Back after a little break. (Publishing a chapter a week is HARD!) Hope you enjoy that one, I had fun writing more of Salvatore and Maple's growing chemistry...
If this email was forwarded to you, start with Chapter 1
If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars
Maple didn’t wait for the cuts on her hand from the broken glasses to scream. An impossible THUD echoed in her ears as she settled back in her seat, panting, absolutely terrified.
Salvatore had leaned over her, protecting her with lusty arms. She felt the heat of his body, the faint, sweet scent of what she knew to be his sweat. (Saturno had to wear a lot of prosthetics and latex outfits. Maple was very familiar with the smell of Salvatore’s sweat—which she had described as “a subtle mix of raspberry and nori” in her diary once.)
Their eyes found each other. “Are you okay?” He asked with a rough voice.
She shook a little, broken glasses falling from her shoulders. “I’m okay. Just some cuts on my hands.”
Maple paused and looked around. All the windows were gone, and there was now a giant dent in the car's roof.
“What happened?” she asked.
She was hyper-aware that Salvatore was still leaning towards her. She did everything she could not to turn her head to the left, where Salvatore’s plumptious chest awaited her. Which was of little help since she could smell him, and lord, did he smell good.
“We should see what—how damaged your car is.” She didn’t wait for an answer before stepping out.
A promotional sign for the show had fallen onto the car’s roof. Maple looked at the cutout of Saturno and Evelyn—and thanked God Salvatore and Marsha had great chemistry on screen. Maple had to prove she could lead the show through the current societal crisis, The Grand Alien Disclosure of 2XX2. The revelation, kickstarted by a teenager in British Columbia, that aliens existed on Earth had sent seismic ripples through modern societies worldwide. Humans had to grapple not simply with the fact they weren’t alone in the galaxy, but that they weren’t alone at home anymore either.
“Maple?”
People still woke up every day and went to work, then went home to watch some quality TV shows (hopefully Betteraves & Betrayals if they were true allies). But life as Humans had known it was gone. Aliens existed, had existed, and were now intrinsically part of Humanity… or Humanity was part of it? There was still a lot they didn’t know about extraterrestrial beings aliens. (They’d stopped calling them “extraterrestrial beings” after some theories defended that aliens were originally from Earth and had left the planet before Humanity began to sprout.)
“Maple?” someone repeated, prompting Maple to shake her head.
Salvatore was staring at her, eyebrows set deep with worry. “Maple, are you alright?”
She blinked a few times before responding, “Yeah. I’m good. I just… sometimes when I’m scared I just dissociate and obsess over my own lore. I don’t know, it’s kinda weird.”
He tipped his head to the side. “I don’t think it’s weird. Everyone reacts to trauma differently. Any response is valid. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Ashamed and scared by her sudden vulnerability, Maple took a step back from Salvatore, appraising him with a concerned frown. He was throwing furtive glances around them, and there was a beam surrounding him.
She blinked, the beam didn’t falter.
“That’s odd, right?” Maple said, as a realization formed in her mind.
“What is?” he asked, genuinely confused.
She blinked again, adjusting her eyes. The beam was still there. Has she been injured during the accident? Was her vision impaired?
“Every time something falls on me and threatens my life, you’re around.”
She gestured at the sign, glancing at Saturno’s part of the cut-out. It was a giant, stretched-out picture of Salvatore in his green wig, his eyes covered in that cheap, glittery eyeshadow they’d forced Davenport to use after another budget cut.
“Your car saved me from being impaled,” she said. Salvatore had been there for the lights and now this. She had no proof that the actor wasn’t connected to any of the incidents, but she also couldn’t be sure he wasn’t. Why had he suddenly decided to drive her to work? Why today? Maple believed in unfortunate coincidences to a point.
“We should go,” he said, not doing anything to appease her suspicions.
“What about your car?” She could barely hear herself think amidst the questions rumbling in her mind. Why did he want to leave right away? They should call someone about the car or at least tell security. Someone needed to look into the safety of this lot and make sure things stopped falling on people. (Especially on Maple.)
Salvatore tensed and scanned the empty parking lot with concerning intensity. “I will call the lot manager and get it sorted. What matters is that you’re safe.” He paused, taking another good look around them. “Let’s go inside.”
Was he scanning for potential threats? It certainly seemed like he was, and Maple remembered she was staring with wide eyes at a professional. Of course, the performer behind the highly charismatic Saturno was also a charismatic man who could pretend he knew what he was doing. What if it was all a ploy to have her trust him?
