Page 29 of Ship Wrecked

Their first day back on set was a blast.

Everyone seemed fresh, eager to return to work, and delighted to coalesce once more into their tight-knit little crew of friends and colleagues. They quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, even as they shot at a new location, one they’d likely revisit often over the years.

In this episode’s script, Cassia and Cyprian finally encountered the island’s gate to the underworld, and they did so while perched on a craggy cliff more than a hundred meters above the pounding Atlantic waves. The late-November wind howled. The cold rain lashed.

Sure, shooting there was uncomfortable as hell, but it was a pivotal moment. Dramatic. Maria’s favorite type of scene.

In reality, the ostensible gate to Tartarus was a small blowhole that tunneled all the way from the top of the cliff to the ocean below, and it sprayed a new puff of shiver-inducing water with every vicious crash of surf against the towering limestone. After the SFX people got through with the scene, though, that hole would be larger and more ominous. The puffs of ocean water would become steam. She imagined there would be a spooky-as-fuck soundtrack accompanying Cyprian and Cassia’s discovery.

And despite their shivers, she and Peter were acting the hell out of their script.

By the time Ramón and Nava were satisfied, everyone was shaking with cold but bright-eyed with accomplishment. Given the weather conditions, they’d even gotten permission to use avan to return to their various lodgings, and they were basking in the vehicle’s warmth as they made idle conversation and dropped crew members off, one by one.

Then Ramón got a call on his cell. After a few seconds, his smile died.

“Are you certain—” he began, but whoever was on the other end cut him off.

Discreetly, Peter caught Maria’s eye and gestured toward their director in mute question, and she shrugged and spread her hands.

After another minute, Ramón nodded, his forehead deeply furrowed. “Okay.”

He disconnected the call, then studied the van’s nubby carpet for a moment as the vehicle trundled toward their hotel. Finally, jaw tight, he looked at Maria and then Peter.

“When we get back to our suites, the two of you have a virtual meeting with Ron. As soon as you arrive.” With a sigh, he raked a hand through his dark, wet hair. “I would accompany you, but I can’t.”

Peter frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but...” Ramón trailed off, lips thin and white around the edges. “You should be prepared.”

That wasn’t ominous at all.

“I thought Ron and R.J. had dropped the idea. For the record, I argued against it, and so did Nava.” The director and line producer made eye contact, and her chin fell to her chest as she sucked her lips between her teeth. “The showrunners want to dramatize how Cyprian and Cassia would have starved over the winter.”

Oh.Oh. Sothatwas what this meeting was about.

Not a huge surprise, really. Part of her had understood it was coming from the day she was cast. And when Peter inhaled sharply a moment later, she knew he’d worked it out too.

He’d once told her he didn’t care why the show had chosen to cast fat actors as Cassia and Cyprian. Then, only moments later, he’d said they weren’t a team and wouldn’t stand united on the set.

Well, if she’d wanted to learn whether Peter’s priorities had shifted since that venomous conversation in an LA parking lot, she was in luck.

“I would say more. I really would.” Ramón pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that Ron ordered—”

“It’s okay.” She reached over to give him a consoling pat on the arm. “We get it.”

“That makes two of you,” Nava muttered, her face hard. “Fuck.”

The rest of the ride, Peter didn’t speak or look at her, but that was fine. The decision aheadshouldmake him think hard. She was thinking hard too, marshaling her various arguments and reviewing the groundwork she’d been laying for months to prepare for today.

Any battle she chose to enter, she intended to win.

When they entered the hotel, Ramón put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed, and gave it a little shake, then did the same to Peter before disappearing into his suite. Nonverbal support, and she appreciated the gesture.

Halfway down the hotel hallway, Peter unlocked his own suite door and shoved it open so hard it thumped against the wall.

“We can use my phone,” he said brusquely and held the door for her without making eye contact. “I’ll bring you a towel and start a fire.”

Did he actually intend to talk to Ronright now? Was he really trotting to obey the showrunner’s unreasonable edict like a whipped dog summoned by its master?

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