Spoiler Alert

by Olivia Dade

  Her mother wasn’t the only person who’d hurt her today.

  She didn’t intend to let it happen again.

  Rating: Mature

  Fandoms: Gods of the Gates – E. Wade, Gods of the Gates (TV)

  Relationships: Aeneas/Lavinia

  Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Lavinia Has Body Image Issues, For Obvious Reasons

  Stats: Words: 1893 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 47 Kudos: 276 Bookmarks: 19

  Untouchable

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan

  Summary:

  Lavinia knows exactly why her husband doesn’t touch her, doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t bed her. Possibly, however, she may have made a few assumptions along the way. Ones Aeneas intends to correct.

  Notes:

  Thank you to my fabulous beta, Book!AeneasWouldNever! He’s been helping me work on emotional heft in my fics, so whatever such heft this story has belongs rightfully to him.

  * * *

  At night, the irony choked her. Somehow, having a beautiful husband, having a husband she’d grown to love, had made her married existence so much worse, so much more painful, than if she’d simply married Turnus instead. Turnus, her fiancé before fate—and parental interference—had broken the engagement. Turnus, all brown curls and bluster and righteous anger and wiry strength.

  Turnus, who would have bedded her in darkness, fucked her from behind whenever possible, and avoided looking at her face the same way he’d avoided looking at her face since meeting her.

  But at least he’d have taken her to bed. Unlike her actual husband.

  Her husband, golden in the sunlight. Her husband, smooth muscles and features polished to perfection. Her husband, polite and attentive and distant as the moon overhead.

  For Aeneas, evidently, no amount of darkness was sufficient to disguise whom he’d married, whom he’d have to fuck. For him, she was more than simply homely and awkward and everything else her father had ever told her. She was untouchable. So ugly he couldn’t abide a fingertip’s worth of contact.

  Or so she might have gone on believing forever, until she got drunk one night. Very, very drunk. For the first time ever. At Dido’s bachelorette party, drowning her stupid envy over how Aeneas’s ex—now Lavinia’s faithful friend—had managed to get over the man and move on in a way Lavinia never could as his wife.

  When she came home in a cab, he met her at the end of their driveway, forewarned of her arrival by Dido’s text. When she staggered, he tugged her against his side and supported her with a strong arm around her shoulders.

  When she looked blearily up at him and slurred, “Don’t have to touch me. Know you don’t want to. Made that clear enough,” he stopped dead on their front sidewalk, still holding her, brow furrowed in confusion.

  Then, when she repeated the horrible, humiliating truth, he glared at her with eyes blazing like the stars above and spat out his own truth.

  “I have wanted to touch you every minute of every day for months now,” he said. “What the actual, ever-loving fuck are you talking about?”

  24

  APRIL HAD SHRUGGED AWAY HIS ATTEMPTED COMFORT IN her parents’ guest room, so Marcus didn’t try to reach out to her again. Instead, he silently accepted her keys, passed her the tissue box and a bottle of water, set the GPS to her apartment’s address, and began driving them home.

  She didn’t want him to touch her. That was her right, and no doubt she had good reason to distance herself from him. He simply didn’t understand what that reason was. And he might not be allowed physical contact, but he could still steal glances at her as he drove. At stop signs and red lights, and when he needed to wait behind someone making a left turn.

  In fleeting glimpses, he scanned her tear-stained countenance for some hint of what he’d done wrong, and found . . . nothing. Nothing.

  Her face was speckled stone. Impervious.

  His confusion and anxiety ballooned by the moment, filling his skull until he wondered how his ears hadn’t popped from the pressure.

  Without warning, she pointed to the right. “Pull off here.” They’d reached a little park not too far from the freeway, and he obediently turned into its lot. “Pick a space without anyone else nearby, please.”

  The farthest corner of the lot offered spots with the most privacy, and he chose the last space on the end. Within moments, the car was parked, and the hum of the engine went quiet, but he kept his hands clutched tight on the steering wheel. Because he was nervous, and because he needed to keep them away from her until she was ready to be touched.

  He studied her blotchy face and the balled-up tissues in her lap, his jaw aching with tension, his need to offer comfort overwhelming but stymied.

  She didn’t speak. Not one word.

  “April . . .” he finally said, her name a gravelly plea. “I don’t know what happened with your mom, and I don’t know how I fucked up, but I obviously did. I’m sorry.”

  He’d thought he understood. Her father was an asshole, and being in his company upset her. If Marcus offered himself as a human barrier, then she could spend time with her mother and escape the visit home unscathed. Simple as that.

  Only she’d emerged metaphorically bloodied instead, and Jesus. Jesus. Evidently he hadn’t helped at all. Best he could tell, he’d hung her out to dry instead.

  His skin fucking crawled with shame at having inadvertently abandoned her in need. It was the absolute worst feeling. The worst.

  Had he simply not listened hard enough? Or had she told him less than he’d realized, less than he needed to support and protect her? And if so, how could he have failed to notice such a glaring omission?

