Ivy Series Teacher Student Romance - Boxed Set: Romance Boxed Sets for Kindle Unlimited (Ivy Series - Teacher Student Romance Book 7)

by Suzy K Quinn

  I blink at the headline.

  Is Sophia Cheating?

  Oh great. I read the article.

  Slummy student, Sophia Rose, set tongues wagging yesterday when she dined with Beauty and the Beast star and Hollywood golden boy, Leo Falkirk.

  The news of Sophia’s intimate dinner date may come as a shock to Marc, who only yesterday broke the news of his love for Sophia.

  Falkirk looks besotted with the pretty brunette, but is he next in line for heartbreak?

  ‘Marc looked totally heartbroken when he taught our class,’ says fellow student, Cecile Jefferson. ‘You could tell Sophia has really got to him. She’s playing games and he’s hurting.

  ‘Sophia will sleep with anyone to get to the top. She’s completely callous and heartless. She doesn’t care who she hurts in her quest for fame. No one here gets why Marc likes her. She’s scruffy and common, and so not good enough for him or Leo. I don’t know what either of them sees in her.’

  My first reaction is to laugh. It’s a slightly hysterical laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

  ‘God, she just has no morals.’

  ‘Aren’t you furious?’ says Tanya. ‘I am.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I say. ‘It’s pathetic. I just wonder how long it’ll take to repair the damage.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop her doing this,’ says Tanya.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I just don’t know how. Yet.’

  ‘You said she was in the newspaper offices yesterday morning?’ says Tanya. ‘She hadn’t even had a lesson with Marc then. And how did they know you went out to dinner?’

  ‘Maybe she rang them up and gave them extra details.’

  ‘What a cow.’

  ‘She’ll get bored,’ I say.

  ‘But what if she doesn’t? Are you going to let her keep dragging your name through the mud?’

  ‘It’s partly my own fault,’ I say. ‘I agreed to do that publicity stunt with Leo yesterday. I guess Cecile must have overheard about the dinner, but ... like Leo said, live by the sword, die by the sword.’

  58

  When Tanya leaves, I dress in leggings and a sweatshirt and brush my teeth. I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror, my brown eyes tired.

  Slummy Student.

  I spit in the sink, swill my mouth out and hunt around the bathroom shelves for makeup. Eventually I find the pencil case that holds my kohl pencil, mascara and other battered cosmetics.

  I apply kohl all around my eyes, then mascara, then foundation, powder and cream blusher, before drawing on my eyebrows. Is that better? Am I less slummy now?

  I catch a glimpse of my outfit in the full-length mirror, and turn to the side.

  Scruffy and common.

  I peel off my clothes, and dress in a long, green jumper dress and flat leather boots.

  Will they leave me alone now?

  ‘Hey, what’s with all the make-up?’ Leo asks as I climb the stage at Queen’s Theatre.

  My hand goes to my cheek. ‘Nothing, I just ... thought I should make more of an effort.’

  ‘For anyone in particular?’

  ‘No. Just me. Does it look bad or something?’

  ‘No, just ... not quite you.’

  I spy Davina in the front row, tapping at her mobile phone, a steaming paper cup of coffee by her high heels.

  She glances at me, then looks back at her phone.

  ‘Nice to see you on time for a change, Sophia.’

  ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ I say. ‘I’m never usually late.’

  ‘You have a fifty fifty record so far,’ says Davina.

  I glance at Leo, but he’s busy scanning his script.

  ‘Right.’ Davina drops her phone into her handbag. ‘Let’s hope your voice is a little better today. I can dream, at least.’

  ‘I think Sophia’s got a great voice,’ says Leo. ‘Perfect for these songs. Really subtle. Pretty.’

  ‘Well, you and I are going to have to differ on that.’

  ‘I know I’m not a strong singer,’ I mutter. ‘I need to practise more. I will.’

  ‘Any news about you and Marc?’ Davina arches an eyebrow. ‘Is it any less complicated yet?’

  ‘I ... no. I haven’t seen him.’ And he hasn’t called. Or left a message.

  Davina sighs. ‘Still. Not a bad article this morning. Right!’ She claps her hands. ‘Let’s get started.’

