,” he replies, shrugging. “She posed for the author photos. We made up a fake biography for her to make it seem real. I did it because I had no intention of ever being associated with those books. I mean, me? A romcom writer?” He laughs without humor. “My family acceptedThe Snow Globe… eventually … but I’d never had lived down this kind of thing.” He taps the cover of the book in front of him. “Never. Not in a million.”
“But you wrote them anyway?”
“Yeah. Because I enjoyed it. And because I knew you liked romance books. It made me like them too. You’re not the only one who appreciates a happy ending, you know.”
I take the book back and flick through it silently.
“I do like romance books,” I admit at last. “I like yours. Vivienne’s. Whatever. I’ve read them all.”
“Really? EvenS’More Than Friends? I was never really sure about that title.”
“Yup. All of them. Even this latest one. I read it as soon as it arrived. I really enjoyed it. I just can’t believeyouwrote it.”
From the cover of the book, ‘Vivienne Faulkner’ beams up at me. It’s strange to think she isn’t real; or isn’t who she seems to be, at least.
Just another thing that turned out to be fake around here.
“I can’t believe I wrote it either,” says Elliot, rubbing his chin. “I can’t believe I wrote any of them. My family doesn’t even know it’s me. Shit. I expect they will now.”
He looks up at me, eyes wide as he realizes exactly what he’s done by deciding to unmask himself on the stage earlier.
“Um, yeah. I’d say so. Levi will have it on TikTok already. It’s probably gone viral by now. No, don’t look,” I add quickly, seeing Elliot reach for his phone. “It’s best not to read the comments. Trust me, I’ve been working with Levi and Paris for long enough to know that you never read the comments when something goes viral.”
“Right. Well, I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“I think we both do.”
We look at each other, suddenly shy. So much has happened over the last 24 hours that it’s almost impossible to process it all.
Elliot is Vivienne.
Martin is a dirty, rotten liar.
Harper Grant isn’t a matronly looking cat lady.
I’m … confused. I’m just very, very confused.
