by Tina Reber
I leaned up against the wall next to the French doors leading out to the balcony, mesmerized by the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower glowing in the darkened sky. My mother had dreamed of seeing the tower her whole life but never did.
After I said goodbye and ended our call, I felt horrible for abandoning everything on her so I could be absent and carefree, running around the globe when she needed me the most.
But in a big way, having someone to take care of the bar was a huge relief, giving me a much-needed break from a life that I didn’t choose.
I knelt down to straighten up the mess Ryan made when he dumped his backpack on the floor. The section of the newspaper he was reading on the plane was crumpled in the pile.
Curious, I paged through it, stopping on an article about another famous actor. I remembered distinctly that this was the last page Ryan read because shortly thereafter he appeared to be irritated by something and crammed the newspaper roughly into his pack. Right after that he laced his fingers tightly with mine. I thought maybe Reparation had gotten a bad review, but there was nothing else in this section of the paper that had anything to do with anything in our lives.
As I perused the story, my breath caught. The article stated that the couple had ended their four-year relationship, citing that their busy careers took them in different directions, ultimately causing their demise.
I glanced over at Ryan as he snapped the elastic band of fresh black boxer briefs around his waist, allowing me another delectable view of his chiseled abs. Could this be the reason why he was upset earlier?
Four years. That’s as far as they made it in their high-profile relationship. Four measly years. Perhaps in their eyes it was long enough. In my mind, ending a relationship after four years would mean a very deep scar would be left behind, bringing the kind of heartache and devastation that’s sure to kill a huge piece of your soul.
I looked down at the cell phone still clutched in my hand. I couldn’t even imagine only having four years with Ryan. And yet here I was, blissfully happy while watching Marie’s marriage fall apart.
Chapter 6
Tour
“God, Paris is beautiful.” I hid behind the tiny split in the curtain trying to get clear shots of the sun rising over the landscape with my camera. “I have a view of the Eiffel Tower from my room!” I said excitedly, doing a little happy dance with my butt again.
Ryan laughed. “You know all your shots are going to have the glass reflection on them. Turn the flash off and go out on the terrace,” he mumbled around his toothbrush.
I toggled through the settings, trying to figure out how to use my new digital pocket camera. “Can’t.
Don’t think your fans want to see me.”
Ryan groaned and pressed his chest to my back, looking over my shoulder. “How many are out there?”
“Too many to count.” I tugged the curtain shut.
“We can always come back. It’s different when they don’t know where I am. You have full access to my schedule. Anywhere you want to go—just put it on the calendar. It’s your job to manage my personal life, future wife.”
Oh really? That got me grinning. Then a sad thought struck me. “It’s going to be a while until you have time off to travel for fun.”
Ryan placed a soft, lingering kiss on my neck. “I know. We’ll figure something out. And we also need to start thinking about building a house. Time that we had a place of our own to call home, don’t you think?”
Home. That word sent an instant wave of elation through my heart and a smile a mile wide across my face.
“Big log house with a big ol’ bedroom,” he mumbled with his lips pressed to my neck. “How does that sound?”
“I think it sounds perfect. We’re definitely going to need a big ol’ bedroom for this.” I grabbed the newly formed erection pressing up against the crack of my butt. “We just had sex in the shower. You’re insatiable.”
His hands palmed my breasts and a playful growl rolled up his throat. “I can’t help that you made me hard again. It’s all your fault.”
Like a cat stretching, I reached around his neck. “I bet if you went out there right now with that massive stiffy you’d stop a few hundred girls’ hearts from beating.”
Like a naughty kid up to no good, Ryan seemed amused by my inadvertent challenge. “Since I don’t have enough time to properly bed you again, let’s test that theory, shall we?”
I panicked. “You’re not!”
“Don’t worry.” He threw on his jeans and grabbed a T-shirt, whacking my rear with his hand as he passed. “Only you are privy to viewing my naughty bits, my love. Give me the camera.”
Barefoot, he slipped out the door and into the morning sun. I kept the door cracked and watched as he walked to the railing. I could hear the rising screams and shouts from the crowd below. It sounded like the squawks from ten thousand excited birds trying to take flight. Ryan leaned over and waved, and then started taking pictures of the crowd, of the landscape, and of me standing by the door.
“Tar, come out here.”
I stepped out and joined him. It was weird waving at screaming girls like I was someone important.
Yeah, hi, we’re people up here looking out at you people standing down there. I certainly wasn’t the
reason why they were gathered outside of our hotel and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Fortunately, there were eight floors separating us.
Ryan looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna give them a show?”
“No! Oh my God, they’ll hate me for sure.”
“Hey, I’m just offering a bona fide public kiss here. Candid shots with lots of tongue action. Worth millions by the way.”
I choked at the absurdity of that notion. “Like someone would pay a million dollars for a picture of us kissing.”
“Don’t laugh. Wait until the wedding photo offers come in.”
“What wedding photos?”
Ryan took a few more pictures, stopping to look at them on the viewer. “Ours. When we get married.
