Love, Lust, and Jealousy.
It's a story Cora knows all too well - not because it's her own, but that of her character in Illicit Affairs, the murderous romance that's about to take Broadway by storm. It's her crowning achievement, her pride and joy...
"Oh, God," Cora groaned as soon as Rasmus was out of the room, her voice quivering with embarrassment as she put her face in her hands.
She felt Anais, who she had barely noticed slip back into the room, put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay."
Cora's face was flaming with humiliation. Floundering to recover her dignity, she stammered, "I swear we don't usually argue on the job like that. You must think I'm the most unprofessional, insecure–"
"I think you're stressed out," Anais stopped her. "That's all. I'm not judging you, Cora. This is a big day for you and you're nervous and I would probably be handling things much worse than you are if I had to put so much trust in someone I didn't like."
Cora nodded shyly, though she wasn't sure if Anais really meant that or was simply attempting to deescalate the situation. It was true that she was giving a lot of herself to Rasmus, though she hadn't really been thinking of it in those terms before now. The immense lack of romantic emotion between them didn't entirely negate that she had to go home each night with the fresh memory of his mouth and his hands on her. They were forced to trust each other a lot – to execute their intimate scenes exactly as choreographed, to rescue one another if one of them forgot their lines or missed a cue. It was a lot of pressure for anyone, much less two newcomers, and it bonded them in an intimate way that felt wrong to her. But if she was going to preserve her sanity, she was going to have to grit her teeth and pretend it felt right until one day it actually did.
"It's...it can be hard," she admitted. "I never expected to be in this situation."
Anais nodded thoughtfully. "At least you get to stab him at the end," she offered.
Cora couldn't help but smile a tiny bit. "That's exactly what I tell myself every day."
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Rasmus stormed out of her dressing room the second he was allowed to do so. What a mess. What a fucking mess. They made themselves look like complete idiots in front of her dresser, and that wasn't even to mention how horrible he'd been at unlacing that damn dress.
He needed to blow off some steam before he had to see her again, but he only had all of ten minutes before they were needed onstage. So when he got back to his dressing room and it was empty—Gideon must have run off somewhere—he let out a sigh of relief. At least he could spend his ten minutes in solitude.
He placed his hand against the peeling paint on the wall, wishing he could curl his fingers in and ram his fist into the plaster. There was a twisted, writhing feeling in his stomach. This was supposed to be one of the best days of his life and instead, everything felt wrong. If this morning was indicative of how starring alongside Cora was going to go, he'd bitten off way more than he could chew.
He sank into the lone chair in the room, feeling horribly out of place. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this; maybe he didn't belong in this environment. He'd fought tooth and nail to be a part of it even when everyone told him that he shouldn't, that it wasn't worth it, but what good had all that work done if he was still miserable? Maybe they were right after all.