  59

  The rehearsal ends up being worse than yesterday. Davina is even more critical, if that’s possible. And to top it all off, Marc still hasn’t rung. It’s been two days now. I don’t know what I’m expecting. After all, we broke up. But a part of me still hopes that maybe, maybe something can be worked out.

  I go to my room, learn my lines, fall asleep and before I know it, it’s rehearsal time again.

  The days and weeks begin rolling together. Every morning, I get up at seven, eat breakfast with Tom and Tanya, then head off to Queen’s Theatre for an all-day rehearsal.

  We’re never finished before seven at night, and I’m usually too tired to do much more than learn lines and fall asleep. Sometimes, Tom and Tanya come to my room to watch a movie, but I usually fall asleep halfway through.

  I hardly have any time to see my family or Jen, which makes me sad, but I do manage to call Dad and Jen a few times. I really miss cuddling Sam and playing with him. Dad gets him to gurgle a few words at me down the phone, but it’s not the same.

  During one late night call after a really tiring rehearsal, Dad asks me about Marc.

  ‘I read in the papers that you two broke up,’ he says. ‘You’re not too heartbroken, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I lie. ‘It’s all fine.’ The last thing I want to do is make him worry.

  Marc has kept his promise. I haven’t seen him or heard from him, but the thought of him makes me ache more than ever. Has he forgotten me? Did he ever really care? It becomes harder and harder to imagine that we ever really had a relationship.

  Christmas trimming start to go up around the college, and it makes me feel sad and lonely. I usually love Christmas, but not this year. This year, my aim is just to get through it, and not think about Marc.

  Leo and I work our way through the play, but it’s slow going. Davina criticises me at every turn and far from improving, I often feel I’m getting worse, making more mistakes. I feel scared to say my lines half the time, for fear of Davina correcting and chastising.

  At every opportunity, she pick, pick, picks.

  Stand up straighter, Sophia. Give us more character. Give us more charisma. Christ, can’t you even do that? You’d have to pay me to watch you right now, you’re so amateur.

  The worst thing is, I know she’s right – at least in part. Okay, so she’s delivering her thoughts in the meanest possible way, but that doesn’t mean there’s no truth at the heart of them.

  Leo is no Marc Blackwell, but he’s a good actor. Confident. Experienced. Knowledgeable. Beside him, I know very little, and it shows. And the more Davina criticises me, the smaller I feel and the more mistakes I make.

  60

  After one particularly awful morning a month into rehearsals, Davina calls me a ‘total waste of space’ and I’ve had enough. I’m exhausted and broken down.

  When we stop for lunch, I head down the stage steps to the front row.

  ‘Davina, can we talk?’

  She’s resting a biro on her red lips, frowning at a script on her lap.

  ‘What about?’ She’s wearing bright red glasses today, and they’ve slipped down to the end of her nose.

  ‘I know I wasn’t your first choice of actress.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘But I’m really trying.’

  Davina drops the pen onto the script and fixes me with a long, hard glare.

  ‘Trying. Well. How very high school.’ She mock claps her hands. ‘As long as you’re trying your very best, I guess it doesn’t matter that you’re ruining this play.’

  ‘I don’t want
to ruin anything,’ I say. ‘Tell me. Please. Tell me what I can do.’

  ‘Be better.’ She says the words slowly and carefully, like I’m a five-year-old, then flicks her eyes to the script. ‘Gain five years of experience by tomorrow. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I have better things to do than babysit you.’

  I swallow. ‘Thanks for your time.’ I hurry out of the theatre. I’m halfway across the college grounds before I know where I am, tears streaming down my face.

  I look back at the theatre and think, I can’t go back there. I just can’t. Not for a while. Something needs to change, or I’m going to completely fall apart.

  My feet carry me away from the theatre, across the car park and towards the woods. Concrete turns to gravel then to soil, and I feel crispy leaves under my feet. The air is fruity and fresh, but for once the stillness of the trees doesn’t calm me. Taking deep breaths, I feel only the hopelessness of my situation.

