“I… I can do that,” Charlie hesitantly agreed.
“Will it get you into trouble?” Sudden second thoughts washed in, only receding when Charlie finally answered.
“Me? No. I’m just a trainee, and with the crap equipment the show budgeted for, it’s a miracle what you’re asking for hasn’t happened before. It’s just—” He hesitated again. “—what’s up with all the weird requests today? Are you really sure you want me to?—?”
“Yes,” Pasha butted in and looked up, blinking in the bright lights that Charlie dimmed one by one. “Yes. I’ll do whatever you want to make it happen.”
“Huh. Tempting.” Charlie hummed as if considering. “I’ll do what you ask if you tell me one thing.”
“Name it.”
“Tell me the truth.” Charlie drew in a quick breath that was audible. “Is #TrueBrit for real?”
Pasha shielded his eyes and wet lips that were bone-dry. Ed had felt real enough under his hands early that morning, and his startled smile when he heard Pasha call out his name in Trafalgar Square had looked dead honest. It had matched the emotion that Pasha had been trying so hard to stifle the whole week they were apart. Everything about Ed was genuine, and Charlie deserved to know that, at least. Pasha looked up and nodded, cracking a smile when Charlie hissed a loud “Yes!”
The connection between them was lost when the theme tune abruptly started. Stagehands moved pieces of the set into starting positions, and as one half of a staircase was trundled past, he saw Anya waiting behind it. Pasha crossed to the spot where she stood, her toes against a mark taped to the floor that would be hers in less than an hour.
Swamped in one of the make-up artist’s black capes, her hair tamed into geometric cornrows, she’d never looked so tiny.
Pasha swept her up into a hug he found difficult to make end. Her “Hi” of greeting was as breathless as his, and when he eventually set her down, he saw the shine of tears in her eyes.
“Hey, now. There’s no need to cry just because I’m going to beat you,” he teased, and then ruined his posturing by drying up, silenced by yet more emotion he hadn’t for one minute expected.
Tonight would be the last time he and Anya would share a stage together.
The red, white, and blue of the opening credits ran behind them in silence as he cleared his throat and murmured, “Missed your stupid face this week.”
“Me too,” Anya said and then stood on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But I’ve had a lot of time to think without you around being distracting and constantly hogging the camera.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I thought about how good it’s gonna feel to send you home like the loser you are.” They hugged again, their bursts of laughter tinged with an edge of hysteria.
“Stop it.” A low voice spoke from behind them. “People will think you two are the real love story if you can’t stop touching like that in public.”
Makeup had done well to cover the pink across Ed’s nose and cheeks. Instead of sunburned, he looked tanned and handsome. He curled one big hand around Anya’s neck and dwarfed her in his embrace. “You can cuddle Pash all you like, Shorty, after I send you home in third place tonight.”
“Hey! That’s heightist,” Anya protested, but Pasha noticed she didn’t try too hard to escape Ed’s hold, snuggling closer in fact, her face dotting the makeup cape he wore with particles of glitter. “And how come I’m the one going home third? That’svery sexist of you.” She pondered before adding, “And I would say racist, but it turns out that’s one –ist I can cross off your list.”
“Hush,” Ed said, holding her even closer. “Let the grown-ups talk for a minute.”
Anya’s “Ageist!” was muffled by his chest.
“You two might as well give in now.” Ed was solemn, as serious as he’d been right at the start of the contest, until he said, “Because my song is a sure thing to win.” The twinkle in his eyes was as good as a broad grin, and for once Pasha wished the cameras were running to capture this perfect moment of the three of them together.
Gerry’s voice was a bucket of ice water dousing their good-natured joking. “Well, isn’t this all very touching?”
Its tone provoked a physical response contrasting starkly with the warm wash of emotion Pasha had felt at hearing Ed’s voice. His skin crawled when it looked as if Gerry was about to tap Anya on her bottom with some rolled-up papers. Pasha stepped forward without thinking, but Ed had already turned, setting Anya down to his far side. His eyes narrowed as Gerry continued.
“But there’s no point playing up to the cameras until they’re actually rolling, is there?”
Pasha didn’t bother explaining that their friendships would last beyond the contest. Gerry didn’t deserve to know that some good had come from his plotting. Ed’s slow release of Anya suggested he felt the same reluctance. When Gerry instructed her to get back to makeup Ed held her hand for a few seconds before finally letting her go.
The moment Anya was gone, Gerry brandished the papers. His expression was smug.
“Thought Pasha might like a little small-print reminder before his final performance, boys.”
Ed leaned forward and disarmed him, neatly snatching the papers so fast Pasha almost missed his movement. Even Gerry took a step back when Ed spoke, his voice the deceptive calm at the center of an unleashed storm and just as quietly threatening. “We’ve already seen the contract more than enough. And less of the ‘boys,’ thank you. You get to talk down to me when you’ve served your Queen and country for longer than me. It was a privilege to protect your right to be a complete arsehole, Mr. Hanson. Good to see you’re making the most of the freedom ‘boys’ like me, and the decent men and women I served with, protected with our lives.”