23
Two months later, when Peter and Maria arrived at Con of the Gates in San Francisco, the first large publicity event they’d
ever attended as an official couple, Gates fans lost their fucking shit.
Sure, the two of them had been spotted together before the convention. At Alex’s charity auction, Peter hadn’t tried to hide
how he felt about Maria, and various Hollywood insiders had taken notice. And their relationship truly became public on their
Napa trip, when some asshole at the winery had captured video of them making out in a seemingly private corner and posted
the clip all over social media. A predictable burst of online excitement and interview requests had followed, and after that,
they received a certain amount of attention whenever they explored LA together.
So people knew they were a couple. But Gates fans hadn’t seen that up close and in person until the con. So their relationship was the talk of the event. For, oh...
four hours, maybe.
That Friday afternoon and early evening, as they checked into the hotel, found their room, and posed for their joint fan photo sessions, he couldn’t count how many con attendees used their phones to record the sight of his arm around her shoulders, or the number of times some bearded dude in an artistically tattered Vi king costume shouted Finally!
or I knew it! to him at top volume, or—once, memorably— Pillage away, you lucky motherfucker!
That guy made Maria grin. As did all the fans in tees reading viking?
no, vi- QUEEN or shield-maidens do it wearing leather , or his personal favorite: if your slow burn lasts more than four years, please consult a physician , accompanied by a stylized drawing of Cassia and Cyprian looking long-suffering.
“Instead of a physician, shouldn’t that be a script doctor?” Maria whispered right before the camera clicked, and that particular
fan photo caught him choking on laughter.
It was a lot of attention. A lot , even by con standards.
Then Alex lost his entire goddamn mind at his Q&A session that first night. After that, most fans became too occupied either
checking Urban Dictionary for the definition of pegging or reading all of Alex’s thinly veiled sexual fantasies about Lauren and equally transparent screeds against their showrunners
to pay much attention to Maria and Peter.
Normally, he’d say thank fuck to that, but Alex had become a dear friend and was a very good—if very impulsive—man. So Peter and Maria tried to help with
damage control however they could, even before Alex vanished from the convention entirely to pursue his fired minder...
somewhere. His disappearance caused yet another hubbub Saturday morning, when fans realized he was gone and wouldn’t be attending
any of his remaining sessions and panels.
And then later on Saturday, Marcus—Mr. I’m an Extremely Intelligent, Thoughtful Man Pretending to Be a Shallow Idiot for Some
Reason I’d Rather Not Disclose Even After Six Years—decided to reveal both his dyslexia and the fact that he sounded like
a fucking classics professor whenever he wasn’t in character. In character— as himself —Marcus Caster-Rupp.
It was all very confusing and attention-grabbing, and that was before Marcus shoved his way through crowds of confused fans to interrupt his estranged girlfriend April’s own session and announce
his devoted love, then French her in front of a live studio audience.
Okay, to be fair, it wasn’t a studio. It was a convention hall.
The rest: one hundred percent accurate.
At that point, the Gates fans who’d decided to skip this particular convention kept posting videos of themselves weeping in despair.
By Sunday morning, Peter already knew the audience for the last event of the convention, his joint Q&A session with Maria,
was going to fall into one of two categories: They’d either slump into the hall, sagging with postdrama fatigue, or burst
into the space wired as hell and waiting with twitchy impatience for the final bombshell to drop.
But he and Maria were the normal ones, and they had no earth-shattering news to share. By now, everyone knew they were together.
Each of them had accepted a few smaller, short-term roles and auditioned for others, but they were both willing to wait for
the right project to come along before committing to anything bigger. Especially since the longer they waited, the more time
they could spend together, and they couldn’t get enough.
Enough time together. Enough sex. Enough conversation. Enough privacy.
Fuck, he loved her. The thought of a life without her—
Well, he tried not to think about it. Ever. Because when he was alone and those thoughts, those sibilant whispers born of
fears he couldn’t seem to shake, did slither into his brain, he panicked. His pulse echoed in his ears, his breathing turned
shallow and rapid, his skin flushed and dampened with sweat, and he wondered if he might be having a heart attack.
