Chapter 16
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“King of the Fuck Up!”
That’s been one of the nicer headlines about me.
With “King” as my last name, and every mistake I’ve made in public, the press and internet trolls have torn me apart over the past few years.
Marv and Cara try to keep it from me, but they can’t stop the social algorithms from thinking that’s what I want to see when I’m scrolling—or when I’m paying for gas and catch sight of my drunken face plastered on the cover of tabloid magazines.
But you could take all the pain and regret I feel from every single one of my mistakes, amplify it by a million, and it still wouldn’t come close to how I feel right now, lying next to Piper.
I’ve worked with enough inexperienced actors to spot when someone’s faking emotion, and Piper’s smiling face just before bed last night rang hollow in my chest.
I know I’ve hurt her, but I don’t know exactly how, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Did she want to kiss me, or the versions of me she sees on screen?
And if she has held a torch for me, how can anything between us work when I’ve fucked up so much of the last twelve years, and I’m heading for a job on the other side of the world?
Maybe nothing happening is a good thing.
Piper’s sweetness and sunshine and I’m the rain cloud that would ruin her life.
Marisa may have cheated on me, but she’s not wrong about a lot of things.
She accused me of not being present, emotionally as well as physically.
I can’t be like that with Piper. She deserves more.
It’s still dark outside, but the time on my watch shows it’s already morning. I’ve spent most of the night awake, listening to her unhappy mumbles, trying to find meaning in the occasional lucid word, while also trying to wrap my head around what happened yesterday.
We kissed.
I kissed Piper Locke and nearly came in my pants in the middle of a carols-by-candlelight attempt to break a world record based on the number of people wearing Santa hats. I don’t know which was more surreal, the kiss or the setting.
It was hands down the hottest moment of my life. So hot that I forgot where I was.
Yes, it was supposed to be practice. It was supposed to be fake.
But there’s a world of difference between kissing another actor on set and what happened last night.
The former always leaves me cold. At best, it’s slightly weird; at worst, downright unpleasant.
Kissing Piper? It blew my mind.
But before I could talk to her about it, everything unraveled.
I’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed, and I didn’t understand the significance of Piper having a Google Alert for me until it was too late.
I was too wrapped up in my own story of public failure and embarrassment to realize it meant she had a thing for me, or at least for who I’ve played on screen. All I could think about was how she’d perfectly captured me in the role I was going for.
A role in a show filming on the other side of the planet for nearly a year.
“A King-Sized Ego and a Right Royal Mess.” That’s what the headline should be for this catastrophic fail.
I scroll through the pictures from yesterday in the half-light, gazing at a smiling Piper, reliving how it felt to have her on my arm.
The way we worked as a team in The Perfect Package.
It was the first time I’d ever been in public and felt truly safe and secure in letting my guard down.
That was happiness for me. And I don’t know how the hell to get it back.
How can I persuade Piper to talk to me? How can I fix this? And should I even try when I can’t let anything happen between us?
Ethan’s words from yesterday are also playing on a loop in my head. I hurt him. I hurt Olivia by not going to their wedding, not visiting after Martha was born, and now it’s too late to say sorry.
Carefully getting out of bed, I go to the window, pushing back the drapes a little so I can look outside. It’s getting light, and the sky is clear this morning, although snow is forecast later.
Piper stirs behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. One arm slowly creeps over to my side of the bed, like she’s checking if I’m there or not. She pats the empty pillow, then lets out a sigh so heavy it’s like a ball of lead in my gut.
I clear my throat, not wanting to scare her by saying anything.
She jumps up, ripping her eye mask completely off, then sags when she sees me and pulls out her earplugs, putting them on the nightstand.
“How did you sleep?” I ask.
She yawns and pins on another fake-looking smile. “It was okay. You?”
I don’t know how to reply, so I make a non-committal noise.
Throwing back the covers and getting out of bed, Piper grabs some clothes, then heads to the door. “I’m gonna get ready, then go get coffee.”
“Sure. I’ll see you downstairs.”
For someone who was asleep less than a minute ago, she’s certainly awake now and can’t get out of the room fast enough. I stifle a shout of frustration as the door closes behind her.
After Piper makes her way downstairs, I use the bathroom, then join her in the kitchen.
“Morning, son!” John calls out. “I’m just telling Marv and Cara all about the sock-running championships.”
