All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(44)

Her hair standing up in clumps, Sionna emerged from her blanket burrito. “I am here to tender a professional verdict, as needed. Despite the trauma induced by your screenshot.” She pointed at Alex. “Cupid might be a bottom but might also be a switch. I think we’d need to watch his sex scenes with Psyche again to be absolutely sure. Several times, preferably.”

That … was probably not a good idea. And also—

“That’s not the opinion I wanted.” Lauren waved a hand at the screen. “I need you to watch this scene and tell me whether Cupid’s relationship with Venus and Jupiter is abusive. Because I have my own opinion, but maybe I’m missing some necessary context.”

Once she unpaused the second-season episode, they watched the scene in silence.

“Well, Venus and Jupiter are horrible to everyone, but …” Sionna frowned. “This is different. More intimate. Cupid is her son and Jupiter’s grandson.”

Lauren nodded.

“They manipulate and control him, and tell him they love him, even as they use him for their own ends. They order him to do things that make him miserable, like separating Dido from Aeneas.” Sionna drummed her fingers against the sofa cushion. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen that particular episode together, but when Cupid tells them he loves Psyche, Venus slaps him across the face.”

Lauren winced.

“I don’t think there’s any question, really. It’s abuse.” Sionna turned to face her. “When he broke free to be with Psyche, I considered that a huge step forward for his character.”

On the way to the airport, Alex had told Lauren entirely too much about the final season, but she didn’t want to spoil her friend’s future viewing experience.

“So …” she said carefully, “if, for instance, the final season showed Cupid abandoning Psyche and assisting his mother and grandfather instead—”

“It would send a definite message that survivors of abuse can’t ever truly escape their abusers or form new, healthy relationships.” Sionna’s scowl pinched her round face. “Plus, it would just be fucking terrible storytelling. I mean, what would be the point of all those years of character development, then? What would be the point of his relationship with Psyche? Why would they show him breaking free, only to put him right back where he started?”

Knowing Ron, Lauren could guess.

“Cynicism about human nature. Shock value. It’s possible the writers might not even see the relationship as abusive.” Clearing her throat, she added, “Um, if that were to happen in the last season.”

Sionna flopped back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Oh, come on, Ren. You don’t indulge in random thought experiments, and you live with one of the stars of the show. I suppose I don’t need to watch the final season now.”

Lauren’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sionna twisted her neck to meet Lauren’s eyes. “Care to tell me why you wanted my opinion on this?”

Even with her limited viewing of Gods of the Gates, Lauren had reached much the same verdict as her friend. And if she and Sionna were right—if Alex was right— Then no wonder he was so angry at the final season’s scripts. No wonder he’d damned the showrunners in his fic on AO3.

She sent her friend an apologetic grimace. “I can’t say, and I’m so sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine.” Sionna waved a limp hand. “Can I get back to my ogling and unassuaged horniness now?”

Thanks to her best friend, Lauren had finally decided for certain: She wouldn’t belatedly report the fic to Ron, and she wouldn’t make Alex take the story down.

It might be a foolish, dangerous choice, but she’d made it, and she’d stand behind it.

“Yup. Ogling time is recommencing, starting …” She pressed play. “… now.”

LAUREN ROSE FROM her bench when she spotted Alex striding hurriedly toward her at the airport Sunday evening.

Oddly, it felt like seeing him for the first time. Or maybe … seeing him for the first time in color, instead of gray scale.

He wore a slate-blue Henley and slim-fitting, dark-wash jeans, and his golden-brown hair flopped just so over his brow. His beard offered grit and depth to his pristine features. His forearms were strong and muscled, his hands broad and capable as they gripped his carry-on and another huge, random bag.

His rapid walk could better be termed a prowl, because he was all animal grace, all fluid motion. When he saw her, his rakish grin creased his cheeks, and … oh. Oh.

Forget all those fluorescent bulbs overhead. Alexander Woodroe emitted his own light, and she had to blink against the glare of it.

At the charity event, she’d called it star power. Charisma. But his appeal, his draw, was more personal than that now. Too personal.

Lauren swallowed hard and watched his rapid approach, almost light-headed at the prospect of his nearness.

Only yesterday, mere hours ago, she’d told Sionna he was sexy, and she’d believed it. But today she felt it. In the exact spot where her friend had advised pressing her phone when it vibrated for the millionth time from one of Alex’s texts.

Dammit. Her libido had chosen a terrible time to emerge from hibernation.

A moment later, he was there, halting only inches away, his gray eyes aglow with warmth and crinkled in good humor. He was breathless from his haste in a way that emphasized the rise and fall of that honed chest. The chest she’d spotted damp and shirtless several times, but hadn’t appreciated properly. The chest she suspected she’d be seeing in her dreams now.