The girl’s brow crinkled. “No, I mean I was hoping to ask you a question.”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
In her peripheral vision, she could see Summer taking out a cell phone and feverishly thumbing away, which seemed odd and sort of rude under the circumstances, but April supposed no one in the audience was paying attention to the actor right now anyway.
No, they were all looking at her, and they all knew what this young woman wanted to ask about. Marcus. Of course, Marcus.
The con organizer was waving at her from the side of the stage, mouthing something. It’s up to you, if she was interpreting the man’s exaggerated lip movements correctly.
Her privacy was at stake here, but so was her pride.
So was her heart.
Marcus would eventually see this, she knew. At the very least, he’d hear about it, from Summer or someone else. And maybe she hadn’t thought the convention was the right place to have this conversation, and maybe she hadn’t intended to expose her heart to a hall full of strangers before speaking to him directly, but she wasn’t going to evade the question, whatever it was.
He loved her. He loved her, and Marcus had already loved too many people who’d failed him. Who’d ignored his needs. Who’d refused to acknowledge him publicly.
She was proud of him and for him, and whatever happened between them next, he needed to know that.
After a shuddering breath, she mentally hiked up her big-girl panties and answered the young woman. “Sure. What’s your question?”
“At the cast panel—” Leila gestured vaguely toward the door. “You know, the one that happened right before this session?”
April tipped her head in acknowledgment.
The girl continued, “Anyway, at that panel, Marcus Caster-Rupp said he wasn’t with you as a publicity stunt.”
“Our relationship has nothing to do with publicity.” The words were firm. Definitive. “The first time we met, the attraction was immediate and mutual.”
And that remained true whether she meant their first online meeting or their first date.
“Oh. Good.” Leila’s brief smile was beautiful, wide enough to plump her cheeks adorably. “Are you two still dating? Because it . . .” The microphone picked up the little catch in her throat. “It meant a lot to me to see you two t-together.”
When April met the girl’s eyes, she saw pain and need there. The same pain and need that had clawed at her for decades, and the same pain and need that had drawn her inexorably into the Lavineas fandom.
Please tell me people who look like us can be loved.
Please tell me people who look like us can be desired.
Please tell me people who look like us can have happy endings.
She bit her lip. Dropped her chin to her chest. Considered what to tell the girl. Dammit, she hadn’t intended to say any of this, but—
“Not to sound like a social media status update, but it’s complicated.” The audience chuckled, and she huffed out a small sound of amusement too. “Let me make one thing absolutely clear, though: If we do break up, it won’t be because our relationship was fake, or because he doesn’t like how I look. He wants me exactly as I am. Believe me”—she slanted the audience a smile dripping with smug confidence—“I know.”
Leila giggled at that, and April laughed with her and reached for a well-deserved sip of water. Only to see, when she turned away from the audience, someone standing at the far edge of the stage, blocked from the sight of session attendees by a curtain.
Not the con organizer. Not a volunteer.
Marcus.
His chest was heaving, as if he’d run through the hotel to reach her. He was clutching his cell, and April suddenly knew exactly whom Summer had been texting earlier and why.
He was staring at her, face pinched into a concerned frown. It was easy enough to read his lips, to interpret the sweep of his arm toward the unseen audience. I’m sorry.
When she smiled at him, his gaze turned soft. Still worried, but gentle and affectionate.
“Leila, you didn’t ask me this, but I want to make something else clear.” She spoke into her microphone, but she was looking at him. Always, always at him. “If Marcus and I break up, it won’t be because I want to, and it won’t be because I don’t love him.”
He’d gone very, very still, his face grave.
“I do love him. Of course I love him. How could I not love him?” It was an impossibility, really. An inevitability, from that first direct message on the Lavineas server. “He’s such a talented man. Incredibly knowledgeable and smart and so curious about everything.”
At his sides, his hands twitched and curled in on themselves, but he didn’t glance away. Not once.
“There’s so much more to him than what he’s shown the world, and all of it is even more impressive than the person you see on your television and movie screens.” A vast understatement. She hoped he understood that someday. “He isn’t perfect, just like I’m not perfect. He makes mistakes, because of course he makes mistakes. He isn’t an actual demigod.”
His lips were parted, his eyes bright with more than the overhead lights. Which was fair, because she was suddenly near tears herself.
“He’s just a man. A good, good man who deserves all the love and happiness he can handle.” She tipped her chin to him then, a quick gesture of affirmation before turning back to the audience. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s the prettiest man I’ve ever met, either.”
Then they were all laughing again, and the familiar sound of his amusement rumbled from the side of the stage. Which came as a relief, because she didn’t want him to think she was dismissing him as only a pretty face, undeniably pretty as that face might be.
“Okay, let’s focus on questions for Summer now.” She peered into the audience, searching for the appropriate con volunteer. “Who’s n—”
Suddenly, the microphone was plucked out of her hand.
“Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Just a quick note before we move on.” Marcus was looming over her chair, his hand resting on its high back, his thumb caressing her nape in a spot that always made her shiver. “That is, if Summer doesn’t mind.”
His colleague was sitting back in her chair, hands laced in her lap, a satisfied grin splitting her elfin face. “Take as long as you need, Marcus. I’m in no hurry.”
“Great.” He turned to the audience. “Leila, I have something I want to make clear as well. Just as an addendum to April’s answer.”
The young woman got to her feet again. “Uh, okay?”
“Ms. Whittier seemed uncertain on the matter, so let me clarify for you.” His voice was clear and sure, and warmth crinkled the corners of those famous blue-gray eyes. “We’re not breaking up. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
It was April’s turn to stare at him, shocked into stillness. He lowered his microphone and faced her, free hand lifted and waiting for her permission.
She nodded.
His palm gentle on her cheek, he studied her features with care. “Do I have something to say about it?”
“You do.” She barely recognized her own voice, hoarse with relief and love.
“Well, then.” Ducking his head, he pressed a soft kiss on her trembling lips. Another. Then he raised his microphone again. “It’s official. We’re still dating. That’s the answer to your question, Leila.”