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

by Suzy K Quinn

  ‘Still a challenging job. And you’re up all night.’ Marc opens the fridge and laughs. ‘Sophia – what time does the party start?’

  ‘Party?’

  ‘There’s a giant dessert in here.’ He shakes his head at the fridge.

  ‘I was just …’

  ‘Looking for something to fill the time?’ Marc finishes.

  ‘Like I said, I’m probably just a little lonely in the day.’ I busy myself cutting up pizza. ‘I miss you. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Marc asks, fixing me with intense eyes.

  ‘That’s all.’ But I can’t meet his eye.

  3

  I can feel Marc’s eyes on me, but I can’t look up.

  It’s true. I do miss you. But that’s not all I miss. I want to act again. And I can’t open that envelope on the mantelpiece because I think it will break my heart – being offered a part I can’t take.

  ‘There’s nothing else you want to tell me?’ Marc asks, closing the fridge door.

  ‘No.’

  Probably I am just lonely. It’s so hard to make sense of what I’m feeling right now, with Ivy so young and needing me so much.

  Marc sets a bowl of green salad on the table. ‘Do we need another little talk about lying, Sophia? Or would you rather I put you over my knee?’

  I would laugh, but I know he’s being serious.

  ‘Really, Marc. I’m just alone a lot. That’s probably all it is. Jen’s so wrapped up in her new business. And Tom and Tanya … you’re being very strict on your class this year, Mr Blackwell. I hardly ever see them.’

  ‘You want to be the best, you have to put in the hours. Come the summer, they’ll be some of the most sought-after young actors in London. So Mrs Blackwell.’ Marc takes a bottle of red wine from the rack. He runs a corkscrew spiral blade around the metal wrapping. ‘What are we going to do with this loneliness of yours?’

  I love watching his fingers work.

  ‘It won’t be forever,’ I say, as Marc twists the screw into the cork. ‘Ivy will be all grown up one day.’

  Pop!

  The cork comes free, and Marc pours red wine into my glass, then his.

  ‘And what about when her brother or sister is born?’ Marc asks.

  My eyes widen. ‘You’re thinking of more babies already?’

  Marc sits, taking a sip of wine. ‘Of course. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Not quite yet.’

  ‘If you’re missing your friends,’ says Marc, ‘how about we move to the city for a while? You’ll see more of them if they’re on your doorstep.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He watches me over his wineglass. ‘Not the enthusiastic response I was hoping for. What are we going to do with you, Mrs Blackwell?’

  My eyes wander to the living room. ‘I … think I miss acting.’

  Marc places his glass firmly on the table. ‘No more rushing into things, Sophia. You still have a lot to learn. The classroom is open, when Ivy is old enough for you to be away for long stretches. Until then, your place is here.’

  I look down at my pizza slice.

  That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.

  I know Marc doesn’t want me to act. He doesn’t want me doing anything that puts me out of his sight or control. He’d be happy if I stayed home all day, every day, a little bird in a cage.

  ‘Sophia, look at me,’ Marc snaps. ‘Look at me. I hate seeing you sad.’

  I know my eyes are heavy.

  My perfect baby, house and husband … what more could I wish for?

  Pushing on a smile, I say, ‘I shouldn’t have said that about acting. And you know, I’m really not that lonely. Everything is fine.’

  ‘That does it.’ Marc stands and closes the kitchen door. ‘Mrs Blackwell, lying to your husband is a very serious matter.’

  ‘Who says I’m lying?’

  ‘I do. You know it. I know it. The pasta knows it. Something is wrong. And something needs to be done.’

  ‘Marc—’

  ‘Here. Now.’ He beckons me.

  I shake my head, smiling now, but I get to my feet and go to him.

  We grin at each other as he pulls me onto his lap.

  ‘Now Sophia.’ He sweeps my long, wavy brown hair around my neck. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, a husband must discipline his wife from time to time.’

