Spoiler Alert

by Olivia Dade

  Over two million people did follow him, however. He sincerely hoped any other assholes among those followers saw his next tweet.

  I’m no white knight, just a man who likes a beautiful woman on his arm. When I get back to California from filming, @Lavineas5Ever, will you please have dinner with me?

  Then he sat back against his headboard, arms folded across his chest, and waited for her response.

  * * *

  April blinked at her laptop screen.

  Yup.

  Marcus Caster-Rupp had definitely asked her to dinner.

  Marcus. Caster. Hyphen. Rupp.

  Not to repeat herself, but: Holy fuuuuuuuck.

  The dude had graced countless magazine covers, biceps flexing. She saw him on her television screen every week, and had saved more than a few photos of him to her hard drive.

  And he’d just . . . asked her out?

  Wow. Wow.

  If she were being picky about which of the Gods of the Gates actors she’d want to date, if only for a single evening, she’d definitely have chosen the guy who played Cupid, Alexander Woodroe, instead.

  But Caster-Rupp was hot. No doubt about that. Not ridiculously muscular, but tall and lean and undeniably strong and fit. She’d been known to sigh over close-ups of his thick, veined forearms before, not to mention gifs of his first love scene with Dido, because damn. That ass. Round and working and . . . delicious.

  He was also undeniably beautiful. That knife-edged jawline could slice heirloom tomatoes. His cheekbones were pristine, his nose just battered and forceful enough to add character to his face. All lengths of stubble suited his handsome features and emphasized his perfect lips. As did a beard. As did a clean shave. It was ludicrous and unfair, honestly.

  His lush, sandy-blond hair, just starting to silver at the temples, set off his cloudy blue eyes like—

  Well, like a television star’s hair should set off his eyes.

  He was a damn good actor too. A couple of seasons ago, his character had followed Jupiter’s stern order to secretly gather his fleet and leave Dido—the woman he’d loved and lived with for a year—in the middle of the night, with no warning or even a final word. Caster-Rupp had conveyed Aeneas’s naked grief and shame and reluctance with such skill, April had cried.

  Then Aeneas had spotted the glow of Dido’s funeral pyre in the distance, across the choppy water, and understood the implications. Because of what he’d done, she was either dying or dead, and he couldn’t do anything to stop her or help. Dropping to his knees on his ship’s deck, his face crumpled in agony, he’d clutched his hair and bowed his head, his breath rough pants as he grappled with horror and self-loathing at his beloved’s fate.

  At that, April hadn’t merely cried anymore. Sobbed, more like it.

  She still thought he should have won a little gold statue for that episode.

  In the actor’s capable hands, no one could deny Aeneas’s intelligence, his huge, lonely, scarred heart—or his reluctant, growing respect for and attraction to Lavinia in the last three seasons of the show.

  But there was a reason April didn’t follow the dude on Twitter.

  She didn’t think he’d ever said an interesting word in any interview she’d seen with him. And she’d seen plenty, because the Lavineas shippers hungrily pounced on any media coverage that might discuss their favorite pairing. Unlike Summer Diaz, the woman who so ably portrayed Lavinia, though, Caster-Rupp never fed the fandom with insight or analysis or even a bare mention of the Aeneas-Lavinia relationship. Not that he mentioned the Aeneas-Dido relationship, either.

  He kept things vague. Enthusiastic and one hundred percent generic.

  After the first season of the show aired, most reporters simply gave up on interviews with him and just flashed a few of his biceps-flexing pics on-screen whenever they mentioned his character.

  His ability to portray such intelligence on camera, such emotional depth, was a wonder. In real life, the man was all hair-flipping, cheerful vapidity, a walking, talking, gleaming, preening, Hollywood-pretty-face stereotype.

  Not her kind of date, in short.

  But spurning him, rejecting his kind gesture, in public would be churlish. And how could she call herself a Lavineas fan if she turned down the chance to talk with him?

  Then again, maybe he was looking for a way out.

