Ron had added a crying-laughter emoji to the end.
They’d also cc’ed Lauren. Those cruel motherfuckers, indeed.
Shit. Marcus needed to fix this, or at least buy them some time. Without giving his friend’s phone back, if at all possible.
They didn’t have many minutes left before Alex’s first scheduled event, but he couldn’t go onstage in this state, and he certainly couldn’t be trusted to send a professional, non-career-ending reply to such a casually cruel message. Not until he’d had time to calm himself.
What were their reasonable options? “Listen, Alex, why don’t we take a walk before—”
“No time.” Color still high, his friend got to his feet, put on his shoes with two quick shoves, and prowled toward the suite’s door. “Let’s get going. I have a Q&A session to attend. You can keep the phone for now.”
Marcus slipped the cell into his jeans pocket, as close as possible to his crotch, where retrieving it would require the sort of intimacy he and Alex didn’t share.
Which was . . . good?
So why did Alex’s relinquishment of the phone only make Marcus more nervous?
Down the endless hallways they marched, Marcus offering smiles to fans and blaming Alex’s upcoming session for their unwillingness to pause for selfies.
Alex, uncharacteristically, didn’t say a word. He just looked straight ahead and strode down the corridors, every movement efficient and forceful.
Mere minutes ago, on his way back from the ice machine, Marcus had contemplated watching the first few minutes of Alex’s Q&A session from the wings of the stage, then escaping back to their room for a long-awaited, well-deserved, unconscious respite from both his misery and Alex’s endless talking.
Now he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when they reached Alex’s assigned hall. Not when the moderator and conference organizers greeted them with effusive courtesy. Not when they were both ushered backstage and shown seats neither of them used.
After another minute of silence, Marcus tried again. “I know you’re angry, but—”
“Don’t worry.” His friend’s voice was cool, in contrast to those livid stripes of color on his cheekbones. “I’ll be fine.”
Which was somehow both more and less reassurance than Marcus had hoped to receive.
When the moderator announced Alex, he nodded once at Marcus and strode onto that stage as if he were entering a boxing ring.
This was—
Marcus moved closer to the edge of the curtains, until he could see his best friend pacing with a microphone in hand, rather than sitting next to the moderator. That smile, gleaming through his shaggy beard, was wild and sharp and familiar.
It usually preceded something apocalyptic.
This was very, very bad.
Lauren had been given a special seat at the end of the front row, and she was watching Alex carefully, her brow furrowed even more than usual. Perched on the edge of her folding chair, she appeared poised to do . . . something. Throw herself in front of him, maybe, or yank him from the stage.
Despite her evident worry and Marcus’s own concerns, however, the session proceeded normally. Maybe Alex’s answers were a bit crisper than normal, and maybe his high color never faded completely, but he was charming and intelligent and everything the showrunners wanted him to be in public.
At least, until the final question of the session.
The woman in the third row was nearly shaking with nervousness, but she stood and stammered out her query anyway. “Wh-what can you tell us about the final season?”
“Your question is about the final season, correct? You’re asking what I can share about it?” Alex’s grin burned even brighter under the stage lights, and Marcus knew. Somehow, he just knew. “Thank you for such a fantastic closing question. I’d be delighted to answer.”
Marcus was already moving toward the center of the stage, already attempting to formulate some excuse, any excuse, to pull his friend away, but it was too late. He was too late. So was Lauren, who shot to her feet at the first sign of trouble.
All they could do was stop and watch and listen, horrified, as Alex endangered his entire goddamn career in a towering rage.
“As you know, cast members aren’t allowed to say much about episodes that haven’t aired yet.” His anarchic, fury-filled beam in place, he stopped pacing and spoke clearly and distinctly to the cameras capturing his every word for live streams worldwide. “However, if you’re interested in my thoughts about our final season, you may want to consult my fanfiction. I write under the name CupidUnleashed. All one word, capital C, capital U.”
Other than a few scattered gasps at the announcement, there wasn’t a sound from the audience. Not one. Arms wrapped around her torso, face screwed up in horror, Lauren dropped back into her seat and hunched in on herself.
With a courtly flourish, Alex set down his microphone on the seat he’d been provided but failed to use. Then he raised a forefinger and picked up the mic again.
“Oh,” he added breezily, “those stories will also give you some insight into my feelings about the show in general.”
Lauren had covered her face with both hands, her head bowed.
A long pause as his smile improbably broadened. “Also, fair warning: Cupid gets pegged in my fics. Delightedly and often. It’s not great literature, but it’s still better than some of this season’s—” He winked at the audience then, allowing them to fill in the word for him: scripts. “Well, never mind about that.”
Because of the live streams, because of the cell phones recording his session, there could be no denying his words later, no way to spin them except as he’d intended them. Provocation, deliberate and pointed.
There was a faint whimpering sound then, and if Marcus had to guess, he’d say it originated from Lauren.
Alex waited another moment, head tilted in thought. Then he smiled one last time.
“No, that’s everything.” Another little bow. “I’m done.”
He strode offstage to the sound of shocked murmuring and stopped next to Marcus, his body exuding unbelievable heat. Eyes clenched shut, he was once again heaving out breaths like that bull, ready to scrape the ground and charge.
“Alex.” When his friend didn’t respond, Marcus tried again. “Alex.”
This time, Alex managed to focus on him.
“You really are done, unless you find a way to do damage control immediately.” He laid a careful hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in the room as soon as the photo sessions are finished, but you need to call your agent and your lawyer and anyone else in your camp who can help. Right now.”
Alex’s eyes closed again, and his shoulders finally dropped. He nodded.
“I know,” he said, his voice resigned but not apologetic. “I know.”
Lavineas Server
Thread: WTAF Is Up with This Season’s Scripts?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: There are so many issues. So many.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I still don’t understand why the showrunners moved the story from ancient Rome to quasi-medieval Europe. (Yes, I know what BAWN will say.)
Mrs. Pius Aeneas: “Trying to ride the coattails of Game of Thrones.”
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Exactly. But even a thousand years later, people weren’t saying “stressed out.” Even *I*, a woman who does NOT dabble in canon, know THAT.