“And I’m making breakfast,” Erica adds. “Same as yesterday? It’s gonna be another long day.”
“Thanks, that would be great,” I reply, wishing a quick “good morning’” to everyone before going to Erica’s side. “Can I help?”
She bats my arm away. “Absolutely not. And anyway, you don’t know where anything is.”
“What are you getting out next?”
“The eggs and bacon.”
I know this is a trick question, but I move to the refrigerator first.
“See!” Erica crows. “You don’t know.”
I take the bacon out, then reach up to a cupboard where I know she keeps the eggs in a ceramic bowl because she says they should always be kept at room temperature.
“You were saying …”
She laughs. “Okay, you got me there, but you’re still sitting down. Go! Scoot!” she says, shooing me away with a wooden spoon.
I can either sit next to Cara at one end of the breakfast bar or Piper at the other, and I know how weird it would look if I chose the wrong end. So, I pull out the chair next to my fake girlfriend as she sprinkles cinnamon into her coffee, then adds half-and-half.
“But socks?” Marv is saying, like people need to get with the program and use proper footwear.
“Hideaway has lots of Nordic roots,” John replies. “It’s like running barefoot, but warmer. Want to have a go?”
Marv chokes on a mouthful of coffee, and Cara whacks him on the back.
“No thank you, Mr Mayor,” he finally manages. “I spent a lot of money on these shoes and they’re staying on.”
“You’ll both need snow boots if you’re coming up to the reserve,” John continues.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty to spare that’ll fit you,” Erica adds. “I’ll get an old pair of Hudson’s. And a warmer coat.”
“Thanks, that’d be great,” Marv replies, although he doesn’t sound enthusiastic about swapping his handmade Italian shoes for Hudson’s cast-offs.
My stomach rumbles as the scent of breakfast fills the air, and I try to think of something, anything, to say to Piper.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning, honey,” Erica says to her. “You coming down with something?”
Piper sits up straighter. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan for today?”
Erica breaks eggs into the sizzling pan. “We’ve got it all arranged. Marv, why don’t you fill them both in?”
Marv leans forward. “It’s Christmas story time for kiddies down at the library. Erica’s worked her magic and got you a slot at the end, so fingers crossed the rugrats aren’t too hyped up on sugar by then. Then there’s the sock race in the woods—”
“And I’ve got extra mistletoe to hang in a tree for your kiss,” Erica interrupts.
Piper’s coffee mug stops halfway to her mouth at her mother’s words.
“We don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Why not? It’s so pretty up there. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“What about the photos Mia took last night?” Piper asks. “You know, of us …”
“But that was at night, honey. We need them during the day, too. Don’t we, Marv?”
“Er …” Marv has clearly picked up on the vibe between me and Piper this morning.
“But we’ve got it all organized!” Erica’s voice is plaintive, like a little girl who’s just been told her party’s canceled because all the guests are sick.
“The forecast says it’s going to snow later, so it might not photograph well,” I say. “It can always wait for another day.”
“Okay,” she replies, seeming slightly mollified, then dishes up our breakfast.
It’s delicious as always, but my stomach is too tangled to enjoy it.
Marv’s one-man show continues for the next hour as we clear up and get ready to leave the house.
After John heads out to the Locke Reserve to oversee preparations for the sock-running championships, and Erica and Piper go with Cara to find boots that fit her, Marv rounds on me.
“Whatever you’ve done to screw things up with our golden girl, sort it,” he hisses.
I don’t even bother arguing with him.
“What did you do? For the love of all that’s holy, please tell me you didn’t turn her down?”
“I—”
“Because that girl’s in love with you. The way she looks at you? That ain’t acting.”
“You don’t know that.”
Marv whacks my arm with the back of his hand. “Seriously? Give me a break.”
I rub the lines on my forehead. How the fuck can I fix this mess?
“So, what the hell happened last night?”
I take out my phone, pull up the images she’s drawn of me, and show them to him.
“What the—” He swipes through them. “Holy shit, man!” He gazes up at me, his eyes wide. “Did she do these?”
I grab the phone from him and shove it in my back pocket. “Of course, she fucking did.”
“But how did she know you were going for the part?”
“She didn’t. That’s the point. She loves the world of The Sword and the Flame and imagined me playing everyone from the Emberking of Draventhorne to the warlock.”
Marv rubs his chin as he stares off into the middle distance. “So, I was right.”
“Huh?”