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“Aleric, please don’t. It’s not a big deal.”
“Don’t lie to me. Not you,” I begged.
He let out a soft, distressed noise. “A few weeks ago, they offered me a list of actors—wheelchair users—and a file link to their auditions. They said they had time in their schedule to replace you.”
I felt like I’d been doused in freezing water. I couldn’t speak.
“They told me I’d been right—that the role needed an authenticity you couldn’t bring, and they asked me to choose your replacement.”
“Who isthey?” I rasped. But I knew.
“Christoph.”
I had no idea why this man had it out for me. “Okay. So…who did you choose?”
“Aleric. No,” he said, sounding distressed. “No. I told them that as much as I stood by my belief that disabled roles should go to disabled actors, no other person could possibly understand me the way you did. He asked me if I was sure that you were perfect for the role, and I said yes…so he said if that was the case, my services were no longer needed.”
“Shit.”
“Mm. It was a trap, but I knew it. I wasn’t going to let you risk your job for one that I don’t even want.” He was quiet for a moment. “Did they fire you today?”
I laughed, the sound half-hysterical as I stumbled over to the couch and dropped down with a heavy thud. “No. They—I got a new script for some reshoots today. That’s why I was calling.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They’re bringing Otis back next season as the main romantic interest.”
The silence was painful, pressing, and loud.
“Does Christoph know?” Camillo eventually asked, his voice barely audible. “Does he know about Hugo?”
“If he does, it’s because that fucker came forward and contacted him,” I said. “But from what I’ve read, I don’t think so. They like Otis. He complies. He doesn’t complain like I do.”
“LikeIdo,” Camillo cut in.
I snorted. “Maybe. I don’t know what storyline they’re going with. I don’t know how they’re going to explain to the public why they took such a turn from reality, but it will make things complicated.”
“How?”
“Because I—” I stopped. I understood why Camillo wasn’t on set all this time, but why hadn’t he told me? Why hadn’t he wanted to see me? “Are we over?”
Camillo let out a tiny sigh. “Aleric?—”
“Just tell me, okay? I can take it. But I can’t take sitting here in limbo, not seeing you for weeks, not knowing what’s going on or how you feel. I thought—Jesus, I thought we were fine. We left, and things were fine. And then you just stopped coming around, and damn it, if I did something, please just tell me.”
“It’s not that,” he said softly. He took a breath. “If you knew that they fired me for what I said, you would have quit.”
“I—” I wanted to argue, but my temper was hot, and damn it, I was in love. He was right. “It would have been worth it.”
“No, my darling.” Those words cut me deep but in the best way. It had been a while since I’d heard them. “I need you to be me. I don’t care if the story is fictional. I want people to know who I am, and you can do that, even with a bullshit script.”
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. “So you still want me?”
“Oh. Oh, my darling. It’s been hell not being able to touch you for six weeks. Fuck—what time are you done tonight?”
I felt a sudden, anxious rush through my body. I knew why he was asking. “Late. I have to do reshoots with Otis, and I’m sure Christoph will be doing his best to make my life hellish enough that I can’t sleep. He drug tested me today.”
“What?” Camillo sounded like he was taking up a sword to go to war.