Both times, she’d studied Marcus as the host handed him a book with small text and asked him to read a steamy bit aloud. On live television. Without warning. With—as she now knew—dyslexia, which he’d been taught to consider a defining weakness and source of shame.
Still, he’d tried, stumbling over the words until the host and audience had laughed uncomfortably and the show broke for commercials.
A few comments beneath that video had speculated he was drunk, but the group consensus had coalesced quickly: stupid, not hammered.
Why is their IQ always the inverse of their fuckability?
With a face that pretty, I guess he didn’t have to learn to read, right?
“You saw the interview, I take it,” he said, and she tried to compose her expression. “At that point, I knew I was dyslexic. I wasn’t ashamed of it, not by the time I got cast in Gates.”
She wasn’t sure whether to believe that, but she nodded anyway.
Beneath her hand, his heartbeat hastened as he told the story. “But in that moment, I just . . . blanked. Panicked. I was sweating under the lights, and people in the studio were still whispering to themselves and laughing, and when we came back after the commercials, I heard myself answering questions as him.”
“The Worst Possible Son,” she said. The role he’d played more often than any other, the role that had offered him protection from scorn so often in the past.
God, now that she knew, she could see it so clearly. The transition between the man who’d occasionally looked down and fumbled for words even before E. Wade’s doorstop tome landed in his lap, and the man who’d preened for the cameras during the rest of the two-part interview.
“Well, not entirely.” His smirk didn’t crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Somehow I had enough sense to make sure I came across as an especially friendly dunce, so as not to alienate our potential audience. So it was a variation on my original role. More the Well-Groomed Golden Retriever, less the Worst Possible Son.”
The biting edge to his words was meant to hurt someone. Himself? Anyone who’d scorn him? Both?
“I get it.” At least, the essentials of the situation. “But why not act differently for your next interview?”
His jaw shifted. “The showrunners were amused. They said it was less boring than my usual interviews, and since we weren’t allowed to say much about the script or the show anyway, I might as well entertain the audience a different way. After a while, I think they kind of forgot it was an act at all.”
To them, his humiliation was amusing. Entertainment. Goddammit, no wonder the show went off the rails once those motherfuckers couldn’t follow Wade’s books anymore.
“I also realized pretty quickly how easy I had it, compared to the other cast members.” Marcus’s voice had turned raspy and tired, and her hand rose and fell on his sigh. “They were always getting asked for character insights or opinions about the books versus the show, but once the media decided I was dumb, they didn’t bother giving me hard questions. I didn’t have to deflect or lie. I could just flex and primp and talk about my exercise routine. Eventually, most outlets stopped asking for individual interviews entirely, which was a relief.”
“Because you didn’t know what to say,” she said. “Not as yourself.”
He inclined his head, a mute agreement.
Now they’d reached the heart of the issue. His heart, beating steadily under her palm. His heart, evident in every bit of truth he’d offered her.
She stroked him with her thumb, a gentle arc of a caress. “Because you weren’t comfortable in your own skin.”
“No. Not like I am now.” For the first time since the conversation began, he touched her in return. His hand covered hers, pressed it close to the soft, nubby fabric of his sweater. “But once I had that version of myself established, April, I was kind of stuck.”
An elderly couple was walking arm-in-arm on the sidewalk nearby, chatting amiably as they drew closer. Close enough to hear things Marcus didn’t yet want revealed to the world.
Even though the two wizened men weren’t listening, she still lowered her voice to a thready whisper. “What do you mean?”
He edged closer. Ducked his head to speak directly into her ear, that golden hair cool and silky against her cheek. Softened his voice to match hers.
“After a year or two, I thought about changing my public persona, but I didn’t want Gates fans to think I was just fucking with them this whole time as some sort of weird, mean joke. I’d have to explain why I’d been pretending, and I didn’t know how to do it in a way that would satisfy them but not humiliate me.” He blew out a breath, and it tickled her earlobe enough to make her shiver. “To be frank, I’ve also been happy not to answer questions about scripts the last three seasons.”
That was as close to criticism of the show as she’d ever heard him venture. And as part of the Lavineas server, whose denizens linked to and analyzed every interview he gave, no matter how vapid, she would know.
Another gesture of trust, offered this time without prompting.
The couple had passed by them and shuffled farther down the street, but she didn’t back away. The intimacy of their position warmed her against the spring breeze, and he smelled—
A perfumer would know, could tease apart each delicious, herbal note. He’d said so.
She couldn’t. All she could do was inhale and sway closer and—wonder.
“Did you explain all this to your ex-girlfriends? Why you were different in private than in public?” she asked. “Because if I hadn’t pushed just now, I got the sense you’d have avoided the subject as long as possible.”
The material of his jeans teased against her knit leggings, thigh against thigh, and her lips parted.
“I haven’t had many relationships, April.” He wasn’t speaking into her ear anymore, but facing her from inches away, gaze as steady as that rhythmic heartbeat. “Just to be clear.”
Oh, he was very, very clear. From the heat radiating off him, his blown pupils, she suspected a glance downward would make his current state even more undeniable.
His hand tightened over hers. “And for the most part, I wasn’t different in private. Not until I knew them and trusted their discretion. Once I did trust them . . .” He leaned back a tad and ran his free hand through his hair. “I tried to transition slowly. At that point, things fell apart, for obvious reasons.”
With those bare centimeters of distance, she could breathe a little more easily. But her thinking remained muddled by pheromones and the lightning strike of lust, and she had no idea what he meant.
At her frown, he elaborated. “They began dating me based on my public persona, and then found themselves with someone entirely different. Someone inexplicable and kind of boring. When I’m not filming or working out, I like to stay home and listen to audiobooks, or go online, or wr—” He paused. “Or ride horses. Or watch baking shows with Alex. I was, um—”
When he took a half step away, the morning chill sneaked between them. “I was a disappointment, I guess.”
To his exes, the change must have seemed inexplicable. And to Marcus . . . dammit. He must have felt rejected for who he really was. Again.
“On top of that, dating someone in the public eye is hard on a relationship, even without other issues,” he said. “You’ve already experienced a few of the downsides. Did the paparazzi find you last week?”