Page 31 of Ship Wrecked

His shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug, and apparently that was it. Everything he had to say on the topic.

Ah. Now she truly understood.

He cared about work above all else. As many Americans supposedly did, probably because they didn’t have much of a safety net if they lost their jobs.

But she’d suspected that about him already, hadn’t she?

The part she hadn’t realized, though, not until this very moment: It wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t going to change. Not now, not next month, not next year.

Work was what drove him. What mattered most to him. What he lived for, and what he might very well die for. Not friendship or love or good deeds. Not happiness. Not even his own physical well-being.

Now she knew: Her initial instincts hadn’t led her astray.Peter could never make her happy, because he’d never make her his top priority. Her needs, her well-being, would always come second—at best—to his career. And unlike him, she cared about her own happiness, so she wasn’t settling for less than the sort of relationship she wanted. Even if that meant never having Peter in her bed again. Even if that meant potentially staying single for the rest of her life.

Carefully, finger by finger, she removed her hand from his arm.

This conversation hadn’t proceeded as she’d hoped, but that was fine. She’d learned valuable information anyway.

When she shivered at the loss of his body heat, Peter’s frown deepened. “I’ve changed my mind. Go take a shower before we call Ron.”

“I’m fine.” Every limb felt weighted with disappointment, and she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him anymore. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice gruff and unhappy, but he set aside his own towel and had them connected to Ron within moments.

The showrunner, of course, wanted them to start losing weight. Rapidly.

“Because Cyprian and Cassia would have so little to eat over the winter,” he explained breezily. “This is an excellent opportunity to dramatize the severity of their conditions on the island and the extremely high stakes of their partnership. If they don’t cooperate to the fullest extent, they’ll starve, and seeing the two of you become thinner and thinner will sell that story to the audience in the most powerful way possible. Starting tomorrow, you’ll—”

“No,” said Maria.

When he was startled, Ron’s chin jerked back toward his neck, and he looked like a turtle. A very dickish turtle. “Pardon me?”

“I’ve already had both my agent and my lawyer study my contract, and there’s nothing in there that would legally obligate me to diet or lose weight.”

She didn’t wait for or watch Peter’s reaction. Her response was her own and didn’t depend on his, and its consequences were hers to bear alone. Even if she still hoped he might have altered his stance on this issue in the last, say, thirty seconds.

Ron’s pale eyes had turned hard. “Maria, you certainly have the right to refuse my directive. Just as I have the right to recast the role of Cassia. Immediately, as necessary.”

“Of course you do.” So predictable, that response. So predictable, and so disappointing. “That said, your memo from last week indicated that this season’s filming is already running late and over budget due to issues at your other shooting locations. Can you truly afford the time and money it would require to stop everything here while you found another actor for my role, got her to the island, had her outfitted, and adequately prepared her for the part?”

“I’m certain...” He visibly swallowed, an angry red tide of color rising from beneath the collar of his button-down. “I’m certain we could make it work.”

She inclined her head. “All right. Then let me ask you another question. Haven’t you noticed the amount of positive publicity you’ve received for casting fat actors on your show? Do you really think you can ask those actors to visibly starve themselves and not expect a terrible, extremely public backlash? I’m a symbol of the body positivity movement, with a substantial social media platform, and if I’m fired because I refused to diet, there will be hell to pay, Ron, and I won’t be the one paying it. You will. The show will.”

Peter was still and quiet next to her. Very, very quiet.

If he was going to speak on her behalf and his own, this would be an excellent time.

A vein began visibly throbbing at Ron’s temple. “It would make no fucking sense for you and Peter to remain your current size, Maria. Cassia and Cyprian are on a fucking deserted island with almost no vegetation, and it’swinter. They’d lose weight. They’dhaveto lose weight. If theydon’tlose weight, our show will lose all credibility.”

“Gods of the Gatesis a fantasy television series that features Roman gods, fissures to the underworld, and—if what I’m hearing is correct—a pegasus.” The cast chat had been chortling over that upcoming episode for weeks now, actually. “The story already doesn’t adhere to reality, and the fantasy aspect of the show gives you a great deal of freedom to explain away the choices you make.”

When he merely stared at her in seeming befuddlement, she realized she’d need to describe possible directions he could take, because apparently he wasn’t too great at coming up with ideas on his own. Gods above, the show was going to be a fuckingdisasteronce they moved past the completed books, wasn’t it?

She spoke slowly, pleased that she’d previously considered the matter. “Neptune already cast them ashore with a violent storm so they could guard the gate to the underworld. Why couldn’t he intervene again to keep them fed and prevent them from dying and leaving the gate unattended? Cyprian and Cassia could find some sort of enchanted fruit that would magically keep them fed all winter. An apple, maybe, given the importance of apples in both Roman and Norse mythology.”

Any time now, Reedton. Feel free to speak up whenever you’d like.

But she knew. She knew.

---