Liv wrapped her fingers tightly around the phone. The pages of the manuscript were furling again, and she flattened them down with her elbow. The quietness in the apartment made her feel suddenly isolated. The feeling reminded her of trembling under the bedcovers reading The Moon on the Water by torchlight, after losing her dad.

She’d always imagined becoming a writer was like an invisible path stretching out in front of her, waiting for her to start her journey. It looked like she had to stamp on nettles and jump over potholes to walk along it. Just like Georgia Rory. “Yes, that’s okay.” Liv screwed her eyes shut. “I’m sure Essie can get it done.”

“Good stuff,” Marlon said. “I’ll take that as your guarantee.”

As she hung up, Liv’s dad’s voice appeared in her head. “Just keep turning the page until you reach the next chapter, sweet pea,” Grant Cooper said.

“Okay, Dad, I’m going to try,” she whispered.

9

SHAKESPEARE

The night before meeting Anthony, Liv dreamed she was surrounded by book pages swirling around her. They stuck to her body and coated her face until she couldn’t breathe. Essie had died three weeks ago, but it felt like only yesterday.

“Stop wriggling,” Jake huffed and pulled the bedcovers around him. “You’re keeping me awake.”

Liv couldn’t stop moving, twitching and staring into the darkness. She was determined to carry out Essie’s last wish to the best of her abilities, but the worry of hoodwinking millions of Georgia Rory fans crept over her skin like soldier ants.

She tried telling herself that author James Patterson openly employed cowriters to help craft his many bestsellers, writing outlines that others then drafted out. Was it so bad if she worked on Essie’s novel and no one knew about it? Authors Stieg Larsson, Robert Ludlum and Agatha Christie had all had their characters and stories passed onto new authors, to continue telling them posthumously. Though, unlike the Essie situation, it was done candidly.

Liv’s self-assurances did little to quell her concerns.

She dressed in black trousers and a white blouse for her meeting with Anthony. She didn’t usually bother wearing makeup to work and made the effort with pink lip gloss and mascara. She called at the apartment on the way to the Museum of Writing, where she added Essie’s green scarf around her neck for a splash of color. The sun was out again, so she took a pair of Dior sunglasses off a bookshelf, popping them on before adding a squirt of Fracas to her collarbone.

As she passed the hallway mirror, Liv caught sight of herself and did a double take. Her Sheryl Crow vibe now had a touch of Emily Blunt classiness, and she liked it.