It wasn’t a heart attack, though. It was a panic attack. He hadn’t had them for years now, not since his days in weekly therapy, but he still recognized the signs.
In the aftermath of those occasional episodes, he always racked his brain, searching for some way to tie her closer to him.
Even though she’d already moved from Sweden to be with him, and they already lived together.
He knew she didn’t want kids. Neither of them did. But whether she’d accept a marriage proposal... that, he kept questioning.
Kept debating.
Ask too soon, and he might scare her off. Ask too late, and she might question the strength of his commitment and pull away
to protect herself.
The other thing he knew for certain: If he did ever propose, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it in front of a fucking audience.
So, much to the dismay of everyone in the assigned hall, there wouldn’t be another bombshell of any sort in his Q&A session
with Maria. None. Zero. Zip.
Or at least there wasn’t going to be a bombshell.
Then he got the call from his agent, a mere half hour before they were due to report backstage in their hall. It wasn’t enough
time to go over the nuts and bolts of the offer he’d just received, but plenty of time to understand the essentials.
To keep from disturbing him, Maria had closed herself into the suite’s bedroom as soon as DeShaun called. But once the conversation
ended, she immediately emerged and flopped onto the couch next to him, cheerful and gorgeous as always.
Her knee nudged his. “What did DeShaun have to say? Any new nibbles or exciting scripts?”
In his daze, he barely heard her.
This was it, finally. His next big job, essentially dropped into his lap without any effort on his part. Or, as Maria might counter, no additional effort.
All because he’d finally proven himself to the powers that be in Hollywood with Gods of the Gates , finally shown them what he’d earned and what he deserved.
A lead role on a high-profile show. A fat paycheck. Guaranteed years of steady work.
Enough career stability to offer the woman he loved marriage.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I... I got an offer.”
She planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Congratulations, sotnos . Which part?”
“I didn’t audition for it.” Bemused, elated, he shook his head and turned to her. “I mean, I auditioned for a guest role on
the show, but not the part they gave me. I guess they felt like they’d seen enough between that and Gods of the Gates to cast me.”
Her beam nearly blinded him. “Even better. They obviously know your value. What is it?”
This role would cement their future together. Cement them together.
And the sooner he managed to get the words out, the sooner they could start to celebrate.
“Maria, sweetheart.” He took her hands in his. “Remember how I auditioned for the multi-episode serial killer role on FTI: Forensic Team Investigations ?”
She offered him a very dry look. “Since it’s one of the biggest shows on basic cable and there are approximately a dozen spinoffs
currently airing around the world, including in Sweden, all featuring people in white coats peering into microscopes, enhancing
computer images of license plates, and becoming inadvertent targets of murderers, and I thought one of those murderers might
eventually be you, yes. Yes, I remember.”
He would bristle at her description of the show, but she was right, and they both realized it.
The role they’d offered him wouldn’t allow the sort of character depth and development he usually preferred, but an opportunity like this .
. . he’d be a fool to turn it down, and when it came to his career, he was never, ever a fool.
Shit, he could barely believe it, even though DeShaun had confirmed the offer five separate times during their call. “My audition
was for the original series, the one set in Seattle. Turns out, the actor who’s been their lead since the beginning wants
to return to films, and he’s leaving between seasons. They’re killing off his character, so the on-screen team needs a new
head forensics dude.”
He waited, and it didn’t take her long to fill in the rest.
“You, obviously. Head forensics dude extraordinaire,” she said brightly, and kissed him again, this time on the mouth. “Peter,
that’s wonderful news. When will you start?”
“Maybe in a month or so?” Letting go of her hands, he checked the notes he’d taken on his phone. “They film in Vancouver,
apparently, so I’ll need to arrive a few days before they start shooting the next season and set up a place to live there.”
“Vancouver?” Her hands fluttered for a moment, then folded neatly on her lap. “I-I’ve heard it’s a lovely city.”
“Yeah. Me too. Maybe we can take a trip out there between now and when I have to go, so we can explore the city a bit.” There
were only a few more notes, which he reread before setting aside his phone. “The other big news is that they want a three-year
commitment.”
She bit her lip, her smile a shadow of its former glory. “Okay.”