  After another torturous silence, she finally responded to his apology, her words blunt and abrupt and startlingly loud in the hushed confines of the car.

  “My father despises fat people. Including me. My mother wants to save me from the judgment of people like him, so she constantly advises me about my body.” She pressed her trembling lips together. “I told her today I would no longer visit her if the two of them came as a package deal, because I have no desire to see him ever again. Then I said I would cut off contact with her entirely if she didn’t stop discussing my body.”

  Metal in his mouth. He’d drawn blood somewhere, lip or cheek or tongue, and it felt right. Blood should be spilled in response to what she’d just told him.

  That motherfucker.

  There were assholes, and then there were—

  He didn’t even know what the right term for her father was.

  Even then—even ravaged by tears, her cheeks blotched with distress—April glowed in the sunlight through the window. How her father couldn’t see her beauty or value, how he’d turned away from the daughter who should have been his greatest pride, Marcus had no idea.

  And her mom. Her mom.

  In some ways, that was almost worse, wasn’t it? In the end, a dismissal by her malignant asshole of a father might be easier to shake off than the inadvertent slights of her mother.

  Brent wasn’t worth a moment of April’s time or a single one of her tears. But JoAnn . . .

  JoAnn wanted to protect her daughter. JoAnn had the best of intentions. JoAnn loved her daughter, loved her sincerely, but hurt her anyway. Again and again.

  The thought of April growing up like that gutted him.

  Fuck, he wanted to hold her. Needed to hold her. Instead, as he tried to find the right words, he fisted the steering wheel so hard he was surprised he didn’t pry the leather free.

  But when his mouth opened, she held up a hand. “Let me get this out, please.”

  More copper spilled over his tongue, but he nodded.

  “I wanted you by my side today, holding my hand. To show them I don’t need to change how I look to have a good relationship, and to support me as I had a hard conversation with my mom.” She rubbed her bloodshot eyes and sighed. “I really needed my boyfriend, not the public version of you. But I didn�
�t tell you any of that, so you don’t have to apologize. It’s fine.”

  Amid the upheaval of the afternoon, her near-instant forgiveness was graciousness he hadn’t expected and wasn’t certain he even deserved. Maybe she hadn’t told him enough before the visit, but he should have asked what she needed from him, not assumed.

  His failure roiled his stomach, but this wasn’t about him. Not at its heart. He had to remember that.

  He didn’t speak until she met his eyes again.

  His hand was an inch from hers, but he didn’t close the distance. “May I?”

  When she nodded, he let out a slow breath and interwove their fingers, placing their joined hands on his thigh. With his free hand, he reached over and swept away a stray tear from her jaw, keeping the pad of his thumb gentle and light on her salt-stained skin.

  She didn’t flinch or edge away. Thank fuck.

  His incipient nausea eased as the dread—his fear that this afternoon would end their relationship, that she’d never forgive him—drained away with each arc of his thumb.

  “April . . .” Bowing his head, he lifted their tangle of fingers to his cheek and rubbed. Kissed her knuckles. “You’d said you and your father were estranged, and you seemed anxious about the visit. So my goal today was to keep him as far away from you as possible. Since you said he was all about appearances, I figured the best way to do that was to be—”

  “Not yourself.” Shit, she looked tired. He hoped she’d let him drive them the rest of the way to Berkeley. “I get it. Well, now I do, anyway.”

  He’d make it up to her. When she saw her mother again—if she saw her mother again—he’d do whatever she needed. Be whatever she needed.

  And in the meantime, he’d give her all the love he could.

  He’d give her love because she deserved it, and because he couldn’t help it. He was so fucking smitten with her, his adoration spilled from him like water from a fountain or blood from a wound. He exhaled love with every breath. It floated behind him with each step, bright as fireflies in the dark of night.

  Most of all: he’d give her love because he wanted to earn her love in return.

  And to do that, he needed to make absolutely certain she understood why he’d disappointed her, and just how sorry he was for doing so.

  “Within two sentences, I could tell your dad was a dick. Which I’d already guessed, since you’re estranged, but it wasn’t hard to see why.” He sighed. “Your mom seemed genuinely affectionate with you, though, so I thought it was safe to leave you two alone, while I kept him away. I’m so sorry.”

  Her hands were icy, and he chafed them, trying to lend his warmth.

  She watched, her exhaustion visible in her boneless slump and painted in dark circles beneath her eyes. “She is genuinely affectionate. That’s not the problem.”

  “I know that now. I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice raw. “If I’d had any idea she was badgering you like that, I never would have abandoned you.”

  “No need to apologize.” Her jaw cracked with her yawn. “You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.”

  As she sagged against her seat, she began shivering, even though it wasn’t actually cold in the car. Emissions be damned, he promptly turned on the engine and set the thermostat as high as possible, flicking her seat warmer onto its hottest setting too.

  She didn’t protest.

  He cradled her face in his hands. “April, I swear I’m nothing like your father. In general, because he’s an asshole, but also . . .”

  When he trailed off, shifting in discomfort, she filled in the rest.

