by A. B. Wilson
“Dude, c’mon. Don’t be all pissy. Wait up, please?” I called out.
All I got was a dirty look thrown over his shoulder as he continued at breakneck pace down the walkway.
“Fine. Stupid, overly sensitive man. With stupid long legs,” I muttered, deliberately slowing my pace. It wasn’t like he needed my help getting through security or anything. He was a semi-functional adult. Shrugging off the cold shoulder and my overwhelming mothering instinct, I shoved my earbuds into my ears to tune out the terribleness of ATL and lined up with the other suckers in coach to check my bag.
By the time I got to the front of the line, Markus had disappeared. I briefly considered whether to call him a dick or a weiner schnitzel when I caught up with him. The more time I had away from him, the more irrationally irritated I became. So when the ticketing agent at the counter told me there was a problem with my reservation, I started to lose my mind.
“Apologies, ma’am. Perhaps problem wasn’t the right word,” the nice lady drawled. “Your previous reservation is still here, but it looks like someone upgraded you sometime late last night after you checked in. You’re now sitting in first class. Congratulations?”
“Oh god. I’m sorry, thank you. It’s been a stupid morning and my stupid friend is pissed at me for a stupid reason and I’m just really stupidly cranky right now.” I handed over my bag, which got a fancy ‘First Class’ tag slapped on it before being tossed down the conveyor belt.
I clutched my golden ticket and headed for security with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt turning my stomach. I resolved to buy Markus a drink sometime in thanks, and also promise to never wake him with saliva in the ear again.
Outside security, Markus was sitting hunched over on a bench with his backpack at his feet as he waited for me.
“I’m sorry I woke you up with spit,” I said, plopping down next to him. I leaned my head on his shoulder for a moment, the gesture surprisingly natural for how little we truly knew each other. “Let’s head to the gate. Thank you, by the way, for the upgrade. You didn’t have to do that.”
He sighed and rested his head on mine. “No, it’s fine. I don’t wake up well either, and I’m on emotional overload. You know those women who always got tied down to train tracks by the evil villain in silent movies? I feel like those women, waiting and watching for the inevitable train, you know?”
“Okay, drama queen.” I nudged him and was delighted when a teensy grin sparked across his face. “I get it, not quite there, but I’ve not been at my best lately, either. This has been a really hard season to film with the network breathing down our necks about the ratings slipping.”
He nodded silently and we watched people hurry past us for a while. I elbowed him again. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. For both of us, I promise. We’ll get through this. Take things one step at a time, okay? And I’m sorry, again, for being such an insensitive jerk this morning.”
He tipped his head down in acknowledgment and shoved his sunglasses back onto his face as we stood and joined the flow of the crowd. We drifted along, separate but together, and found two seats next to each other by our gate. I pulled out my tablet to read my latest favorite historical romance while he stared off into space.
It was strange, I’d never felt so protective of someone before, and all of my irrational anger from this morning shifted over to his current relationship and work woes. It really wasn’t fair. He was incredibly intelligent, sensitive, and such a genuinely nice guy—once I’d gotten past the barriers he posted in self-defense. Obviously hot as fuck, but that wasn’t the point. He was a good person who was clearly struggling mentally, and I’d been there too, hostage to a brain that wasn’t wired normally and incapable of breaking free. It sucked. Lost in my own thoughts, I barely heard the gate agents announce the boarding call for our flight to LAX. I nudged him. “Time to go, big guy.”
He nodded again and we headed wordlessly to the counter.
“Markus Shellenberg? I loved you in Untimely Justice. You were so amazing,” the gate agent practically shrieked as she scanned his ticket.
“Thank you,” he said, and shifted back and forth, clearly a bit uncomfortable being the center of her enthusiastic attention.
As she opened her mouth to continue to gush, I stepped up behind him and knocked him off to the side to thrust my boarding pass at her. “Sorry, he’s flying under the radar. Can you please let us on the plane?”
