Page 47 of Ship Wrecked

Suddenly, he knew too. It was the only thing that made sense, given who Ron and R.J. were, how they likely perceived women’s bodies, what they’d believe about women’s core vulnerabilities, and the means they’d accordingly employ to humble Maria.

Or, rather,attemptto humble her. Because even after six years, they hadn’t diminished her or dimmed her shine. Not even a little.

“They don’t think women with body hair are sexy or appealing to viewers, so they want me to shave or wax and reshoot the part of the scene where I’m naked.” Maria outright laughed then, and the sound wasn’t sharp or bitter, but genuinely amused. “Because clearly, a medieval Viking shield-maiden shipwrecked on a deserted island would make hair removal a priority.”

“Well...” Ramón’s mouth twitched in reluctant humor. “Here’s the good news: I didn’t take your bet just now.”

There it was. Ron and R.J.’s final bid to cow Maria, and do so by telling her—Jesus, now that he’d taken a moment, it made him want to laugh too—she wasn’t sexy enough. Their final bit of revenge for stymying their big starvation plans. Their final attempt to control her body.

During six years of working with her, had they learned nothing?

“Perhaps Cassia took a pre-sex jaunt over to her local day spa,” Nava suggested, sarcasm limning every syllable.

“No doubt.” Still grinning, Maria tapped her chin with a long forefinger. “If Cassia asked nicely, I bet Venus would Bedazzle hersnippatoo. I’m certain sequins would please viewers.”

That Swedish word, he didn’t know. But he had a really, really good guess.

After a quiet snicker, Nava sobered. “What do you want us to say to them?”

“You already know.” Maria cast an apologetic glance at the producer and director. “They won’t be happy, and I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with that.”

“As long as you’re fine, we are too.” Ramón didn’t appear bothered by the prospect of the showrunners’ ire. “We’ll gladly tell them you refused their request.”

Only it wasn’t really a request. It was an order. They all knew it.

That said, Ron and R.J. didn’t have much power over her at this point. In reality, Peter wasn’t sure they’deverhad any power over her.

“If they want to fire me, locate a last-minute body double, transport her to a desolate Irish island, teach her the choreography, and reshoot a good chunk of a crucial scene with her, they can have at it.” Maria tipped her head in faux-contemplation. “They’re already running late and over budget, though, as usual, and this is the final scene in the entire show that involves me, so doing all that for a bit of anachronistic armpit waxing seems kind of self-defeating, doesn’t it?”

It was just hair. It would regrow. Literally every other actor he’d met over the course of two decades in Hollywood would promptly break out a razor in this situation, and most of the women wouldbe waxed smooth already, no instructions necessary. But Maria’s body belonged to Maria and Maria alone.

The stakes were much lower than in their first season together, of course, but...

Peter cleared his throat. “If Pippi walks, I walk.”

Ramón and Nava turned to him in unison. The warmth in their eyes flooded him from the chest outward. And Maria’s smile—

Fuck, Maria’s smile.

“Really?” A jar ofsillsuddenly appeared in her palm, and she brandished it an inch from his nose. “You’re going to taint your lovely gesture of solidarity by calling me Pippi, asshole?”

He shifted uncomfortably, and not because of the herring. “We both know it’s too late to fire us, so it’s more an empty gesture than a lovely one.”

Sure, the showrunners could still badmouth him, but he now had years of high-profile, critically respected, leading-man work on his résumé, as well as a handful of awards and many, many more fans than before. His career might not be bulletproof, but it could take a few hits.

He also suspected this little incident would be the least of Ron and R.J.’s worries onceGates’s disastrous final season aired. And when their reputation tanked, so would their influence in the industry, so the risk to Peter’s own reputation was minimal.

Besides, when it came to a woman like Maria, a smart man kept his blue cupboard as pristine as possible.

“It’s not empty to me, Peter,” she said with sweet sincerity. “Thank you.”

The tips of his ears were on fire, and he was pretty sure that feeling in his chest was indigestion, because heartburn sounded about right.

Ramón thumped both actors on their shoulders. “I’ll go tell Ron and R.J. It may take them a while to swallow their egos and admit defeat, so keep warm and relax until we get back.”

As he and Nava left, a faint line appeared between Maria’s brows. “I hope this doesn’t cost you any future roles.”

Her jar of herring had disappeared... somewhere. Which was quite a trick, given what she was—or, more precisely, wasn’t—wearing.

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