When she’d fallen silent after her predawn confession, he hadn’t pushed her.
Instead, he’d asked her what she needed from him, and she’d whispered into the darkness.
They’d made love slowly, and not just because she was already tender and slightly sore from their night together. Without urgency, in the dim coolness of her bedroom, in the shared warmth of her bed, he covered her, moved over her, took her beloved face between his hands and made certain—absolutely certain—she saw him seeing her.
Because that was what she’d needed.
Yes, he was beginning to understand her now. It had taken him longer than it should have, but he would make up for lost time today.
She hadn’t asked for his help, because that wasn’t her way. He was helping anyway.
If she needed space from her father, Marcus could give her that space, and she’d already told him how to do it. Her father cared about appearances. That being the case, there was literally no one better suited to occupy his attention and keep him away from April than the Well-Groomed Golden Retriever.
He had his character. He had his script and plenty of motivation.
As soon as they arrived at her parents’ house, he’d be ready for action.
It shouldn’t be much longer, either. The traffic was moving steadily, so they had maybe twenty more minutes to go. April kept glancing in her rearview mirror, as if longing to turn back, but she also kept driving.
After chatting about several more of the latest Lavineas fics—most of which he’d already, secretly, read—April fell silent.
Not for long, though.
“I saw you looking over the scripts again yesterday,” she said, adjusting the fan speed up another notch, then back down again a moment later. “Did you make any decisions?”
Discussing his career might help distract her a bit longer, but there honestly wasn’t much to report. “Nope.”
Some of his options no longer existed, not after such a long wait. Others he still couldn’t make himself commit to, despite all logic and common sense.
When she made a sort of encouraging hum, he willingly elaborated. “I fully understand how lucky I am to have access to those kinds of scripts, and I’m grateful. I really am. I don’t take my ability to make a living from acting for granted, and I appreciate the opportunities and experiences I’ve had more than I can easily express.”
“I know you do.” She flashed him a quick smile before turning back to the road. “When you talk about your work, your gratitude shines through every word. It’s endearing as hell.”
Her regard, her affection, settled softly within his chest, as it always did.
With her, he was always warm. Always full.
“I think there are some great scripts in that stack, but I’m just . . .” When he paused, she didn’t try to fill in the words for him. Finally, he made himself say it. “I’m not sure I want any of those roles.”
None of them felt quite right. Worse, he didn’t know which Marcus should show up for an audition. The real him? Some iteration of the man he’d played in public for almost a decade?
If he wanted to change his narrative, this was his best chance.
He shook his head. No, it wasn’t a matter of if. He did want to change his narrative. It was more a matter of how. It was also a matter of courage. And as he’d told April before, he was no Aeneas when it came to bravery.
“So those roles aren’t what you want. That’s okay.” April reached out to squeeze his knee. “You have time, and you’ll get other offers. Once the last season of Gods of the Gates starts airing and you’re back in the international spotlight, Francine’s inbox will probably be flooded.”
Maybe so. But by then, he’d have ensured a long, long gap between projects.
Unwilling to pursue the topic further, he turned toward April as much as the seat belt would allow. “Speaking of fame, how are you feeling about Con of the Gates? Are you ready for all the attention you’re going to get?”
The convention was coming up next weekend, and they’d decided to make their semi-official debut there as an acknowledged couple. No more avoiding the paparazzi, at least for that weekend. Instead, they would enter the premises proudly and together.
He couldn’t wait. He wanted to show her off, and she seemed both amused and pleased by his eagerness to do so.
When not occupied by the cast’s group panel, an individual Q&A session, and various photo op stints, he intended to have her by his side whenever possible. Although, of course, she had her own commitments, some more recent than others.
“I think I’m ready.” The rapid drumming of her fingers slowed. “I’ve already set aside what I want to pack, and my Lavinia costume is totally done, other than a bit of hem work.”
His mouth opened.
“And no, you still can’t see it.” Her grin was just a tad evil. “You’ll have to wait until the cosplay contest, just like everyone else, Caster-Hyphen-Rupp.”
Oh, he loved when she called him that. It meant she was feeling saucy, and saucy was a million times better than anxious.
Since talking about the con seemed to relax her, he would ask as many questions as necessary. “What about the session with Summer? How do you feel about that?”
Only days ago, the moderator for Summer’s Q&A session had unexpectedly dropped out. The con’s organizers, obviously aware of both April’s love for Lavinia and her current online notoriety as his girlfriend, had promptly invited her to moderate the session instead. After some thought, she’d agreed.
Marcus had already introduced the two women via a quick FaceTime chat to smooth over any potential awkwardness. Afterward, Summer had sent him a text. Not that you needed my approval, but I like her. She seems confident, too, which will help. But take care of her during that con, Marcus. It’s hard on all of us, but I don’t think you can understand what it’s like to be a woman in the spotlight. Especially a woman who’s not used to it, and *especially* a woman who might not be the sort of girlfriend the press and public expect you to have.
It was kind and thoughtful and totally, one hundred percent Summer. Which was why, when Ron and R.J. had fucked over Lavinia and Aeneas in the final season, Marcus had grieved not just for his own character’s arc but also for his devastated colleague and friend.
Because of how closely they’d worked together over the years, she and Carah were probably the two cast members who saw him most clearly, but neither woman had ever betrayed that knowledge to the press. Not a single time.
Maybe he and all three of his favorite women could have dinner together during the convention. Maybe, in their company, with their guidance, his path forward in his career would be clearer.
Their advice couldn’t be worse than Alex’s suggested hair care products and slogans, after all. Try Caster for hairstyles that last-er! Or, for extra-hold hair spray: Hairstyle had a Rupp night? Let Marcus hold you!
“I’ll be fine moderating. I don’t mind public speaking.” April raised a shoulder. “I should be receiving Summer’s bio and the questions sometime this week, so I can familiarize myself with what I’ll need to say ahead of time.”
He forced himself to ask the next obvious question. “When are you seeing your online friends? Have you set a time?”