She shook her head, trying to get rid of the stupid beam surrounding him.
“Why is there a beam around you?” She pointed at the space surrounding his sturdy body. It was faint, but it was there. It couldn’t be the morning light since it was only shaping Salvatore’s body and nothing else.
He didn’t look back as he guided her to the studio. His hand was firm but gentle on the crook of her arm. “There’s no gleam around me.”
“Beam. I said beam.”
He pushed the heavy metal door that led to the main stage. “Aren’t they the same things?”
She allowed him to guide her further into the building. The rising morning light and crisp air were replaced by the shadow and dust of the studio. The beam was also gone and she had to wonder if it had been just a trick of the light. It’d been a very strange morning so far. Maybe all the stress was finally catching up to her.
They moved in the dark. Maple usually didn’t mind the darkness. She’d always been light-sensitive and enjoyed the low luminosity the studio provided. But lately, with things developing the habit of falling on her, she felt a pressing need for more light.
As if they’d read her mind, all the lights in the studio switched on at once. The flow of luminosity that pierced through was harsh and disorienting. Maple used the back of her hand as cover, but it was insufficient. The amount of light was blinding her. Her eyes dry and tear up all at the same time.
“Dedmasiada luz! Dedmasiada luz!” hailed Loretta’s strapping voice. “The poor girl can’t see a thing!”
“Sorry!” shouted Maurice from somewhere above them. The lights adjusted. “Sorry,” he repeated, “Since Meryl’s departure… I just… it’s hard. We’re a team up there, all of us, you know? Me and the lights, we’re not just—”
“Shut up, Maurice!” Loretta called back. “You’re ruining the surprise!”
Maple blinked, struggling to regain enough vision to see what the hell was going on.
The entire crew was assembled behind a large table that hosted the highest cake Maple had ever seen. At the top, a display made of caramel and chocolate read, “Happy 73rd birthday Betteraves & Betrayals!” Maple recognized the sugary handwriting as her roommate’s.
The cake Brooklyn had made was seventy-three layers tall, each a different flavour. It was grand, over the top, and Maple felt her throat close, a tense bundle gathering in her shoulders. It tightened when she noticed the banner displayed above her head.
“Thank you Maple for bringing our Adele back home!” she read out loud while her crew welcomed her with shouts, laughter, and a tsunami of joyful hope Maple wasn’t ready for or accustomed to. She’d never been celebrated like that before.
Loretta grabbed her, pulling her into a tight embrace, her gigantic breasts enveloping most of Maple’s face. “Gracias, me amore. My mama would be thrilled! Adele was her favourite character.”
Davenport kissed her cheek. “Slay all day, rosé!” he screamed, cheering Loretta with a glass filled with champagne while Cruz launched the rest of the crew in a never-ending round of applause—or maybe a regular amount of applause for someone who wasn’t lying to every one of them right now. They were all rejoicing in a false hope. Daphne was not coming back. Maple’s crew was celebrating a certain success that would never exist. And it was all her fault. She wasn’t just betraying Ermet and the money people at Bōøbol. It was also her crew, the team she’d spent the last three years building. It hadn’t always been easy, and she remembered when Maurice wouldn’t speak to her for a week after she’d said that “lighting wasn’t her priority right now” during a heated debate about budget cuts. But à travers vents et marées, (as Maurice loved to say) Maple had carved a spot for herself in this kooky family. With this lie, she was betraying all of them.
She read the banner out loud one more time as she watched her co-workers laugh and eat, even Marsha—which was truly an exploit since the actress hadn’t been seen eating in public for a few years.
The reality of it all crushed into Maple and she couldn’t breathe anymore. She wanted to scream, run, disappear.
She turned and saw Salvatore’s eyes on her. “Did you…”
He smiled. He leaned closer, above her right shoulder, whispering into her ear. “I was supposed to make sure you arrived on time for the surprise.”
Her breath caught. She wanted to ask if he had volunteered. If he had offered to drive her to the studios. Or was this another coincidence? And did it have anything to do with the secret he’d meant to tell Maple before the incident with the car?
She was about to ask all of the above to Salvatore when she saw Loretta’s assistant rush to whisper something in her boss’s ear. The costume designer paled, chugging the rest of her glass before she hurried to Maple’s side.
“Cariña, we have a problem,” the woman’s rich alto announced dramatically. “Un problema monstruoso!”