  “You don’t care that I’m fat.” Nuzzling her cheek against his palm, she closed her eyes again. “Which I should have known from the beginning, given the way we met.”

  On the Lavineas server? What did that have to do with her size?

  “Given the—?” He paused. “On Twitter. Yes, given the way we met.”

  Shit, he’d almost forgotten. Almost revealed exactly how long they had known one another. Jesus. As if the afternoon somehow required even more drama and conflict.

  He brushed his lips over her forehead, then her nose, before giving her a brief, gentle kiss on the mouth. “I love your body exactly the way it is, April.”

  “I believe you.” Her faint smile lightened his heavy heart. “Even an actor of your talent couldn’t fake how you look at me. Especially when we make love.”

  Lustful and lovestruck and speechless. That was how he felt when they made love, and how he probably looked too.

  April’s body was perfect exactly as it was. Brent Whittier could go fuck himself.

  “I had no idea that was the crux of your estrangement with your father.” After one last tender stroke of her hair back from her forehead, he shifted fully back into his own seat and put the car in drive. “I knew it was an issue with some of your dates, but not with him. I really am sorry.”

  At first, she didn’t respond. Tipping back her head, she closed her eyes. His guess: worn out by all the upheaval, she’d be asleep within thirty seconds.

  Then, when they were almost out of the parking lot, she seemed to register his words.

  Her eyes blinked open, and she put a hand on his arm, stopping him from pulling out onto the road. He braked, then turned to her again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Was she still too cold? Did she want to get out of the car and sit on one of the park’s sunlit benches together?

  “Marcus . . .” Her brow was pinched. “How did you know I’d been fat-shamed by dates before?”

  His hard swallow seemed to echo in his ears.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Some of her exes had been assholes to her because of her body, but she’d never told him that. At least, she’d never told Marcus that.

  In fact, she’d only ever broached the topic of dickish dates once in his presence. Namely, when she’d posted about fat-shaming on the Lavineas server, and he’d read the post and responded. As BAWN.

  He opened his mouth. Pinched it shut again.

  The choice lay before him. He could lie. He could say he’d deduced the existence of horrible exes, based entirely on that whole gym-and-buffet misunderstanding from months ago.

  Or he could come clean. At long last, he could stop hiding the truth from her.

  He knew which choice a good man, a good partner for her, would make. But he also knew something else with a certainty that sickened him.

  If he’d told her the truth entirely of his own volition, he might have had a chance to salvage things. Only admitting his lie of omission now, after he’d been caught—that was the part she wouldn’t be able to forgive.

  April, who cared only about the truth beneath all the pretty lies, was never going to trust him again, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t.

  But he still needed to explain, to try, because he loved her, and she deserved the truth. No matter whether she still loved him after he told her. No matter whether she’d ever loved him to begin with.

  “Marcus?” She didn’t sound sleepy anymore. Not in the slightest.

  Dropping his chin to his chest, he tried to ignore the acid climbing his throat and breathed shallowly through his mouth. If his sudden nausea got any worse, though, he’d have to open the car door to spare her upholstery.

  Without a word, he backed up, up, up, until they’d reached the far, empty corner of the lot once more.

  With every inch he reversed, April straightened in her seat. Grew more alert, her gaze sharp as a blade against his throat.

  Then they were parked, and he was almost out of time.

  One last look, while she still trusted him. One last stroke of her cheek. One last moment hoping that maybe—maybe, despite everything he knew about her—she would accept his heartfelt apologies and they could still have a relationship.

  Her skin was icy. And now, so was his.

  “I’m Book!AeneasWouldNever,” he said.

  Lavineas Server DMs, Six Months Ago

  Unapo
logetic Lavinia Stan: I feel bad. Well, kind of. Kind of not.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: ???

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I was a bit snippy with AeneasFan83 just now, in her thread about the “historical inaccuracy” of non-white people in the show. But honestly, BAWN, does she think POC were a Victorian invention?

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’ll look at the thread in a minute, but I have faith that if you were snippy, she deserved it. Especially since her take is total bullshit.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: THANK YOU

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m here to defend your snippy honor whenever needed.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: To be fair, I was already upset before the whole POC-wouldn’t-have-been-in-Europe-even-though-there-is-a-shitload-of-contemporaneous-proof-they-totally-fucking-were conversation, and I probably took that out on her.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: And just to be clear, even if there weren’t people of color back then in Europe (AND THERE WERE), our show featured a fucking PEGASUS, so sit down with your hot, racist take on historical accuracy, lady.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: Another excellent point.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: So what was already upsetting you before you saw the thread?

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: It’s kind of a long story.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: You don’t have to tell me. Ignore the question.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: No, it’s okay.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Without going into too much detail, I met a friend for dinner, and she disappointed me.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I thought she accepted me the way I am, but

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: She wants to fix me. Improve me.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: WTF?

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: She had to speak up, BAWN. Out of CONCERN.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m certain you already know this, but: You don’t need to be fixed or improved. You’re perfect just the way you are.

  Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m so sorry. That must have hurt.