She frowned at me. “Are you his bodyguard or something?”
“Yep, now give me my ticket back and let us get on the plane.”
Markus’ faint chuckles transformed into a full-on howl as we walked down the boarding ramp. “Seriously? My bodyguard? Thank you. I needed that.”
I was slightly mortified and winced at how that must have looked. “I know, I have no idea where that came from. Are you okay, though? I pushed you kind of hard, and sometimes I don’t know my own strength. Because I’m way stronger than I look. Shit, if you get hurt, Michael is going to fire me, and then I’ll never find another job. You better be okay.”
The Shellenberg Effect was back, and I was babbling again.
“You? Hurt me? Ha. I like this look—you’re very cute when you get all ferocious. Like an irate Chihuahua or something.” He laughed again and slung one arm around my shoulders. “Now, let’s go get a drink to celebrate going home. Free ones always taste better.” He squeezed me tightly before letting go as we moved in single file for the last few steps to board the plane.
I was speechless as he grabbed our carry-ons and shoved them into the overhead compartment. As he slid into his window seat, he shot me the most heartbreakingly happy-go-lucky grin while I stared at him in confusion.
“Oh. Are you good with the aisle seat?” he asked, mistaking my blank stare for irritation. “It will be easier, if you don’t mind, for me to hide a little from over here. People aren’t likely to try anything with my bodyguard blocking them from asking for photos and stuff.”
I supposed his complete mood one-eighty, the joking around and all of those little touches were good signs, but they made me horribly uneasy. Like I no longer knew who he was or how I was supposed to relate to him. Apparently he had been operating at maybe fifty percent capacity the entire time I’d known him. The full-on version of Markus Shellenberg was a lot to take in, and I wasn’t sure I’d survive it if he turned one hundred percent of his charm on me.
“Uh. No, it’s fine. This is fine,” I muttered as I tripped and fell into the aisle seat. “What’s the deal with the sudden good mood? And when can we get those drinks you promised?”
“Oh, they’ll be around in a second. But good mood? Maybe because we’re going home and things will finally get back to normal?”
I wanted to roll my eyes. He needed to figure out how to manage expectations and regulate his emotions independently. Not count on some sort of external force or change in environment to stabilize him. Going home wasn’t going to help anything unless he started figuring out how to help himself. For heaven’s sake, he’d been practically catatonic not even twenty minutes ago.
The flight attendant came by, batting her eyelashes. “Glass of wine for you and your friend, Mr. Shellenberg?”
He nodded briefly before looking at me, eyebrows raised.
“One for me too, white, and maybe a coffee.”
She nodded, left with slightly pink cheeks, and returned with our wine in record time. We downed our drinks and started outlining a ridiculous plan to rehab his reputation and get the roles of his dreams going forward—starting with figuring out how to make his current role permanent, a plan that looked better and better the more I drank. If he were to stick around for a year, the ratings would be huge and it would be my first season as an A.D. Pretty great fucking timing, and amazing for padding out my resume.
I scrawled down his ideas, and my corrections to them, on cocktail napkins emblazoned with the airline’s logo. When we finally finished, I wadded up the napkins and thrust them in his di
rection as I reclined my seat and curled up in a ball. “Here, you hold on to this. We’ll need it when we get in and have to execute the plan.”
He nodded, staring at the napkins clenched in his fist. “Thank you, Alina. I’ll wake you when we land.”
My eyes had barely closed—or at least that was how it felt—when someone gently stroked the hair away from my cheek and nudged my shoulder. “What was that you said this morning? Wakey, wakey?”
I frowned as I recognized the voice and burrowed deeper into whatever comfy pillow I had landed on. “Rot in hell, Markus Shellenberg. You’re not the boss of me.”
His breath tickled my neck as he laughed and murmured from somewhere above my head, “Ah. Payback’s a bitch, no?”
Then I felt it—the cold, wet, descending hand of god. In my ear. I’d taught him too well and I was going to make him pay for that later.