  ‘Must he indeed?’

  ‘He must. And I take my husbandly duties very seriously.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I smile. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘I imagine,’ says Marc, ‘that you’d be totally, utterly out of control.’

  I close my eyes.

  ‘Lie over my lap.’ The words are firm and low.

  Oh god.

  After all this time, I’m still putty in Marc’s hands. Sometimes, I think I would do anything he asked.

  Perhaps that thought should be frightening. But I know he would die to protect me. And I love him, just as fiercely.

  There’s something about this kind of love – this obsession we have with each other, and the darkness we explore. I’m incomplete without him, and he without me.

  And I want Marc’s instruction more than ever.

  Marc lays me over his legs, and my fingers graze the kitchen floor tiles.

  ‘Very good, Mrs Blackwell.’ I can feel the smile in Marc’s words.

  God.

  He can still send shivers through me with a few well-chosen words.

  I don’t see him raise his hand. Only feel and hear the sharp smack as his palm comes down on my buttocks.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  His hand is firm and heavy, sending flashes of pain around my backside and down my legs.

  My whole body burns hot.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  I am so tuned into him now. Every sense is alert. The sound of his hand is electric, and my skin sparkles under his touch.

  Marc spanks me rhythmically and precisely, with enough impact to make me flinch.

  I enjoy the spanking as it gets harder and more intense, and I love the thought of Marc – his handsome face frowning in concentration – enjoying the control he has over me.

  Then he stops.

  ‘Now stand up.’

  I wriggle onto my feet, face flushed, my backside burning.

  Marc reaches up to stroke the ends of my hair. ‘You get more beautiful by the day. Do you know that? Sit down and eat your dinner.’

  ‘That’s it?’ I laugh.

  ‘For now,’ says Marc. ‘Need I lecture you again about anticipation?’

  With difficulty, I drop back into my chair, my backside sore.

  I’m breathless, watching Marc and wanting more.

  ‘Patience Sophia. All good things come to those who wait. Eat your dinner.’

  ‘Suddenly I’m not all that hungry.’

  ‘Really Mrs Blackwell? Why is that? Something on your mind?’

  4

  ‘You know full well what’s on my mind.’

  Marc reaches over and cuts my pizza, holding out a forkful. ‘You should eat something.’

  I take a bite.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he says, cutting more pizza for me. ‘Of how to cure your loneliness.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. I’m going to take you on a trip.’

  ‘What sort of trip?’

  ‘A trip where I can lavish you with attention. I have some important business to attend to overseas. So I’m going to take you along, and remind you what it feels like to have my personal, undivided tuition all day, every day.’

  ‘What important business?’ I ask, accepting another piece of pizza.

  ‘We can leave tomorrow. You’ll find out then.’

  ‘Tomorrow? Marc, we can’t go on an overseas trip tomorrow. What about Ivy? She’s never even been on a plane before – she might hate it. And she’ll need a passport. Travel medicine just in case. The right thin
gs to sleep in—’

  ‘Rodney will take care of everything.’

  ‘But Marc, tomorrow? We’ve never even taken Ivy to London before.’

  ‘You’re not content, Sophia. A trip is exactly what you need. And while you’re away, you can start thinking about the real world. And your place in it. At home with Ivy. Once you’ve had chance to rest and see things in perspective, everything will be clearer.’

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  ‘Marc—’

  ‘And another thing. I think you should return to Ivy College next year.’

  ‘Ivy College? I’ve been in a movie, Marc. What else do I need to learn?’

  ‘Plenty. I’ve told you before – you rushed into that movie. You need to go back and lay some foundations.’

  ‘Even if you’re right, everyone knows about the two of us. It would be weird.’

  ‘You care so much what people think?’

  ‘No. But how will the other students feel, knowing one of their classmates is married to the teacher? We’d have to work so hard to show everyone I’m not your favourite.’