  They needed to talk. Not in front of his two million followers, either.

  She followed his account. Then she slid into his DMs, half expecting to find out she had been hallucinating, or Twitter’s notifications had gone bonkers somehow and told her he’d followed her account and asked her out when he definitely hadn’t.

  But up the DM screen popped.

  She had permission to send direct messages to Marcus Caster-Rupp. Because he’d followed her. In reality.

  Weeeeeird. Exciting, but weird. Not to mention awkward. So much so that composing her initial message took several minutes.

  Uh . . . hi, she eventually wrote. Nice to meet you, Mr. Caster-Rupp. First of all, and most importantly, thank you for being so kind just now. It was very sweet of you to defend me like that. That said, I want you to know: you don’t have to go through with the dinner. I mean, I’m probably willing if you are, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.

  While she waited for a response, she quickly checked the Lavineas server.

  With a groan, she flopped back against her headboard. Dammit, BAWN had responded to her earlier messages, and she didn’t have time to answer him right now.

  But she had a responsibility to the fandom. If he knew the situation, BAWN would understand.

  Still, she wrote him a quick message. Taking care of a few last-minute tasks. Then I’ll be back to chat. Sorry!

  By the time she maximized her Twitter window again, Caster-Rupp had written her back.

  I don’t feel obligated. You’re obviously very talented at making costumes, and as I said, you’re also quite lovely. I would be proud to take you to dinner. P.S. Please call me Marcus.

  Despite her better judgment, she beamed a little at the compliments.

  Still, she called bullshit on at least one part of his message.

  So this has nothing to do with wanting to spite those dicks in our mentions, Marcus? P.S. I’m April.

  His response came almost immediately. I have to admit, I would also be happy to disoblige some of my more obnoxious fanboys.

  She frowned.

  Disoblige? What kind of vapid, pretty-boy actor used a word like disoblige?

  Three blinking dots appeared on the DM screen. He was writing more.

  That came out wrong. Sorry. I meant to say, I think this would be good PR for me too. You know, socializing with the fans.

  That was more what she’d expected of a man like him. A well-intentioned, good-natured, but ultimately surface-oriented publicity stunt.

  That makes sense, she wrote.

  More dots, this time blinking for several minutes.

  Fair warning, April. If we do go out, it’ll probably end up in the tabloids, or at least a few online blogs. So if you’re protective of your privacy, you might want to turn me down. If so, my feelings won’t be hurt.

  She bit her lip. I’ll need a few minutes to decide. Is that okay?

  Of course, he answered. Take all the time you need. It’s still morning in Spain, and I’m not flying out until late this afternoon. I’ll be around for a while yet.

  Okay, now she was dying to ask him questions about the sixth season and the show’s finale. Obviously he’d been sworn to secrecy, but surely a man that slow on the uptake might let at least one or two details slip?

  A new message appeared on the Lavineas server. BAWN, reassuring as always. No worries. I’m dealing with a few unexpected issues myself. Besides, I’ll be around for a while yet.

  She huffed out a breath, amused by the way BAWN had randomly, inadvertently echoed Marcus, the man whose character BAWN had written about in dozens of fics.

  Should she tell h
im what had just happened?

  No. Not yet.

  She hadn’t even decided for certain whether she’d accept Marcus’s invitation, and she wasn’t ready for her Lavineas friends to see her in the flesh. Soon, but not now. Not when she had so many other decisions to make and considerations to weigh.

  Thanks. I’ll be back soon, she wrote BAWN.

  Climbing out of bed, she checked in the side pocket of her suitcase for a fresh notebook. She did her best thinking on paper. Always had.

  Along the way, she grabbed a pen and refilled her bedside glass of water. Propped once more against the wooden headboard, she tapped the ballpoint against the first blank page and acknowledged the obvious.

  If she wanted to stop hiding, she couldn’t have found a more efficient means of exposure.