  I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. It’s far too late to quit – another actress could never rehearse the play in time for opening night. But if I carry on being torn apart by Davina, I’m going to have some sort of breakdown. My self-esteem has a seriously loose thread right now. One tug and it will all unravel.

  I lean into a tree trunk and let sobs overtake me. I’m nearly all cried out, when I hear a twig snapping.

  I spin around, red eyed, face all damp, and put a hand to my mouth.

  It’s Marc. He’s standing a few feet away, looking like someone just stuck a knife in his chest. A cigarette smokes at his fingers.

  There’s nowhere to run, and I have no strength to run anyway.

  ‘Sophia? Are you okay?’ He’s dressed in a tight black t-shirt and black trousers, and as usual doesn’t seem to notice the biting cold. He stoops to stub the cigarette out in the soil, then kicks dirt over the butt.

  ‘You’re smoking again?’

  ‘I replaced a healthy drug with an unhealthy one.’

  ‘I thought you were staying away from me,’ I say.

  ‘I’m trying, believe me. But I saw you run into the woods and I could tell something was wrong. I’m not superman. I can’t see you upset and walk the other way.’

  ‘You were right. I should never have taken this part.’

  Marc takes a step forward, and I smell his fresh, clean natural smell.

  ‘Sophia,’ he says softly. ‘Talk to me. What’s happening?’

  I’m caught in his eyes, my heart racing, my palms sticky, my body awkward and off balance. It’s been over a month, but he still has the same effect on me.

  I let out a long breath, trying to calm myself.

  ‘This is my problem,’ I say.

  ‘Christ.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Sophia, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s too late. Nothing can make this better. I’m just not good enough to play this part.’

  ‘Never say that.’ His voice is hard. Serious.

  ‘But it’s true. I’m just not good enough. Not experienced enough.’

  Marc’s eyes flick shut for a moment. When he opens them, they’re clearer than before. ‘I can help you,’ he says. ‘Teach you how to be better. To appear more experienced.’

  ‘Teach me?’ I gulp. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘If acting is your problem, then yes.’ He smiles. ‘Funny. When you told me you’d taken the part, I never thought acting would be the issue. It’s a far better problem than the Getty one.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can risk being around you. Not if we’re not together.’

  ‘You’ve resisted me so far, haven’t you?’

  I laugh. ‘Barely.’ My heart is beating so fast now, I think the birds must be able to hear it.

  ‘Davina has a reputation,’ says Marc. ‘Hard-nosed. You need to feel more confident, that’s all. Take charge more. I can help you with that.’

  ‘Rehearsals are hell,’ I admit. ‘She hates me. I can’t give her what she wants, and the more she criticises, the more I fall apart.’

  ‘Well, you have a choice,’ says Marc. ‘You can bury you head in the sand and carry on as you are.’ He takes a step towards me. ‘Or let me help you.’

  ‘Marc.’ I fix my eyes on the soil and leaves. ‘You must know how difficult that would be.’

  ‘You were strong enough to take the part.’ I hear leaves crunch under his feet. He’s close now. Too close. ‘So it’s really up to you. Exercise some self-control and accept my tuition. Or carry on as you are.’

  ‘Marc, I just think ... it probably wouldn’t be healthy to be taught by you right now.’

  There’s a pause. ‘Whatever you want.’

  I’m still not looking at him. My gaze is on the soil. ‘It’s so hard being near you,’ I whisper.

  ‘Then I should go.’

  I shiver, feeling a sudden cold sweep over the woodlands. My chest becomes duller and my body goes cool.

  I look up and see that Marc has gone.

  61

  Alone in the woodlands, I think about Queen’s Theatre and what waits for me there. Suddenly, the cold becomes unbearable and shivering turns to shaking. I don’t want to go back there and be slowly torn apart. I want to get better. To be better.

  Suddenly, I’m running through the trees, leaves crunching under my feet, soil flying.

  I see Marc ahead by the car park, his long legs eating up the distance between us. His Ford Mustang is parked up under a tree, and he’s heading towards it.

  ‘Marc!’

  He stops, and I see his broad shoulders rising and falling sharply. This is as hard for him as it is for me. ‘Wait.’