  ‘You’ll always be my favourite.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Marc stands up, dusting his hands on a napkin. ‘I’m telling you Sophia, it will do you the world of good to be a student again. When Ivy is old enough, of course. Now listen – that parcel has sat on the mantelpiece long enough. It’s time to open it.’

  Marc goes to the living room and returns with the silver box.

  He pushes my plate to one side, and puts the parcel on my reed placemat, where it glimmers under the bright kitchen lights.

  ‘Perhaps you can explain why you’ve walked past this for weeks and been too afraid to open it up?’

  ‘It’s not that I’ve been afraid, exactly.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what’s inside?’

  ‘It has a lotus flower on the box.’ I stroke the silver stem and petal prongs embossed on cardboard. ‘So … something to do with the Riviera Film Festival?’

  ‘That would be my guess too.’ Marc frowns. ‘Although it feels a lot heavier than mine.’

  ‘Did you get an invitation?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course. I’m invited every year.’

  I push the box on the table and stand, wiping my hands with a napkin. ‘What’s the point in torturing myself? Film festivals. Awards. I can’t do any of that stuff right now.’

  ‘It’s good manners, for a start,’ says Marc. ‘Whoever sent you that invitation will want a reply. The sooner you let them know, the better.’

  ‘Okay, fine.’ I pull off the lid, frowning at the folded card and sheaf of papers inside.

  Then, just like that, I realise what the papers are.

  Quickly, I push the lid back on, my heart yammering.

  Marc frowns. ‘Sophia?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s nothing. Just … like you said, an invitation.’

  ‘What else?’ Marc asks.

  I blink at him. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes it matters,’ he insists.

  ‘There’s a script in there.’

  ‘A script? From whom?’

  ‘Who cares?’ I say. ‘I’m not doing it anyway.’

  ‘I’m glad you see sense about that.’

  ‘See sense?’

  ‘Christ Sophia – you were barely ready for Rapunzel. And now you have a baby. Movies are the last thing you should be considering.’

  ‘Barely ready? Rapunzel turned out great. Everyone said so.’

  ‘You still had a lot to learn, making that movie. Everything was moving too fast before Ivy came along. It makes sense to slow down now. And when the time is right, go back to your studies.’

  ‘What if I want to act in a movie?’

  ‘A moment ago you were saying you couldn’t possibly be away from Ivy. That a nanny was out of the question.’

  ‘I know, I know. I just …’

  ‘You love acting,’ Marc finishes for me.

  I nod.

  ‘And when Ivy is a little older, you can act at Ivy College. In a safe, nurturing environment. And when you’re ready, you can start taking movie roles. Perhaps when Ivy is at school. There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘Is that what this is all about? Keeping me safe?’

  ‘In part. And stopping you from exhausting yourself. Taking on things you’re not ready for.’

  I sigh. ‘This argument is pointless. Ivy’s too young to have a nanny. So I can’t act anyway. You got your wish.’

  ‘It’s not my wish for you not to act. And I disagree with you – Ivy isn’t too young for a nanny. As a matter of fact, a nanny might help solve this loneliness of yours. Give you time to see friends in the city.’

  ‘I don’t want a nanny.’

  I hear the tiniest little noise and know that Ivy has woken up.

  ‘A mother’s hearing,’ I tell Marc, standing up. ‘No nanny on earth would be able to hear like that.’

  5

  ‘Sophia,’ says Marc, striding after me. ‘We still need to talk about this.’

  I kneel down by the Moses basket, and smile like an idiot as Ivy sleepily opens her big, blue eyes.

  ‘Hello gorgeous girl. Mummy’s here.’

  Marc kneels down beside me, and puts a large, gentle hand on Ivy’s head. ‘Perhaps this discussion is best saved for later.’

  ‘There’s nothing left to say,’ I insist. ‘Okay – I admit it. I miss acting. But it’s something I’m going to have to live with.’ I lift Ivy up into my arms, laying her against my chest.