  Assuming tonight’s thread hadn’t done the trick already, a date with Marcus Caster-Rupp, a world-famous television star, would make her face and body and shipping interests publicly known. At least in some circles. And she knew enough about the Gods of the Gates fandom that she could already see the blog post headlines. The kind ones, anyway.

  Gates Fan Accepts Date with Actor of

  Her Dreams; Nerdgirls Rejoice!

  A Fangirl Scores a Star: And on This Day,

  a Million Modern AUs Were Born

  @Lavineas5Ever, Stan Icon for the Ages

  Which reminded her: The Lavineas server was going to freak out, if the hysteria hadn’t already begun. It probably had, since most of her friends followed Marcus on Twitter. Thank God she hadn’t checked the server’s main chat threads yet.

  If they knew @Lavineas5Ever was also Unapologetic Lavinia Stan, and that she was tempted to turn down a goddamn date with half of their OTP, they would fucking annihilate her.

  Well, since she’d already made her public debut as a fangirl, she might as well do it right. Might as well spell out everything she needed to do, all the parts of herself she intended to expose to sunlight.

  In bold, block letters, she titled her page: ENVIRONMENTAL GEOLOGIST, REMEDIATE THYSELF.

  Some of the parts of her plan she’d determined on the drive home today and over the past few months, but others she’d list now. Including the most painful bits.

  Say yes to Marcus. Publicly.

  Without being obnoxious about it, merge the personal and professional at work. Stop fearing exposure. (Remind self of terrible folk trio as necessary.)

  Share Twitter handle and identity with Lavineas friends. Wear earplugs when doing so, as squealing may be heard from space.

  Attend Con of the Gates. Meet Lavineas friends and let them see what I look like in person. Even B

  At Con of the Gates, enter cosplay contest.

  Chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment, she paused.

  No, she was going to add everything. She’d said she would, and she was no coward.

  Address fat-shaming in the Lavineas community, even though it might alienate BAWN my friends.

  Decide what to do about Mom and Dad. Once I’m sure, tell Mom in person.

  Immediately dump any man who wants to change me and/or doesn’t seem proud to be with me in public.

  There. That was it. If she wanted to dig out the poison in her personal landscape, that was how to go about it.

  Leaving her notebook and remediation list within sight, she woke her laptop from hibernation mode and maximized her Twitter window. Chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. Nodded to herself.

  In the end, it took only seconds. She located Marcus’s invitation amid her ballooning notifications and clicked Retweet with comment.

  I would be delighted to have dinner with you, @MarcusCasterRupp. Thank you for your kind invitation. Feel free to slide into my DMs to work out details.

  Lavineas Server

  Thread: WTAF Is Up with Dido

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I mean, first the show totally ignored the books by having her actually die on that funeral pyre, but I guess you could say they were going old-school there (as in, *Virgil*-old). But having Juno bring her back from the dead? Then making Dido some sort of crazed, power-hungry, sex-starved, scorned woman basically boiling bunnies in her Aeneas obsession? As the thread title indicates: WTAF?

  Mrs. Pius Aeneas: She’s completely unrecognizable from the Dido in Wade’s books.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: Even Virgil’s Dido, before Aeneas’s arrival and the intervention of Venus, was a supremely competent ruler. I hate to say it, but

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: But what?

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: The show’s Dido has never been anything more than a misogynistic caricature. Carah Brown’s talents are wasted in the role, although she’s the only reason the character has any gravitas. Once they get past Wade’s books, it’ll only get worse.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: But why make that narrative choice? It’s so much less interesting than what Wade or even Virgil did.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: I suspect it has a lot to do with how the showrunners view women.

  4

  HER CELL BUZZED FROM ATOP THE HOTEL ROOM DESK, and April rested her forehead against the faux-wood surface. She lifted her head, only to drop it again with a muted thud.

  Without even looking, she knew who was calling and why. At some point, her mom was going to hear about the date with Marcus happening that night. It was only a matter of time, but April had appreciated every minute of it.

  And now, her time was up.

