Chapter 10
Ten
“King of walls, king of beauty, the king favored by the Gods. He sits on his throne, looking out on a sea of blood, of bodies,
of destruction, and he hides her from view. He allows the world to crumble for the beauty of one, the desire of his son.”
—“Priam,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
“We need to talk.”
Jonah stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder to see Dexter standing behind him. He’d hoped he could escape the
theatre and grab a coffee before having to head back for warm-ups so he could digest everything he’d discussed with Colbie,
but no. Not when Dexter Ellis was around. He looked at the other man, strands of blond hair kissing his forehead, another
embroidered monstrosity on his jumper, a kite, perhaps, though Jonah couldn’t be sure. He stood with his shoulders back, posture
impeccable, and nodded toward the stage door.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” he said, a statement rather than a question.
A million excuses bubbled on the end of Jonah’s tongue, but his mouth betrayed him and the only word that escaped his lips
was, “Okay.”
They walked together in silence, away from Shaftesbury Avenue, through the busy London crowds until they walked farther past the Playhouse Theatre and came out on the embankments of the Thames.
Jonah expected the other man to speak, to assert himself as they walked, but he didn’t.
He kept his head down, hands in his pockets, and chewed on his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought.
Jonah heard snippets of conversations from people they passed, arguments, gossip, plans for dinner, and he wondered if anyone paid any attention to them as they walked, two ghouls who knew no words and wouldn’t even look at each other.
A cool breeze lifted from the river, and Jonah peered at the water as they moved along the pavement and danced his fingers along the stone wall separating them from the river below.
The Thames, gray, reminiscent of soot, did little to ease the pining in his heart for Cornish seas.
But the sounds of the water lapping against the banks soothed him. It almost called him home.
“So, Colbie spoke to you?” Dexter finally broke the silence. “About the whole being nice to each other thing?”
“Yeah.”
“And about people thinking we are, I don’t know, a thing?”
“Yup.” Jonah nodded.
“I don’t know why people would think I’m remotely interested in you,” Dexter quipped, and Jonah looked at him with a scowl.
“But then again, I know how good I’ve been performing as Patroclus, so I suppose I can understand why they might think the
romance has carried off the stage.”
“You really are the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.” Jonah shook his head slightly as he walked.
“I don’t care what you think of me.”
Jonah rolled his eyes. “No. Of course you don’t.”
“And, unlike you, I want to ensure everything I do is a success. Which is why I told Colbie I’m willing to go along with whatever
I need to do to make this work. I can be nice. I can post some photos. But your social media needs some work.”
Jonah contemplated hauling him over the wall and into the river. He somehow restrained himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel the
need to post pictures of lettuce every five minutes.”
Dexter huffed. “No, you like to post pictures of pavements and trees.”
Jonah knew this was an admission from them both at having checked out each other’s social media, but neither of them acknowledged
it.
Dexter gradually came to a stop as they walked, Jonah falling in beside him naturally, and he watched as Dexter rested his arms against the stone balustrade and looked out over the Thames.
“As you’re awful at social media, I will handle it,” the blond said.
“I can tag you and it will come up on your profile too. But you could at least post some stories or something, or comment on my stuff every now and then.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” Jonah took up a similar position beside him and looked down into the murky water. “What would
I even say?”
“I don’t know, just be nice or whatever.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Dexter cocked his head slightly to look at him. “I’m guessing from your disastrous love life this isn’t going to cause any
problems with any relationships you have?”
Jonah paused. He hadn’t considered how this would look to people he knew or if it might impact his actual love life, or lack of it. “No,” he mumbled.
“Me neither.” He continued to peer at Jonah. “You look tired. We should head back to the theatre so someone can sort your
face out.”
Jonah forced himself to bite his tongue. Retaliation would be futile; the guy was an absolute arsehole, and even Dexter’s
delicious-looking lips did nothing to soothe the rage burning in Jonah’s chest. For, what good were kissable lips if they
belonged to a bell end?
