20. Marcus

20

Marcus

I slouch in the back of the limo, my smile finally dropping as the tinted windows shield me from prying eyes. It’s been a full-on day.

5 a.m. - gym session with my personal trainer

7 a.m. - talk show

9 a.m. to 12 p.m. - press junkets

3 p.m. - hair and styling

6 p.m. - premiere of Love in Zero Gravity .

Now, at eleven p.m., I’m headed to the after-party.

“You look tired,” my personal assistant Erica comments from where she’s leaning back in the leather seat opposite me.

“Is that just another way of saying I look like shit?”

“I don’t think you’re genetically capable of looking like shit,” Erica says.

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

Erica snorts. “It’s more of a factual statement. But seriously, Marcus, are you getting enough sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Or when Jake stops booking me for dawn interviews.”

I can’t say the truth, that I’ve never slept well. Nightmares always plague me. And my sleeping patterns have been more disrupted recently because nighttime is the best time to talk to Seb.

What is Seb doing right now? It’s late afternoon in New Zealand. Is he at the zoo weighing chicks, in his office at the biological sciences department doing research, or is he teaching a lab?

I know so much about Seb’s day-to-day life now.

Since Fiji, Seb and I have been messaging constantly. And a few weeks ago, after I drunk-dialed him because I desperately wanted to see his face, we’ve added video calling into the mix as well.

I’m trying not to think about what it means. I’m trying not to examine the flutter I get in my chest every time my phone beeps with a message or incoming video call from Seb.

When I check my phone, there’s no message from him now. He must be busy.

Instead I start scrolling through the reviews now coming in for the movie.

Marcus Johnson delivers a tour de force performance in Love in Zero Gravity . His portrayal of an alien struggling to understand human emotions is both hilarious and heartbreakingly poignant.

Happiness shoots through me.

But my happiness fades when I scroll to the next review.

It’s lucky Marcus Johnson was playing an alien because I don’t think he’s capable of acting like a human. Perhaps Johnson should stick to roles that don’t require him to emote—or speak.

My stomach lurches. The words seem to burn into my retinas. They confirm every whispered doubt that has ever echoed in my head. I’m a fraud, a pretty face who got lucky, and sooner or later, everyone will figure that out.

Just as I’m about to read the review again, my phone buzzes with a message from Seb.

How did the premiere go?

I let out a deep breath. Seeing Seb’s name is like a shot of happiness injected into me.

Because I love this. I love having someone not on my payroll know my schedule. Someone who cares about what I’m doing.

Good. Just on my way to the after-party now. How was your day?

I got vomited on by a chick.

If I stick around at this after-party long enough, I’ll probably have the same experience. But unfortunately, it won’t be because I’m being all heroic and saving endangered species.

I guess bird vomit will be more ecofriendly than whatever designer drugs might be vomited up by your chicks.

I can’t help chuckling.

What are you doing tonight?

Going to a guest lecture from a visiting professor about the efforts to bring back extinct species.

This is the other thing I love about any conversation with Seb. Our lives are so different, and talking to him sometimes gives me the same escapism I get when I’m slipping into a role for a movie.

How do they bring back extinct species?

Kind of like Jurassic Park. They use advanced genetic engineering techniques to recreate the extinct species’ DNA, then implant it into the egg cells of a related species.

Does this mean I could finally get that dodo I’ve always wanted for Christmas?

Seb sends me a laughing face emoji, and then he’s typing again.

I’m kind of skeptical about it, to be honest. De-extinction is never going to recreate the exact species we lost. We might create something genetically similar, but it won’t have the same behaviors, adaptations, or ecological role. You can’t bring back the past.

The limo pulls up outside the Beverly Hills Hotel, its iconic palm trees swaying gently in the evening breeze, the red carpet stretching like a crimson river leading to the entrance.

Sorry, I’ve just arrived at the hotel.

No worries, I’m sure premiere parties wait for no man.

Message me when you get home and we can video call. A fun one, maybe?

He sends me a smiley face in return.

I put my phone on my lap, and my head falls back onto the seat.

What am I doing?

I’m not someone Seb should be wasting his time on. There is no future for Seb and me.

But I can’t stop messaging him. Every time I think about not replying, I remember the expression on his face when he said goodbye to me.

I can’t do anything to hurt Seb. I refuse to be that person.

But by encouraging this thing between us, am I potentially setting him up for more hurt long-term?

Talking to Seb makes me feel a complex mix of happiness and hope. Something I haven’t felt for such a long time.

But I think of what Seb just said about de-extinction.

You can never bring back the past.

“You ready for this?” Erica asks.

I plaster on my smooth smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As I get out of the limousine, a crowd of paparazzi is waiting, shouting questions and demands for poses. I square my shoulders and stride forward. Show time yet again.

I spend three hours at the after-party, during which I navigate a sea of air kisses, dodge paparazzi disguised as waiters, and politely decline offers to join a “private party” in the penthouse suite that I’m pretty sure is code for an orgy.

I also find myself being propositioned by Xavier Newton, the Australian star of the hit superhero franchise Temporal Titans , who seems offended I don’t want to go home with him. To be fair, it is potentially the first time he’s ever been turned down by a guy.

After I get home, I pull off my tuxedo tie and kick off my shoes. But I don’t get changed out of the rest of my tux. Seb seems to have a thing for me when I’m dressed up, and following his husky orders to undress is incredibly sexy.

When my phone beeps, I grab at it.

But it’s not Seb. It’s a message from his sister instead.