  One glance at the display confirmed her fears, and she heaved a sigh before tapping the screen. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Honey, I just saw a picture of you on Entertainment All-Access. I think.” Her mother sounded both startled and confused. “You were wearing some sort of old-fashioned dress?”

  April had wondered yesterday whether JoAnn’s favorite show to watch during dinner prep would feature the story. Evidently, she had her answer. “That was me. In my Lavinia costume. You know, from Gods of the Gates?”

  “Oh, my heavens.” Her mother blew out a breath. “April, I don’t even—”

  A lengthy silence followed, in which JoAnn likely blinked in shock at her daughter’s sudden, unexpected fame, absorbed the news, and contemplated where to begin the conversation. With curiosity? Concern? Pity? Advice?

  Eventually, she’d cover all of the above. April knew that already, as well as she knew what her mother’s advice would entail.

  At long last, her mother chose an opening query. “How in the world did this happen?”

  That was a question with many answers, some more existential than others, but April settled on the bare facts. Minus a bit of context, in the vain hope they could both avoid the inevitable.

  “Well, I have a Twitter account where I post pictures of myself cosplaying Lavinia, and Marcus Caster-Rupp saw one of the photos Wednesday night and asked me out.” She kept her voice calm, as if her world hadn’t exploded in the last several days. As if her heart hadn’t been skittering in her chest since the moment she’d risen that morning. “I’m staying at a hotel in Berkeley this weekend while I get my new apartment ready, and he happened to be in the area. So our dinner is happening tonight, but please don’t tell anyone. I’d like to keep the whole thing as private as possible, under the circumstances.”

  As private as possible meant not very private. And that was putting it mildly.

  As soon as her Twitter exchange with Marcus went viral, her mentions became . . . incomprehensible. Overwhelming. Filled with commentary both heartening and stunningly ugly. And even though she’d muted all the main threads long ago, new followers and tweets just kept coming, as did interview requests and blogger and media questions.

  Her current amount of exposure was more than sufficient, so she’d refused all requests and ignored all questions. Then, just when the hubbub had begun to diminish, the official Gods of the Gates Twitter account had picked up on the story and obviously seen the date, true to Marcus’s prediction, as a great PR opportunity. To her dismay, they’d started
promoting the shit out of the blessed event.

  Which meant yet more notifications. More DMs. More threads to mute.

  At that point, the story had reached her former coworkers. Because of the continued internet uproar, two of her now-ex-colleagues had seen her picture in one of the many stories available online by Friday.

  They’d chatted to her about it in hushed corners of the office, and she hadn’t minded their winks and nudges. But their sympathetic winces and pitying pats on the arm—such terrible things people said, April; I can’t imagine how you must have felt—had set her teeth on edge.

  When she’d walked out of her old workplace, box of belongings in her arms, she’d done so through a gauntlet of gawking and whispers.

  No more hiding, she’d repeated through a suddenly tight chest. No more hiding. Folk goddamn trio.

  Then the story had leaped from Twitter to Facebook and Insta, and from there to Gods of the Gates blogs and even a few entertainment news programs.

  Including Entertainment All-Access, evidently.

  She was trying not to follow the spread of her newfound fame, but how could she not? Even when each post, each televised clip, ratcheted the tension in her muscles until her shoulders ached?

  “I see.” JoAnn probably had seen the entire story only moments before, displayed for the public’s viewing pleasure on television screens nationwide. “Are you okay, honey?”

  Ah, concern and pity had made a simultaneous entrance into the conversation. Lovely.

  “I’m good. Just figuring out what to wear for—” Shit. Rookie mistake. Normally, April never, ever introduced clothing choices into any discussion with her mother. “Just looking forward to tonight. Marcus plays Aeneas, one of my favorite characters.”

  Her mother ignored that gambit.

  “They showed us part of that conversation on Twitter.” JoAnn’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I’m not sure posting pictures there is a great idea.”

  It was more or less the same advice April had received for more than thirty years: If people are cruel, make yourself smaller and smaller, until you’re so inconsequential no one can target you.