You’re going to be shocked when you see the dollar figures tossed at us. Stand over there so I can get the Eiffel Tower behind you.”
I leaned back on the railing, feeling in shock at the mere idea already. “Are you serious?”
He peered over the camera. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
The thought of so many zeros for wedding photos seemed preposterous. “Like millions?”
“Probably like several million. We’ll see—that’s if we decide to sell. Come on, smile!”
He then stood next to me, trying to take our picture together.
“Would you want to do that? Sell our photos?”
He adjusted the camera settings and shrugged. “Honestly? No. That’s private. But then again, it’s also money barely earned for the front cover and an article spread inside. We could always donate it to charity.”
Very noble idea. That made the idea more palatable. “You’d consider it? Giving the money to charity?”
“Absolutely. There are plenty of them out there. Charities for needy kids. Sick kids.” He turned the camera around on us again and clicked. “You know, we don’t have to wait for our wedding if you want to do something humanitarian. Talk to Trish.”
I thought about the shoe box of photos I had back in my apartment. “It’s hard to imagine personal pictures having anything more than sentimental value. But if we can, I’d like to do something to help children.”
“We did a few charity-type things when we filmed the two Seasides. Anyway, we can think about selling our wedding photos later.” He pulled me to his chest. “I’m rather enjoying the engagement phase right now. A lot.”
His grin was priceless.
“Are you going to kiss me in public?”
Ryan smiled devilishly. “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m capturing the moment, too.”
His lips were on mine so fast I barely had time to breathe. Amazing how every thought melted away
into a blur of nothingness when he kissed me.
He backed me up until my body made contact with the glass door, taking pictures of us with my camera held out, giddy with our playfulness.
“How long until those paparazzi pictures of us hit the Internet?” I joked, stumbling back into our suite.
“Ahh, who cares. You need to quit worrying about things like that.”
Easy for him to say. That kiss probably hung a new tabloid target around my neck.
Ryan’s press interviews started promptly at 9 A.M., held at a different hotel in Paris.
We were whisked away in yet another chauffeured town car, allowing me to gaze in wonder at the sights. That’s when it hit me—another moment of awe at how lucky I was.
I slipped my hand into Ryan’s, wondering how I could ever thank him for such a gift.
David, Trish, and Ryan’s agent, Aaron, were in the car in front of us. Mike stretched his arms out to shield us as we exited. The press, foreign paparazzi, and a small cluster of fans shouted for our attention, snapping photos of our arrival.
“How long are we going to be?” I asked Trish, secretly hoping to visit the opulent gift shop and maybe the boutique several doors down that had a really cool leather jacket displayed on a mannequin.
She looked at her watch. “About three hours.”
I clutched Ryan’s arm right before he got too involved in the commotion. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near these rooms once the interviews commenced. The suite was prepped for the cast’s one-on-one interviews. The movie poster for Reparation was standing behind a high-backed chair.
“I’m going to do a little shopping, okay?”
Ryan instantly tensed. “No.”
Suddenly I felt caged, recalling the hours of boredom I sat through when we did this back in London.
Made me regret not staying back in our hotel suite. In my mind I was going with or without his blessing.
“I just want to get a few souvenirs, and maybe find something more stately to wear to dinner tonight. I really want to make a good first impression.”
Ryan’s hard glare softened. “They will love you no matter what you wear. We have the gift thing with Burberry after this, so don’t bother. You’ll have a rack of free clothes to pick from.”
I didn’t want to leave it to chance that elegant cocktail dresses would be among the freebies. It’s amazing how companies just give you stuff when you’re famous. Besides, I promised I’d get a cheesy gift for Marie in every city. I motioned to the door with my eyes, ready to see who’d win.
Ryan groaned. “I really wish you wouldn’t.”
It was obvious that the last thing he wanted to do right now was get into a battle of wills with me. He relented. “I guess I can’t expect you to sit around doing nothing. See if you can find someone to go with you, okay? I think some of Jenna’s friends are floating around here. Just don’t go by yourself.”
I brushed my fingers on his stomach, not wanting to impose on his co-star or her family. “You’ve got to quit worrying so much.”
My comment sparked a glare and an unspoken “no fucking way.”
His lips pressed into a hard line as he noted the time on his watch. “Don’t get lost. Two hours and then you get your butt right back here.”
I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. With a quick kiss, I made my way to the elevator, excited about the possibilities.
Forty feet to freedom and perhaps a cab ride to the Louvre? An opportunity to actually touch the Eiffel Tower? Tomorrow morning, 10 A.M., we’ll be on a plane to Barcelona and there is no time this evening to sightsee.
I was just putting on my sunglasses when I saw the paparazzi and a sizable crowd of women standing outside near the entryway. I stopped twenty feet from freedom.
Shoot. Will they recognize me? Will they even know who I am if I’m not trailing behind Ryan?
Screw it. Only one way to find out. I followed a few patrons who were leaving, and tried to escape unnoticed.
The rule of “try not to make eye contact with them” had been instructed numerous times. Although no cameras were raised, I saw one man elbow his comrade as he pushed away from the hotel wall.
