Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(29)

Book!AeneasWouldNever: Good.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: So how was the date?

Here be dragons, she thought.

Because she couldn’t really tell him much about her topsy-turvy dinner with the man who played Aeneas, could she? Not without violating Marcus’s privacy and contradicting his chosen public persona, which she refused to do.

Even if that hadn’t been an issue, though, she wouldn’t have described the date in detail. If BAWN cared about her the same way she did him, hearing those details would sting, and she wasn’t about to hurt him. Not for anything.

God, if he’d gone on a date with a famous actress, she couldn’t even imagine how insecure and worried she’d be. So no, she wasn’t sharing specifics. And depending on how he responded to their conversation tonight, there might not be any future specifics to omit.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: It was pleasant. He seems like a genuinely decent man. The food was EXCELLENT too. If you make it to San Francisco for Con of the Gates, maybe we could go there? My treat.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: Any interesting tidbits? Behind-the-scenes secrets he let slip? Or personal anecdotes?

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Nope. None.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: He was very circumspect.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: Do you want to see him again?

His assumption that Marcus would be willing to see her again, that the existence or lack of a second date was entirely up to her, was flattering—but BAWN had entirely ignored her mention of meeting in person. Dammit.

And she wouldn’t lie to him, so double dammit.

She hoped he wouldn’t take her answer the wrong way.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: We agreed to meet again.

While she was still in the midst of typing the second part to her answer, the part where she’d explain her willingness to cancel that agreed-upon date with Marcus if BAWN wanted to meet in person instead, her friend’s next message blinked to life on her screen.

Then—

Then, she had to swallow against the taste of bile as she read BAWN’s DM. Read it again, just to be sure she’d understood it correctly. The actual information, yes, but also the possible implications.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m glad we got a chance to chat tonight, because I wanted you to know I’m traveling again soon. I have a new job. Where I’m going, I don’t think I’ll have much internet access, if any. So this may be the last time you hear from me, at least for a while.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m sorry, Ulsie.

AS SOON AS he returned to his hotel room from the restaurant, Marcus called his best friend.

“I don’t know what to do.” He didn’t bother with formalities, not even a token apology for bothering Alex at such an ungodly hour—ha, ungodly—in Spain. “I need advice.”

To Alex’s credit, he only called Marcus an asshole once or twice before asking for details. Even though Alex was still filming for one last week, still suffering through that endless climactic battle sequence, and still fuming over the abrupt, surprising end to Cupid’s character arc.

Thank fuck for good friends.

Gratefully, Marcus spilled the whole story, April and Ulsie and Book!AeneasWouldNever and—all of it. How he hadn’t confessed his own fanfic alter ego to April, even when she’d told him about hers. How he was going on a second date with her soon. How he didn’t know what to say to Ulsie as Book!AeneasWouldNever, or if he could even continue corresponding with her in that context without either explaining the truth or being a shady prick.

“Maybe I should tell her who I am.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She probably wouldn’t let it slip to anyone. When I asked her for the AO3 handle of her friend with dyslexia, she wouldn’t tell me. She seemed very protective of his—my—privacy.”

Which hadn’t surprised him, not after more than two years of close online friendship. Still, people’s online identities didn’t always match their real-life selves. He was evidence enough of that.

To win a second chance with April, he’d needed to reveal something personal about himself. Something private. And after a minute or two of thought, he had. But he’d chosen the revelation of his dyslexia for a reason. If that bit of news broke, he honestly didn’t care that much. Plenty of other actors were open about being dyslexic, and joining their ranks wouldn’t bother him.

That particular secret wasn’t as damaging as, say, the fact that he’d been aping a shallow, dim stereotype of a Hollywood actor for years. Or that he’d posted comments and written stories about his character, his show, that clearly showed just how much he hated the scripts he’d been given in recent seasons.

“I want to tell her.” He sighed and slumped over his phone. “But one inadvertent word to the wrong person, and I could lose everything.”

His reputation in the industry. His prospects of future gainful employment. His hard-fought pride at everything he’d accomplished over two decades and the respect he’d earned from others.

With Alex making occasional, sleepy grunts of affirmation in the background, Marcus rambled for a while longer. A long while longer. By the time he eventually wound down and asked point-blank whether he should tell April about Book!AeneasWouldNever, his friend was too tired to sugarcoat anything.

Alex expressed his opinion in three short words: “Dude. Your career.”