Page 89 of Spoiler Alert
He was squeezing tighter.
Lavineas Server DMs, Seven Months Ago
UnapologeticLavinia Stan:Are you going to next year’s Con of the Gates?
Book!AeneasWouldNever:Attending events as a fan isn’t really my thing.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:Because you don’t like crowds, or...?
Book!AeneasWouldNever:Something like that.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:Okay
Book!AeneasWouldNever:It’s just
Book!AeneasWouldNever:Meeting my online friends in person doesn’t seem like a great idea to me.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:You’re shy?
Book!AeneasWouldNever:Sometimes?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:Because please know: you don’t have to be nervous around me. I don’t care what you look like, or whether you’re awkward face-to-face, or—whatever. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and I’d love to meet you in person.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:for coffee
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan:or dinner? Just the two of us?
Book!AeneasWouldNever:I wish I could. Please, please believe that.
21
AFTERA DAY FULL OF DOCUMENTS, APRIL CAME HOME TOyetmoredocuments.
Not lab results from soil samples this time, or reports from consultants in which they misinterpreted data or used the wrong screening levels to draw their conclusions, but television and movie scripts. Actual Hollywood scripts, each containing a role Marcus’s agent thought he might like, or a role already offered to him before he even caught his first glimpse of the story.
Some he’d have to audition for, others he wouldn’t. Some would offer a substantial paycheck, others not much above scale. Some boasted big names as costars or producers or directors, and others counted on the story itself as the main draw.
His agent, Francine, had her preferences, of course, but she mostly just wanted him to choosesomethingand have it hit the public before his post–Gods of the Gatesrecognizability began to wane. Or so he’d informed April over their dinner of mustard-roasted salmon and garlicky mashed cauliflower. During the afternoon, he’d baked some sort of savory flatbread too, for her sole, enthusiastic consumption.
That salmon was fucking incredible. So was the rest of their meal.
He’dshopped for the food. Paid for the food. Washed the dishes, changed the sheets, and even run a load of her laundry. Hung some pictures where she’d indicated she wanted them.
If he never chose another role, she was planning to keep him as a househusband.
Maybe that should be a joke, but it wasn’t.
And as her mother kept hinting, maybe April should be alarmed by how quickly he’d moved into her home and become a familiar, essential presence in her daily existence. Instead, it seemed... natural. As if he’d been in her life for years, although she’d met him only weeks ago.
She trusted him. Somehow, even after such a short time, she trusted him.
As his scripts proved, they wouldn’t always have this sort of time together, either. Soon he’d return to LA or report to some international location for filming, and they might not see one another for weeks or months at a time.
So if he wanted to stay, she wasn’t showing him the door. This alignment of their lives, their schedules, wouldn’t last forever, and she intended to appreciate every minute of it.
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind if we talked through my choices.” Using his phone, he forwarded one of the relevant emails to her from his postdinner spot on the couch. “Normally I would have had something lined up months ago, but I couldn’t seem to decide, and I figured I could use a break once we finished filmingGates. Francine’s right, though. I need to pick a project soon. I could use a sounding board.”
“You hoped I wouldn’t mind?” She opened up her laptop on the cleared kitchen table and eyed him over the top of her glasses. “Marcus, we’ve been over this before. I’m an incurably nosy bitch. OfcourseI want to see your scripts.”