Chapter Seven
Alina
“Hey, crabby girl, slow down. I’m sorry I woke you up exactly the same way you woke me up earlier. So miserable, right?” He raised an eyebrow at me as I huffed and puffed my way to the baggage carousel. “Besides, you’re really a terrible bodyguard. Pretty sure that falling asleep and drooling all over your client is frowned upon.”
“I don’t drool!” I hissed at him.
“You do. And you did. All over my shoulder.” He pointed at the pretty obvious evidence on his shirt. “Anyways, let me take you home. My driver is right out by the curb. We should go before the paparazzi show up—someone over by that baggage carousel has their phone out.”
“Fine! Yes, all right? Please extract me from this situation. I’m in need of another rescue.” I groaned. The last thing I needed was to be linked to him publicly.
“Where do you live?” he asked brusquely as he helped me into the car and pulled out his phone.
“Venice,” I answered and gave the driver my address. “Thank you, Markus,” I said as I leaned back and let the luxurious smell of new leather wash over me.
“It’s fine. What do you have going on today, anyways?” He was still texting someone. A cute little groove appeared between his eyebrows as he grimaced at his phone.
“I don’t know. My usual Sunday night routine, I guess?” I offered. “Clean the house. Do my laundry. Maybe go for a walk on the beach or to a little bar by my house for dinner and a drink.”
“By yourself?” he asked incredulously.
He must have forgotten what life was like before fame. “This may come as a surprise, Markus, but I’m quite good at doing things on my own.”
“Fine. The freedom to do things alone is so strange to me. And I’m really not looking forward to checking out the damage at my house. Want to come with?” he asked and I couldn’t quite tell if he was messing around. The pull he exerted kept drawing me closer, urging me to help him.
His voice changed before I could respond, becoming more emphatic as he pointed out of the window. “This place is beautiful. Honestly, this is what I thought all of America was like when I was a kid. Baywatch, 90210 and all that.”
My cheeks heated up, that had been a rhetorical question. He didn’t need me. I tried to let it slide. “I know, right? I really, really love it here. I don’t even mind the commute. It’s too perfect, and I never want to leave. See over there? That’s the bar I’m heading to later, Forse. Super cute, right?” I reached across him to point, nearly knocking his hat off.
“Let me guess…wine bar?” he asked, only slightly patronizing as he glanced at the place and adjusted his hat.
“Nah, nothing that pretentious. Just good food and all of the alcohol to make bad days better. Oh, turn here! You can pull over. That’s my place right there.”
He got out with me to carry my bags and I immediately tried to take them back. The tug of war over my suitcases was embarrassingly one-sided as he quickly leveraged his size and reach while sticking his tongue out at me like a naughty child. I rolled my eyes and tagged after him, fumbling around in my tote before finally finding my keys.
“Look, I meant what I said earlier. It’s going to be all right. But I don’t know… Do you want my number or anything in case you need to talk later?”
He gulped and handed over his phone. “Yes, please.”
I quickly keyed in my info and sent myself a text so I’d have his number. We stood there staring at each other, both of us unsure as to what the proper goodbye protocol was in this setting. Did I give him a hug? Pat him on the ass, like “go get ‘em, slugger”? Maybe a firm handshake. I settled on an awkward wave as I backed through my door, dragging my luggage with me to form a physical boundary between us. “Well, good luck, I guess? You can call me if you need anything, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. So…see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily, then straightened his shoulders and nodded. “See you tomorrow. Thanks again, Alina.”
As I walked through the downstairs, opening windows and curtains, I breathed in the slightly stale, salty air of my home. For the umpteenth time, I was grateful to my frugal parents and their dedication to saving that had left me with a small inheritance after they had passed—enough to move to L.A. and start over, even buy this house. I knew I was privileged, but that money was almost gone now and it was all up to me to make it big.