Before Fiji, Saskia was the person I messaged the most.

I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those friends who forgets all about their other friends when they get married.

But I’ve had this massive case on my desk, and it’s taken up nearly every brain cell.

Fuck. Saskia’s blaming herself for the lack of communication between us recently.

I’ve hardly noticed we haven’t been chatting as much as normal because I’ve been so wrapped up in messaging Seb.

That’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to strain your remaining brain cells by remembering your best friend.

Way to make me feel epically guilty.

Actually, of the two of us, I’m probably the one feeling the guiltiest right now.

It’s yet another talent I have.

So what’s the latest goss with you? What hunks have you been hooking up with? I want all the details!

Well, I just turned down Xavier Newton tonight. Does that count?

WTF??? You turned him down?? Are you nuts?

I rub a hand across my stubble.

Yeah, Saskia, I’m starting to think I might be slightly nuts—about your brother.

Seb is the one who was adamant in Fiji that he didn’t want Saskia to know. And I’ve got to respect his wishes.

But it feels dishonest to keep this secret from her. Like I’m betraying our friendship by omission.

Don’t you think I deserve a better guy to hook up with than a multi-millionaire Emmy award-winning superhero?

Saskia and I continue to message back and forth. It’s always nice to talk to Saskia, but I’m aware I’m really just killing time while waiting for her brother to call me.

Finally, my phone lights up with an incoming call. I send a quick message to Saskia saying I’m going to bed before I fumble my phone in my eagerness to press Accept on Seb’s call.

“Hey,” Seb says. Somehow, seeing Seb’s face, even through the pixelated screen, instantly calms something inside me. It’s like coming home after a long day of pretending to be someone else.

He’s wearing his glasses, which he always wears when his eyes get tired. His chest is covered with one of his signature science pun T-shirts—this one reads: What did one tectonic plate say when he bumped into the other? Sorry, my fault .

A smile spreads across my face, and it feels like the first genuine one I’ve had all day. It’s ridiculous how just the sight of Seb can affect me like this.

“Hey. How was your lecture?” I ask.

“It was really fascinating. We discussed the ethical implications of bringing back extinct species. Like, if we resurrect the woolly mammoth, where would it live? How would it impact modern ecosystems? It’s not as straightforward as just recreating the DNA. The easiest thing is to stop species going extinct in the first place.”

I let Seb’s voice wash over me, watching his face light up with passion.

“I mean, every extinction represents the end of a unique way of life. Species evolve over millions of years, but when we lose a piece of our planet’s history that can never truly be replaced…” He pauses for a second. “Sorry, I’m ranting now.”

“No. It’s interesting,” I say.

“Anyway, how was the after-party?” he asks.

“It was a typical Hollywood party. I’m reaching the point where all Hollywood parties blend into one glittery, champagne-soaked mess.”

“Yeah, I’m finding it slightly difficult to summon much sympathy right now. Did you miss the part where I got covered with fish-flavored vomit today?”

I can’t help chuckling.

I turned down hooking up with Xavier Newton so I could talk to Seb about bird vomit.

And I couldn’t be happier with my choice.

“How much more promo stuff do you have to do for Love in Zero Gravity ?” Seb asks.

“Just a few more weeks of promo stuff. I’ve got to do some reshoots for The Gilded Trigger , and then I’m off to Iceland to film Winter of the Heart.

“That’s the indie film, right? The historical drama.”

“Yeah, that one.”

I’ve been looking forward to this movie, hoping this will be the film my career needs to break out of the rom-com rut. But now, the negative review I read earlier circulates in my head.

“You don’t seem as enthusiastic about it as you did a few weeks ago,” Seb says with a frown.

Shit. I hadn’t realized how well he could read me.

He’s staring at me, concern etched on his forehead.

Seb is just so… good . And if I was equally as good, I would leave him alone.

But I miss him.

I want him.

They’re such unfamiliar emotions.

Seb’s insight reminds me why I keep everyone at a distance. Even Saskia, my closest friend. After all these years, she still only knows the outer shell of me.

But now, something about his earnest gaze makes me want to be real, to share some of my doubts and fears.

“I guess I’m just worried about whether I’m up to playing this part. I mean, it’s opposite Peter Beauford.” I force myself to huff out a laugh. “Beauford could probably convince an audience he’s a teapot if he wanted to. I’m just trying not to look like a complete fraud next to him.”

If people don’t believe I can be a convincing match-making Martian, how can I be an eighteenth-century Icelandic farmer?

Seb sits up straighter, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are you kidding me, Marcus? You’re an incredible actor.”

His words are soothing, but panic flashes through me.

I make my voice smooth. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but let’s be real—my most convincing performance to date is pretending I understand what the scientific puns on your T-shirts mean.”

“I’m serious, Marcus,” Seb says.

“Yeah, I know. I recognize your serious face.” I keep my tone joking.

Seb rolls his eyes but lets me off the hook. “I’m so jealous you get to go to Iceland,” he says. “The geology of the country is amazing.”

“Have you ever been?” I ask.

“No. I would love to go some time though.”

“Do you want to come and visit me while I’m there?”

The words fall out of me without thinking. They’re impulsive, reckless, but the moment the offer leaves my lips, I realize how much I want it to happen.

Seb’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

His throat works for a few seconds.

“Sure. I’d love to come. But are you sure you can cope with all the nerdy scientific facts about geothermal activity I’ll share with you?” he says finally.

“I think I can handle it,” I say softly.