Page 116 of The Perfect Rom-Com

And then, out of nowhere, there is a slam and a rush of air as all four walls around Jack and me fall to the ground. The wall I was just holding on to has collapsed beneath my fingertips.

And my hand is still raised up, holding nothing but air, as I look out.

I’m standing in the middle of the stage, staring at Amelia and Melinda on one side, and two hundred audience members on the other.

Chapter 25

“Oh my word, folks,” Melinda is saying above the claps and cries of awe. She practically yells over everyone as she points to the screen over her head. “It looks like we missed a little detail on that cover.”

And then to my shock Amelia Benedict’s name dissolves and my own name—MY OWN NAME—emerges in its place. Big, bright, and bold.

BRYONY PAGE.

And above it, #1 Bestselling Ghostwriter.

My stomach has flown to my throat.

I am about to throw up. I clutch my heart, eyes giant and round.

But then I feel the quiet press of my hand, and I look down to see Jack giving it a light pressure to balance me again.

I take a breath, and when he sees I’m okay, he lets go.

“This is— No, this—” Amelia’s quaking words are flying underneath the cheers and chants and claps of everyone around us, and she moves to stand, shifting her attention and increasingly furious expression from Melinda, to Jack, to the traitorous cover, to me.

“It was you!” Her finger points in all directions, then it seems to land ultimately on me. “And you!” She points at Jack. “The both of you have worked against me since the beginning. Stealing my books. Making up this—this ridiculous—”

“Don’t forget me!” Penny steps out from the woodwork backstage. She gives an overbright smile, looking incredibly proud of herself. Waves to the crowd.

And then I see it, the mic on her collar as well.

The Bright Show put me in a soundproof room and wheeled it ever so slowly onstage. And Penny? Was she the one feeding Amelia her lines all this time? No wonder it sounded off. I mean, Haley Frydman, the butcher in The Seven-Year Holiday who collects cotton candy?!

Amelia, after some guidance from the stage officers, marches offstage, headed no doubt for her nearest lawyer. But that will be another matter for my brain to face when my body is not currently on live TV in front of millions of people.

“So as you can see, folks,” Melinda says, holding her cup up as a man comes by and fills it, flashing a smile to the camera, “it looks to me like the wool has been fascinatingly pulled over all our eyes the past two years, and right now, for the first time, we are looking at the true author of Sunset over Santorini, Smuggler’s Paradise, A Room for Rose, A Leap of Faith, The Seven-Year Holiday, and who knows?” she says with a shrug and a laugh. “Maybe more. But let’s hear from the author herself. Bryony, let’s grab you a cup of coffee.”

She motions for me with a pat on the couch to sit beside her.

This isn’t bad.

I’m in shock, but none of this is bad.

In fact, it’s good.

I find myself reminding me of that over and over, forcing myself to settle into this new reality.

On wobbly legs I begin to move forward, and then she adds with a snap and gestures to Jack. “Oh, and I’m given to understand that you are under a contract of confidentiality, and it was imperative that you be completely oblivious to this entire reveal,” Melinda says. “So, with respect to that, we’re also going to need your agent up here. Jack, get on up here!” she says with a massive wave.

I feel the slightest pressure on my lower back as Jack encourages me forward, and together we go to the couch.

The couch.

On The Bright Show.

In the most surreal moment.

Of my entire life.