There were so many things that needed to get done before we could wrap this season of Southern Gods, but they were manageable. First, I had lists to make and I wanted to start on the small mountain of laundry I had brought home with me from Savannah. Then, figure out the mundane tasks of living that would have to fit around Michael’s demands.
The level of organization that I tried to achieve in my life might have seemed ridiculous and unnecessary to most people, but it helped me to feel like I had a semblance of control. Most of my moves over the last two years had been so far out of my comfort zone that I felt perpetually off-kilter. My lists provided structure and helped me avoid conflict and confusion. Offhand, I wondered if Markus had any of those guardrails.
I was worried about him—with his stupidly gorgeous face and rare ability to share his vulnerability with someone new. Plus, his thoughtfulness and the way he teased me about falling asleep and drooling on him. It was dangerous how much I enjoyed spending time with him. He pulled me out of my comfort zone, and that could be a decent thing in small doses.
With one load already in the washer, I started flipping through my bullet journals. I smiled happily at all of the crossed-off items and checked goals from previous lists. Tangible proof that I hadn’t made a huge mistake when I’d moved out here so suddenly. My phone rang as I opened to a fresh page to start a new list for the remainder of the shoot.
Markus. Shit. Not a good sign.
* * * *
Forse, Italian for “perhaps”, was one of those unpretentious places that couldn’t decide if it was a wine bar, a restaurant or a bar-bar. They kept late hours, never stopped serving antipasti and took a more than tolerant approach to pouring wine. The waitstaff had all worked there for ages, cementing the idea that this really was a family establishment. It was my second home.
By the time Markus arrived over an hour later, I had finished my first generously poured glass of wine and ordered round two while plodding through changes to the shooting schedule Michael had sent me for the remainder of the week. I’d waited to order a main even though the rich garlicy-basil scent of their traditional red sauce wafted through the entire space, tormented me with daydreams of gluten-y goodness. At least the cheese plate was still largely intact. I had a feeling Markus was going to need it more than me.
“Alina.” His voice grated out through gritted teeth as he greeted me.
“Markus, shit, what happened?” I asked as he slid into the seat across from me. “Need a drink?”
Markus took off his sunglasses, folded them carefully and set them aside. Then he sank his chin into the palm of his hand as he stared at me with slightly manic, glittering eyes. “Yes, a drink. Two Fernet, please. And a glass of what
ever you’re having.”
I practically dry heaved when I heard his bizarre order. We were clearly about to board the struggle bus. Fernet was a very nasty herbal digestif. One did not simply ‘have two’ for funsies. “Yeah, sure. Do you want any bread too? There’s cheese here if you want it. Shove it in your mouth. You’ll feel better.” I was a helpful, conversational genius.
His fingers twitched on his jaw. “Are you serious right now?”
“I never joke about cheese. That would be sacrilegious.”
He grunted and closed his eyes—probably to drown out my jabbering again. The room suddenly felt five degrees darker and colder.
“Sorry. I’m babbling and making bad jokes. It’s kind of intimidating when you walk in and ask for one of the grossest drinks ever after what I’m sure was a pretty emotional afternoon.” Before I could embarrass myself further, I slipped away from our table.
On my return, I watched Markus slowly drag one hand down his face, pulling his features out of sync. I could hear his sigh from six feet away. Setting down the drinks, I resumed my seat and leaned over so I could flick his forehead to get his attention. “Let’s hear it, then.”
His face contorted as he sniffed the wine and set it aside with a decisive nod, then brought the Fernet up to hover in front of his gorgeous mouth. “Fuck, I don’t know. It was weird being back there without her—I ended up packing up things she’d left behind, got the locks changed so she can’t force her way back in, sent her stuff to the hotel where she’s staying. She’s really gone and that’s in my past. I can move on. I think I’m ready to.”
He shrugged and smiled uncertainly. “I’m sorry to interrupt your afternoon, but I forgot to tell my housekeeper I was coming home and realized I didn’t have any food in the house once I was done packing up Kate’s crap and… Well, I didn’t know who else to call.”