Page 242 of Darling Venom
“I mean it. I know you pretend you don’t care about the plagiarism, that it doesn’t affect the way you think about yourself, but it’s obvious that it does. Finishing Kellan’s book while staying true to his voice and vision proves what you’re capable of. You are not a fraud.”
“Anyone could have done that.”
“No. Not at all. There’s a reason I came to you.”
“Free labor.”
I quirked a brow. “The money saved isn’t enough incentive to deal with you, especially when Helen would’ve offered someone far more tolerable to help.”
“I’m that bad, eh?”
I smiled. “The worst.”
He shook his head. “I’m still a fraud.”
“Have you ever tried saying otherwise?”
“Why would I?”
“Because when you say you’re a fraud, you justify acting like one. You justify hating yourself. You justify bad behavior. It’s an insult to Kellan’s memory when he idolized the hell out of you.”
Terry had no answer to that, but I refused to let him off the hook.
“You’re not a fraud, Terry,” I said with so much conviction, it had to rattle him. “You helped finish Kellan’s book, and it’s a damn perfect book. You are not a fraud. Why don’t you try saying that aloud for once?”
“This is dumb.”
“Just do it. For Kellan.”
For yourself.
He swallowed, looked away, and mumbled, “I’m not a fraud.”
“Louder.”
“I’m not a fraud.” His eyes hit the door as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. “This isn’t a children’s flick.”
“You’re right. This is real life, and you’re an adult. It’s time to act like one.” I crossed my arms. “Again.”
“I’m not a fraud,” he deadpanned, sarcasm so thick I could slather it on sliced bread like peanut butter. Extra crunchy.
“You’re right. You’re not.” I waved the envelope with the manuscript. “You fi
nished Darling Venom. You are not a fraud. Say it again.”
He repeated it, over and over, and I knew why he was entertaining me.
Terrence Marchetti was sick of hating himself. Of living with a weight on his shoulders that rendered him unable to move. He desperately wanted to believe he was not a fraud, so he could start acting like he wasn’t one.
“Again,” I urged.
But I didn’t need to.
He was saying it on his own now. Without me asking.
Stronger. Louder. Faster.
He rocked back on his heels. The nerves left him one by one. His shoulders squared, chin tipping up. That permanent frown dissolved.
