Chapter 9 #2
“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 actually does know.
“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 Brody Snow King, 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.
“Hey! It wasn’t that bad!”
“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-buh brum.”
It’s a letter salad and makes absolutely no sense, but it’s too adorable for words, and I’m utterly captivated.
“Juh bruh, mahbrum—VISION!”
I nearly leap off the bed, but then she lapses back into mumbles and my shoulders shake with laughter.
She’s moving about again now, and I wonder what’s coming next. For someone who claims to sleep like the dead, it looks like she’s dancing under the covers.
Then her arms flail free, and she grabs a pillow from the pillow wall, hugging it to her. She lets out another loud sigh, then falls quiet, sprawled in the middle of the bed.
I gaze at the sheepskin on the floor, wondering if I should sleep on it, then decide there’s enough room here.
If I lie on my side at the very edge of the bed, and Piper’s happy cuddling the pillow, we should be okay.
Getting up quietly, I close the drapes, blow out the candles, then carefully slip under the covers. I know I should turn away from Piper, but I can’t resist facing her, watching her face in the half-light as she sleeps.
“Buh shh muh,” she mutters.
“You too,” I reply, then gaze at her until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and allow myself to drift off to sleep.