Page 125 of Things We Fake

He turned slowly toward the mirror, staring at his reflection in silent horror. “This is war.”

I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, laughing so hard my stomach ached.

He glared at me through a haze of sparkle. “This is not funny. This glitter has micro cling. It’s impossible to remove completely.”

I picked through the box’s contents. Beneath the detonation zone lay a Dirty Dancing DVD, a Kama Sutra DVD, a tiny bottle of something labeledstrawberry massage elixir, and a pink feather that looked entirely too eager.

A note was tucked underneath in Jesse’s looping handwriting: Use responsibly. And call if you need more.

I held up the feather with solemn ceremony. “Shall we inaugurate the ancestral bed, Professor Glitterpants?”

“This is not funny. I can feel this crap in my every crack.”

“Oh no! Not your cracks!” I wheezed.

His eyes gleamed as he crossed the room and plucked the feather from my fingers. “Don’t forget you have more cracks than I do, and I plan to balance the glitter scales.”

My smile collapsed and I tried to make a run for it, but it was too late. Cam trapped me in one movement and sent both of us sprawling onto the bed, his glitter-covered body on top of mine.

“Let’s see who’s laughing now.” He grinned, then shook his head, making glitter rain down on me.

I squirmed, giggling helplessly as he started the process of glitter transfer, rubbing his cheeks against mine, touching as much of me as he could.

Minutes later, we were both glowing and giddy. I stopped struggling and looked up at him, out of breath, covered in sparkles and utterly smitten.

“Cam,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

He stilled, eyes darkening. “For what? Sharing the glitter?”

“For this. For finding this place. For knowing how much it would mean to me even before I did. For always putting me first, even when I was a hot mess of denial and sarcasm. For loving me anyway.”

His hand slipped into my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek with a tenderness that made something in my chest go soft and fragile. “Always,” he said simply. “You’re the one for me, Susanne. From that first pink sludge encounter to now and every glitter bomb between.”

I smiled, tracing a finger over his glitter-covered cheek. “We started in pink sludge and ended up in a different kind of pink sludge.”

He chuckled.

My throat tightened. “I think I loved you from the moment you didn’t run screaming from that robe.”

He kissed me, slow and reverent. “You’re my forever home,” he whispered against my lips. “Wherever we go, whatever we do—you’re the one.”

Tears stung the backs of my eyes as I pulled him close, glitter and all. Beneath us, the ancient bed creaked in protest. Around us, candlelight danced across plaster walls that had seen generations come and go.

And above us, the stars waited to watch us on our journey. Whatever the future held, we would face it together.