  I reach him, out of breath, a hand to my chest. ‘I ... you’re right. I do need help. I need to be better. Will you help me?’

  He turns and I’m nearly knocked over by his handsomeness in the milky winter light. ‘Do you really need to ask?’

  I so badly want to touch him. To feel his arms around me. But no. That’s not what this is about, and if he’s going to help me, I have to be strong.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Of course it’s a yes. Meet me in the theatre tonight. 9pm.’

  62

  As I head towards Queen’s Theatre that evening, my Ugg boots crunch over silvery trails of ice. It’s freezing, but I’m enjoying the cold. Since I saw Marc earlier, my mind has been all over the place, and icy weather always helps dull my thoughts.

  I’m dressed in black leggings and a long crimson-coloured jumper, trying to play it cool and casual. Like this meeting is no big deal.

  I walk with purpose, no time to think, no time to get emotional. This is just another lesson. I’ve had lessons with Marc before ... I give my head a little shake.

  Don’t go there.

  The theatre doors loom ahead, and they look darker and taller than ever.

  I feel my pace slow, and then ... I stop.

  I’m not sure I can do this. My heart beats hard in my chest, and I swallow sickly mouthfuls of nothing.

  I turn from the theatre, hearing gravel thrown around under my boot.

  Behind me, the theatre door creaks open.

  ‘Sophia.’

  I stop dead, feeling Marc’s voice in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Where are you going?’ His voice is so deep, it sends electricity skidding around my body.

  ‘I’m having second thoughts,’ I say, without turning. Above me, the moon is a silver sliver and I focus on it, my eyes beginning to sting.

  I hear gravel crunch, and sense him behind me.

  ‘Come inside the theatre.’ I feel his heat on my neck. And oh, that voice. He must know the effect it has on me. How it makes my heart flutter and my knees turn to treacle.

  ‘I’m not sure I can,’ I admit.

  Now I hear his breathing – low and tight. The hairs on my neck stand up and I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I smell him. That fresh, clean smell that makes my senses go crazy.

  ‘You’re stronger than this,�
�� says Marc, his voice firm. He’s in teacher mode now.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I shake my head, tears coming.

  ‘Yes, you are. Turn around.’

  ‘Marc -’

  ‘I said turn around.’

  I swallow and turn, my eyes are damp and red. I’m level with his smooth, square chin.

  ‘There’s something you want,’ says Marc.

  I keep my eyes fixed on his chin and shoulders. He’s wearing a black buttoned up shirt with no tie.

  ‘Something I want?’ I stammer.

  ‘You want to be stronger. A better actress.’

  ‘Yes, but -’

  ‘So tonight, that’s what you’re going to learn. Look at me.’ He clicks his fingers – a powerful snap right in front of my eyes – and I look up before I can stop myself.

  He’s frowning. Serious. ‘You can do this, Sophia.’

  ‘I ...’

  ‘Yes.’ The word broaches no argument. ‘You can. Come inside. Before you catch your death out here. Come on. No more of this nonsense.’

  I close my eyes for a moment. He’s right. It would be pathetic to walk away now. ‘Fine. Okay.’

  63

  ‘After you.’ Marc holds the theatre door open.

  ‘Thank you.’ I pass through the door, not looking at him, and head inside. The lights are low. Intimate and shadowy. I walk towards the stage and climb the steps.

  Behind me, the door creaks closed. The creaking echoes around the empty theatre, and I hear Marc’s footsteps click along the dusty floor.

  Once on stage, I turn to see Marc in the aisle, hands on his hips.

  ‘Eager to get on stage, Miss Rose?’

  Even in the shadowy light, there’s no mistaking how attractive he is. He moves so easily, head held high, cheekbones catching the low light. I want to run my fingers through his thick hair. I want to feel him, all of him, everywhere.

  No.

  I need to get a hold of myself.

  ‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘I just ... I guess I wanted to get up on stage before I talked myself out of this.’

  ‘It’s hard for me too,’ says Marc. He’s closer now, his face washed in white light from the stage. Sharp cheekbones, beautifully straight nose and the tiny shades of hollows in his cheeks. ‘But I promised myself I’d be strong. And you can be strong too. I know you can.’