Excerpt from If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Sic semper tyrannis," James said, and drew the tip of his pen across his throat like a dagger. Thus always to tyrants.

Alexander gestured from one of them to the other. "Exactly," he said. "James will be Brutus because he's always the good guy, and I'll be Cassius because I'm always the bad guy. Richard and Wren can't be married because that would be gross, so she'll be Portia, Meredith will be Calpurnia, and Pip, you'll end up in drag again."

Filippa, more difficult to cast than Meredith (the femme fatale) or Wren (the ingénue), was obliged to cross-dress whenever we ran out of good female parts—a common occurrence in the Shakespearean theatre. "Kill me," she said.

"Wait," I said, effectively proving Richard's hypothesis that I was a permanent leftover in the casting process, "where does that leave me?"

Alexander studied me with narrowed eyes, running his tongue across his teeth. "Probably as Octavius," he decided. "They won't make you Antony—no offense, but you're just not conspicuous enough. It'll be that insufferable third-year, what's his name?"

Filippa: "Richard the Second?"

Richard: "Hilarious. No, Colin Hyland."

"Spectacular." I looked down at the text of Pericles I was scanning, for what felt like the hundredth time. Only half as talented as any of the rest of them, I seemed doomed to always play supporting roles in someone else's story. Far too many times I had asked myself whether art was imitating life or if it was the other way around.

Alexander: "Fifty bucks, on that exact casting. Any takers?"

Meredith: "No."

Alexander: "Why not?"

Filippa: "Because that's precisely what'll happen."

Richard chuckled and climbed out of his chair. "One can only hope." He started toward the door and leaned over to pinch James's cheek on his way out. "Goodnight, sweet prince—"

James smacked Richard's hand away with his notebook, then made a show of disappearing behind it again. Meredith echoed Richard's laugh and said, "Thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy!"

"A plague o' both your houses," James muttered.

Meredith stretched—with a small, suggestive groan—and pushed herself off the couch.

"Coming to bed?" Richard asked.

"Yes. Alexander's made all this work seem rather pointless." She left her books scattered on the low table in front of the fire, her empty wineglass with them, a crescent of lipstick clinging to the rim. "Goodnight," she said, to the room at large. "Godspeed." They disappeared down the hall together.

I rubbed my eyes, which were beginning to burn from the effort of reading for hours on end. Wren tossed her book backward over her head, and I started as it landed beside me on the couch.

Wren: "To hell with it."

Alexander: "That's the spirit."

Wren: "I'll just do Isabella."

Filippa: "Just go to bed."

Wren stood slowly, blinking the vestigial light of the fire out of her eyes. "I'll probably lie awake all night reciting lines," she said.

"Want to come out for a smoke?" Alexander had finished his whiskey (again) and was rolling a spliff on the table. "Might help you relax."

"No, thank you," she said, drifting out into the hall. "Goodnight."

"Suit yourself." Alexander pushed his chair back, spliff poking out of one corner of his mouth. "Oliver?"

"If I help you smoke that I'll wake up with no voice tomorrow."

"Pip?"

She nudged her glasses up into her hair and coughed softly, testing her throat. "God, you're a terrible influence," she said. "Fine."

He nodded, already halfway out of the room, hands buried deep in his pockets. I watched them go, a little jealously, then slumped down against the arm of the couch. I struggled to focus on my text, which was so aggressively annotated that it was barely legible anymore.

Excerpted from If We Were Villains by M L Rio. Copyright © 2017 by M L Rio. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.