Jonah found himself engulfed by the whirlwind created by Dexter. The man knew how to work a crowd; he devoured the applause
and charmed his fans at stage door. People queued up to speak with him and showered him with gifts while the other cast looked
on, slightly jealous, but more relieved they could sneak off to get the earlier train home with little blowback. Onstage,
Dexter kissed Jonah softly, like he’d been sculpted out of glass, and moved during the bows to stand beside him, their palms
pressed together, fingers intertwined. Outside the theatre, Dexter wrapped his arm around him and together they smiled for
photos and gushed to the fans about each other, nothing but praise and the fakest of smiles.
They hadn’t talked again about Colbie’s insistence on kindness.
In fact, Dexter said very little to Jonah when they weren’t masquerading outside the theatre or reciting their lines onstage.
Jonah expected him and his gigantic head to saunter into his dressing room spouting off all the times Jonah didn’t hit his mark at the very millisecond he should have, or coming up with a convoluted plan to ensure that Dexter’s takeover as Hector would be as extravagant as possible.
But Dexter shrouded himself in silence. Not that Jonah made any attempt to communicate with him either.
Though he pondered texting him several times; he felt like a fish out of water, unsure of how he should act or what he should say.
Their weird relationship had no lines, no blocking.
Despite their lack of communication, they saw a rise in social media interactions and general buzz surrounding the show. The
charade dragged on for three more performances, and though they did nothing to suggest anything other than admiration and
a respect for each other, the spark of a romance between them turned into a wildfire on the internet. Jonah knew the theatre
community could be dedicated, but this was on a completely different level. It took less than a week for Dexah to become part
of West End history, and Jonah wanted to scream; he wanted to be remembered for his work, not his suspected romance with the
biggest dickhead he’d ever met. Dexter became borderline insufferable, literally pushing his way past Jonah on the way to
the stage, talking over him whenever he saw the chance, and doing the loudest vocal warm-ups known to man outside of Jonah’s
dressing room.
Even now, sitting beside him on a bright orange sofa in front of a microphone in some strange little makeshift recording studio
in a room above a bar, Dexter annoyed him in ways he’d never experienced before. He tapped his fingers across his knees constantly
and always licked his bottom lip like he needed to seduce whoever so much as glanced at him. He touched Jonah too much, always
a hand on his arm as they talked with others or tapping him on the shoulder like a child in need of attention. Even his breathing
pissed Jonah off. Too loud, too intrusive. He needed to do it for survival, of course, but Jonah wished he could be more subtle
about how well his lungs worked.
“So, how has it been, returning to a show so close to your heart this week?” Jay, the host of the West End Wonders podcast, asked as she smiled over at Dexter, clearly caught in his flytrap charms.
Dexter placed his hand over his heart and let out a breathy sigh. “Amazing. Totally amazing. The show’s changed, obviously,
since I last worked on it, but all for the better. And the cast, wow, incomparable. I can’t wait to work with them when I
start properly.”
“Stepping in for Bastien Andrews last minute must have been nerve-racking. How did you manage taking on a role you’ve never
performed before?”
“Oh, it was terrifying.” Dexter laughed. “But I was lucky to work so closely with Jonah, he totally held my hand through everything
and made me feel relaxed the whole time. Patroclus was never a role I thought I would play, so it’s been fun stepping into
his shoes for a few days.”
“Dexter took to it like he’d always played the role,” Jonah said, remembering he needed to praise the compliment vacuum beside
him. “We were lucky he was available. The flu wiped out a huge number of our cast, and the show wouldn’t have been able to
go on without him.”
Jay tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and smiled at Dexter coyly. “Bastien is due to be on this evening. Will you
miss being onstage?”
“I’m going to be at the show tonight watching and cheering Bastien on, then I’m back in a few weeks to be Hector, so, no,
I don’t think so. I’m going to take the time to relax between rehearsals, to be honest. I don’t think people appreciate how
intense it is being in such a well-loved show night after night.”
“And how has it been with the two of you?” she asked. “There used to be a lot of speculation within the theatre circles online
that there may be some animosity between you over the role of Achilles?”