Temple is not happy with me.
By this point, I should not be surprised every time one of my scoundrels decides he’s going to take issue with my decisions…after all, between Bourne and Cross, I’ve had something of a time of it…and don’t even talk to me about Chase. But Temple is different. Temple has always been the good one. The well behaved one.
Sure, he’s an undefeated bare-knuckle boxer and big as a house. But he’s the calm one in the bunch. He’s come to terms with his past and who he is. And he’s sort of…well…gentle.
“You did NOT just tell half of Christendom that I am gentle.”
I do not look up. “You shouldn’t be reading things that are not yours.” This over-the-shoulder reading thing appears to be catching in the Ballroom.
“It’s about me. How is it possible that it’s not mine?”
I sigh. “Temple, I’ve been writing about you for two years.”
“The other books don’t count. They’re not really about me. And I come of halfway decent in them. The best of all of us, one might add. But this one…”
This gives me pause. I turn to him. “This one–?” He should know better than to poke at a writer during release month. “This one what, Temple?”
He looks away, no doubt sensing danger. “This one is about me.” He grumbles. “And it’s personal.”
“Of course it’s personal. It’s a romance novel.”
“It’s too personal,” he says. “I don’t like the fact that they all get to see my…bits”
I smirk. “Your bits?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’ve a filthy mind.”
“It’s part of the job.”
He cuts me a look. “I don’t mind them seeing the goods. I mean, they are particularly good.”
Here we go. Egos the size of Montana, every one of them.
“But,” he continues, “The thoughts and such. I don’t like that.”
I suppose I could understand that. “But the thoughts and such…they’re what makes the book good. They’re what makes the story work. They’re what find you your love.”
He scowls. “I’m not looking for love.”
“Of course you are,” I say, turning back to the blog. “You all are.”
I give him a long look. “Temple. You’re the worst of the bunch.”
He scowls. “I don’t care for you much.”
I wave him off. “You will adore me at the end of the month.”
“Because your book is out then. And you’ll be very happy with how it ends.”
“I suppose it won’t hurt a bit?”
I’m not paying much attention to him now. “Oh, it will hurt quite a lot…No Good Duke Goes Unpunished, after all. But it’s all for the best. Trust me.”
“Ha,” I hear him grumble as he shuffles from the room. “Trust an author.”
In honor of poor Temple, tell me…how much suffering is too much for a hero? Or is it fair game as long as there’s a happily ever after?