I headed in the direction where I thought we had come from, hoping to find the window with the white mannequin and the waist-length leather jacket. One quick glance behind me confirmed that Creep One and Creep Two were following me. I glanced again as my pulse tripped into double time. Shit. I thought they were paparazzi, but oddly neither one of them had a visible camera. Not good. Fortunately the sidewalks were busy enough and it was broad daylight.
Store, store, store . . . where the heck are you, store? I had walked three blocks already. Distance is deceiving when you’re being chauffeured.
Finally, at the end of the block I found the window I was looking for and sought out the solace waiting on the other side.
The two men stopped short, peering through the glass to confirm I was inside. Perhaps it was the display of women’s panties that stopped them from entering? My heart was thrumming much too fast for my liking.
An extremely thin blonde with razor-sharp cheekbones approached me and started speaking in French.
By the inflection of her voice I could tell she was asking if I needed help but at that moment I didn’t know if I needed assistance with clothing or with creepy stalkers. I could always call for a taxi and head back to safety.
“Mademoiselle?”
My eyes were fixed on the window as I watched the two men trot across the busy street. At least they weren’t standing directly outside the shop anymore. Hopefully they gave up. The clerk touched my arm lightly, breaking me from my surveillance.
“Oui. Oui. Um, parlez-vous anglais?”
“Oui. Yes. Can I help you?”
Now that the language barrier was bridged, it was time to get down to business.
I tried to check the street without being obvious, pretending to glance at clothing but more worried about the unknown men who had followed me. God, when did I turn into this paranoid mess? I spent my entire life not being frightened or having to look over my shoulder, worried that some asshole with a digital camera was going to catch me doing something embarrassing. And now I was on heightened alert of my every mannerism.
Even something so naturally innocent like scratching a boob or a butt cheek could be captured as the next photo to grace a gossip magazine cover. Suddenly the thrill of finding some new Parisian designer clothing was gone and replaced by fear and suspicion. My first time in Paris was quickly turning sour.
I wondered how different things would be if I were here with Thomas. No one would give a shit about me then.
I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing his ruggedness vividly.
My mental reprimand swooped right in behind that. I can’t believe I allowed that thought to cross my mind! That was so not fair to Ryan. Like he has any control over this, the voice in my head berated. My situation was still within my control, knowing that there are concessions to be made when being involved with someone as famous as Ryan. The choice comes down to either dealing with the public attention or passing up true love for anonymity.
I decided to pass up the leather jacket instead; an easy choice at eighteen hundred euro. I really didn’t need to spend that kind of money; not when I had to replace an expensive bar refrigerator. After all this time, I still couldn’t bring myself to feel comfortable using Ryan’s credit card. While most women would think nothing of spending his money, money that I didn’t earn or that we had pooled together, I could not.
It went totally against the grain for me. Maybe if he were here with me I’d feel differently. It would have been something we did together. A twenty-two-hundred-dollar jacket would feel like a gift. But alone, it just felt like I was abusing his generosity.
After about an hour of meandering through the surrounding shops, and with no signs of my two unwanted friends, I headed straight back to the hotel with my meager purchases. No sooner did I reach the firs
t intersection than I spied the two men I was trying to avoid spring up from seats at the outdoor café across the street. Shit. I felt the cold sweat break out. They were able to cross in my direction; traffic was hindering me from crossing at my corner.
I stepped closer to a tall man who was dressed very Euro-chic; when he glanced down at me I smiled, hoping to attract a new, safer sort of friend. I practically jogged to keep up with his long strides, but I was determined to stay next to him. The two assholes were a few paces behind me.
Just as I started to feel relieved that the hotel was in sight, a new panic swelled. The front of the hotel was surrounded by a mob-sized crowd. Police were cordoning off the sidewalks as more people continued to gather.
I squeezed my way through the tightly packed crowd, trying to avoid the two creeps following me.
When I finally made it to the end of the line, a police officer stopped me, blocking my way to the front doors.
“No, I’m a guest of the hotel. My fiancé is inside.” I tried to keep my voice down and dug into my purse. “My name is Taryn Mitchell. I am engaged to Ryan Christensen.”
My admission was instantly refuted as if I had just told the biggest joke. “Oui, mademoiselle, as are all of these women as well!”
I was incensed at being the focus of his ridicule. I frantically searched my tiny purse, only to realize that I never got an ID badge for the event, nor did I have my passport.
“Unless you have proof of your stay, I cannot let you enter. Back away from the gates, s’il vous plaît.”
I tried to plead one more time, as this situation was turning dire. Several officers gathered, obviously intrigued by my issue; however, I was quickly dismissed as some delusional fan.
The officer’s tone became harsh. “Mademoiselle, back away. Now! I will not warn you again.”
I tried calling Trish but the call immediately rolled to voice mail. I didn’t have David’s number and calling Ryan was out of the question. Panic and a low-battery light were causing my nerves to twitch.
Mike, please pick up. Why is no one answering their damn phones?
More women were gathering. The crowd was getting unruly and my two hours were just about up.