And my fan fictionreaders, along with Anlon and Celandine, deserve nothing but my finest work.
I turn the TV on for background noise, not really paying attention until a shirtless Jake Hollander jumps out of a helicopter and straight into the ocean.
I freeze.
This. THIS is supposed to be Prince Anlon?!
I snort, swirling my wine. This entire movie is a war crime.
Pea, fast asleep on his perch, remains oblivious to my emotional distress.
I throw a hand toward the TV. “Did he really need to jump shirtless? It must be freezing! They’re in the middle of the ocean! And from this height? Is he a robot?”
Just before he hits the water, the helicopter explodes.
I gape as he swims effortlessly into the deep sea, flames covering the surface, debris slicing through the water like bullets.
“WHY is the water even burning? What’s flammable down there? Am I missing something?”
I drink more wine.
“And how fast can he swim? He’s been underwater forever. Is he a robotanda merman? What even is this movie?”
The title flashes across the bottom of the screen:Tsunami Vengeance: Rise of the Aqua Commando.
I groan.
Could the title be stupider? I don’t think so.
The adaptation is going to be a disaster.
Anlon isn’t just any prince.
He’s a battle-scarred, reluctant leader who fought against fate itself, willing to sacrifice everything for his people.
He is layered. Complex.
The kind of hero who didn’t just win battles, he won hearts.
And Hollywood wants to hand him to a guy with the emotional range of celery, whose last movie involved punching a shark.
No, actually, that’s mean to the celery.
I glance down at my laptop and, in a moment of alcohol-induced brilliance, type his name into the search.
Below the endless half-naked photos, I spot his official site.
HollanderNation.com
I click.
The site has a forum.
And somehow, my wine-soaked brain decides that making an account and confronting the rumors head-on is a very good idea because maybe if I said it loud enough, someone would listen.
CHAPTER 2
AMY
