Page 46 of Ship Wrecked

The early-spring air remained nippy, both inside and outside Cyprian and Cassia’s little stone home, so he grabbed what he needed from the craft services table and retreated to his usual seat in Jeanine’s trailer. Maria followed him inside, closing the door behind them with a muffled thud.

“This is Ron and R.J.’s first time actually checking the footage, right?” Plopping down onto the mesh-backed chair at Jeanine’s workstation, she peeled a banana. “I’m curious what they’re going to say.”

“Since we’ve already spent almost two full days shooting this scene, I can’t imagine they’d want to make any major changes. Especially when they’re over budget again, and reshoots cost time and money.” He chewed and swallowed a mouthful of his granola bar before continuing. “Besides, as Carah would say, we’re fucking amazing—”

“Literally.” Maria chortled and took a painfully suggestive bite of her banana.

“—so I have no doubt our performances are stellar.”

After having watched a few minutes of the raw footage yesterday, he already knew her performance would be living rent-free in his head, probably forever. It had already removed all traces of former occupants, raised the thermostat to surface-of-the-sun hot, and thrown a housewarming orgy, all in less than twenty-four hours.

Once the episode aired, he expected an avalanche of new emails from Alex, who’d long ago—and with great glee—created some sort of infernal Google alert to make Peter suffer.

Their costar really enjoyed directing Peter toward fics rated E forexplicit, ones starring Cyprian and Cassia—or, even more torturously, Peter and Maria themselves. RPF, Alex called the latter. Real-person fiction. Apparently there was a lot of it out there.

So Alex sent plenty of AO3 links, but notonlyAO3 links. Also YouTube links to fan vids that compiled every one of Cassia and Cyprian’s most erotic near-miss moments and put them to extremely evocative music. Also gifs featuring the two of them eye-fucking, both on the show and in various interviews and convention panels. Also a link to the website where a Cassian shipper had posted a series of artistically ambitious and gorgeously lit photos wherein Cyprian’s action figure analogue railed Cassia’s in ways the manufacturer likely didn’t approve, and which probably resulted in a great many dislocated vinyl limbs.

If Peter didn’t like Alex so much, he’d probably have murdered the guy long ago.

That said, he hadn’t asked Alex to stop.

Maria finished her banana before replying. “Of course our performances are stellar. To quote Carah once again: We’re consummate goddamn professionals, bitches.”

He snickered.

“But that doesn’t mean Ron and R.J. won’t find something to criticize.” Her long, pale throat shifted as she sipped her water. “You know they’ve been persnickety assholes since the whole weight-loss thing our first season together.”

The showrunners hadn’t directed their veiled enmity toward him. Only her. And while that was good for his career, he hated how dirty it made him feel. Howcomplicit.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Her shoulder lifted in a graceful shrug. “Better me than you. I genuinely don’t give a fuck if they like me.”

He kept his mouth shut, unwilling to contradict the implications of her statement. Even though he actuallydidn’tcare if Ron and R.J. liked him, and never had. He’d only cared whether the showrunners would fire him or damage his future career prospects. But maybe that was simply a different shade of the same guilt-muddied color.

The door to the trailer swung open. Slammed open, actually, and both he and Maria startled at the unexpected intrusion.

Ramón and Nava stomped inside, expressions thunderous. They closed the door behind them. Locked it. Stared at each other for a long, silent, tight-lipped moment, as if each was mentally urging the other to speak first.

At Maria’s loud snort, everyone turned toward her.

She leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs, and laced her hands over her belly. “I assume you’re here to share our showrunners’ praise? Or to tell me they’re offering a retroactive raise in recognition of my hard work and unparalleled acting skills?”

“Maria...” Nava had evidently lost the staring contest with Ramón, because she spoke first. “I don’t know whether you want Peter here for this conversation. Its outcome will affect him too, but... ”

“There is literally nothing Ron or R.J. could say that would embarrass me, Nava. Nothing about my performance. Nothing about my personality. Nothing about my body.” With a flick of her wrist, Maria dismissed that concern. “Go ahead. I don’t care if Peter hears their critique.”

The producer scrubbed a hand over her buzz cut. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“Just to be clear, neither Nava nor I agree with their feedback.” The lines bracketing Ramón’s mouth deepened. “We’ll support whatever response you choose to make.”

“Anything short of nuclear warfare,” Nava added with a weak smile.

Shit. What the fuck had Ron and R.J.said?

Peter squeezed his nape, anxiety roiling in his gut.

“I love you both, but quit stalling.” Maria’s gaze turned shrewd, and she paused. “Actually, never mind. I’ll bet you a hundred euro I know exactly what they told you.”

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