I look at him wordlessly. It’s crazy to me that this man, who I once thought knew me better than anyone, even despite the short amount of time I’d known him, can be so completely unaware of what my life has been like since he last saw me.
Then again, howwouldhe know? It’s not like we stayed in touch.
“That’s one part of it,” I say evenly. “But then there’s also…”
The lies you told about me. The fact that you ghosted me, then made it sound like it was my fault. The way you broke my heart.
“I don’t think I’m really cut out to be the main character in a book,” I say. “Or a movie-based-on-a-book, even. I think I wasalways destined to just have a supporting role. It’s … it’s strange, is all. It’s been strange.”
The silence that follows this statement is so acute I can almost hear Levi and Paris exchange disappointed glances, having expected more drama from me. Elliot, meanwhile, just stands there, shoulders slumped slightly, looking like I’ve just told him his baby’s ugly.
Which I guess I have, in a way.
“You were always the main character for me, Holly,” he says at last. “Always.”
Across the room, Paris lets out a gasp of delight.
“Oh myGod,” says Levi, in a stage whisper.
Drama delivered.
And now I guess the next line is mine.
I just have no idea what it should actuallybe.
To hide my discomfort, I reach for the laptop that’s sitting open on the counter in front of me, and start tapping away at it importantly, my fingers moving on auto-pilot as I stare determinedly at the screen.
You were always the main character for me.
Why did he say that when we both know it’s not true?
“Okay,” says Elliot, when it becomes clear that I’m not going to give him whatever answer it is he wants from me, because this is Holly he’s talking to — not Evie Snow, whose lines he can dictate. “Right. Well. I guess I’ll be going, then. How’s Martin, by the way? I was … surprised to see him with you last night.”
The email from Harper Grant is on the screen. I open it, just to make myself look busy, then click again to open the contract attached to it, for good measure.
“Martin? Martin’s fine,” I reply vaguely, distracted by the contract, which is several pages long and written in the kind of legal jargon I’ll probably need a translator for. “He took me home.”
Elliot opens the door (Deck the Hallssounds very out of place when you’re in the middle of a stand-off with the ex who once wrote a book about you, just in case you were wondering…) and stands there for a moment, as if he thinks he might still be able to rescue this scene if he just gives me a chance to try to stop him from leaving.
I don’t, though.
Because, as I scan the document in front of me, one eye still on Elliot in the doorway, a familiar name catches my eye.
I scroll back up, now fully focused on the screen in front of me.
No. That can’t be right. I must have misread it, surely?
But I haven’t.
There it is, in fourteen-point Times New Roman:
This agreement is made and entered into on [Date], betweenVivienne Faulkner (‘Author’) andHolly Hart (‘Ghostwriter’), collectively referred to as the ‘Parties,’ for the purpose of writing and developing the work [Title TBC]…
I blink several times and read it again, the words starting to swim before my eyes. I feel like I’ve just had a double-shot of Levis’ extra-strong espresso, shortly followed by a ride on a particularly twisty roller-coaster.
Vivienne Faulkner.
The author I’ve agreed to ghostwrite for is none other than Vivienne Faulkner; queen of romance, and the person responsible for a large percentage of our non-Snow Globe related book sales every month.
