Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(15)
She shouldn’t be nervous. She wasn’t. Only—
Jesus, those Twitter notifications, blog posts, and entertainment news programs. Her mother’s doubts. April’s own fears.
Despite her excitement, despite her hard-won confidence, she was still human. This sudden exposure of her private life to the public eye had left her feeling . . . odd. As if she were watching herself from the outside, evaluating every nuance of what she said and how she looked.
And even apart from the public uproar and her new self-consciousness, she was meeting a man she’d seen for years on television, for fuck’s sake. The same man whose terrible movies she’d occasionally watched with a bucket of popcorn in hand, his handsome face on the screen almost as big as the house she’d just sold.
The same man various magazines proclaimed the sexiest man alive. The same man who’d starred in countless fics she’d written, grinning and flirting and fucking his way to guaranteed happy endings, both literal and metaphorical. At least, in her imagination.
In less than two hours, she was meeting him in actual reality, and she needed not to hyperventilate. Somehow.
She should pick a dress with a soothing color.
One last glance at her closet, and she had her answer: seafoam green. No one hyperventilated while wearing seafoam green. It was the Valium of dress colors, in the prettiest possible way.
Or so she fervently hoped.
Lavineas Server DMs, Eighteen Months Ago
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I think I’m going to pack as many tropes into this one-shot as possible. Help me think of more, please. I already have oh-no-there’s-only-one-bed, fake dating, one-bang-will-get-this-out-of-our-systems, big brother’s best friend . . .
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Wow. That’s quite a lineup.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Maybe “kissing for the sake of science”?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: NICE. Done!
Book!AeneasWouldNever: How about some pining too?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Oh, here we go.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Unrequited love? Or he inadvertently led to his ex’s death? Maybe she died in a fire he could have prevented, if only he hadn’t been so caught up in duty?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Jesus Christ.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Sorry.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: No, don’t apologize. Angst is your thing. It works for you.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Um Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: What Book!AeneasWouldNever: Maybe he experiences PTSD because of his military background? Like, a bunch of his men died under his command?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Holy shit, BAWN.
5
“SO . . .” MARCUS DABBED HIS PERFECT MOUTH WITH HIS starched cloth napkin, then returned it neatly to his lap. “You have a Twitter account?”
April wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to that.
He hadn’t seemed quite this dim in DMs. But maybe he had a personal assistant handle his social media accounts, and she’d never really communicated with him at all before now. Or maybe, for a man like him, she was too insignificant to remember for long?
“Yes.” With her fork, she teased free a flake of the restaurant’s signature house-smoked salmon and dipped it in the artistic smear of her appetizer’s sour cream–dill sauce. “I do.”
Their server, Olaf, came to refill her water glass, as he seemed to do after every sip. Taking advantage of the distraction, she discreetly checked her watch.
Thirty minutes since she’d met Marcus? That was all?
Dammit.
It seemed like longer since she’d entered the candlelit confines of the exclusive, expensive SoMa restaurant and found him already sitting at their window-side table. Since she’d arrived ten minutes early and expected a bit of a wait—weren’t Hollywood types supposed to swan into events fashionably late?—she’d blinked at him in surprise when he’d risen smartly to his feet and greeted her with a placid smile on his handsome face.
“You look lovely.” His glance at her formfitting dress had lasted maybe a half second, no more. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”
He’d extended an arm toward the chair with the best view, his dark suit jacket molding attractively against his biceps, then helped seat her. Still smiling, he’d begun to make small talk. About the weather. About the traffic. About the beauty of the sunset that evening.
And that was what they’d been doing ever since, in between Olaf’s visits. She was half tempted to knock over a water glass or set her napkin on fire with their table’s candle, just for a little excitement. This dinner was going to be endless.
Heaving a small, silent sigh, she ate her bite of salmon. At least she no longer felt guilty about her preference for dinner with Alexander Woodroe over Marcus. Or—better yet—long-distance DMs with BAWN over in-person conversation with either famous actor.
Her online bestie didn’t know about this date, but she intended to tell him as soon as she returned to the hotel.
First, though, she had to remain awake through three courses with Marcus. Dammit.
“I imagine your notifications this past week have been, uh . . .” His broad brow creased as he appeared to search for the right word. “A lot?”
April had to laugh at the understatement. “Definitely. I’ve been Googling local hermitages. Also attempting to locate nearby empty caves suitable for a life of silence and solitude.”