  ‘You’re tired and you’re not thinking straight. We’ll talk on our trip tomorrow.’

  ‘I already told you.’ I stroke Ivy’s downy head. ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

  ‘Sophia, you’re being childish.’

  I stand and walk with Ivy, swaying her back and forth. But she doesn’t stop crying.

  ‘Here.’ Marc comes beside me. ‘Let me take her. You’re exhausted.’

  ‘I’m really not that tired.’

  ‘You haven’t had a full night’s sleep in months.’

  ‘I’m her mother, Marc. I’m with her all day. I know what she needs better than anyone.’

  Marc puts a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘Just … for a moment, let me try. I had a little sister, once upon a time. I’m not too terrible with babies.’

  Ivy won’t stop crying, and I begin pacing faster, rocking her back and forth. ‘Something’s wrong with her,’ I decide. ‘She never usually cries when she wakes up. Maybe we should call a doctor.’

  ‘Before we enlist the medical profession, would you just let her father try?’

  Reluctantly, I put Ivy into Marc’s arms.

  Her cries get louder and more frantic.

  ‘See?’ I say, reaching out to take her back.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Marc takes Ivy to the window, and shows her the sunset.

  Instantly, she stops crying.

  ‘Will you look at that?’ says Marc. ‘She was just a little bored. Like her mother. Rodney will pack everything for our trip tomorrow. We’ll leave at nine o’clock.’

  ‘But Ivy usually naps just after nine—’

  ‘I know. She’ll fall asleep in the car seat and wake at the airport.’

  Ivy wakes a few times in the night. The third time, she just won’t settle, and I am in tears, walking her around the nursery.

  It was never like this with Sammy.

  I’m startled by the shadow of Marc, his toned body lit by the hallway light. He wears loose black pyjama bottoms and nothing else.

  ‘Sophia—’

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her,’ I sob. ‘She’s had milk. I just …’ I burst into tears.

  Marc puts his arms around us, then takes Ivy. He lifts her high in the air, and she goes limp and stops crying. Then he folds her against his shoulder and walks around.

  Within a minute, she’s asleep.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  �
�Because I’m not overtired and irate. This is getting ridiculous. You doing this all on your own, and it’s wearing you out. All this talk of acting – a rest if what you need. It’s time to hire professional help. You should go to bed. You’re exhausted.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No arguments.’ He lays Ivy gently in the cot, and she turns her head. ‘Things have to change.’

  Ivy is so absolutely beautiful when she sleeps. I could watch her forever.

  ‘Bed,’ Marc tells me. ‘And tomorrow, we’re going to revisit this subject of hiring a nanny seriously.’

  I rub my eyes, feeling tears on my knuckles.

  ‘Now.’ Marc’s voice is softer as he guides me out of the nursery. ‘Ivy is fine with her father. You have a big day tomorrow and for once you need to sleep.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’

  ‘No. You’re going to have to wait.’

  6

  In the early hours of the morning, Ivy wakes again.

  I push off the duvet, ready to run to her, but Marc grabs my wrist.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘To get Ivy milk.’

  ‘No,’ says Marc. ‘I’ll do it. You need to sleep.’

  ‘You need to sleep too.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  The next morning, I wake in a panic.

  Ivy.

  Blinking at the bedside clock, my heart turns to ice.

  Eight o’clock. Oh god.

  Ivy will have woken by now. I should have heard her cry. Something must be wrong. And Marc isn’t beside me …

  I spring up and run to the nursery.

  The cot is empty, so I tumble downstairs and find Marc and Ivy in the sitting room, on our big, squashy sofa.

  Ivy is lying on Marc’s bare chest, sleeping contentedly, while he reads a newspaper and drinks black coffee.

  My face softens.

  ‘You didn’t wake me,’ I say, bare feet feeling polished floorboards.

  Marc’s blue eyes look up from his newspaper. ‘You needed to sleep. Rodney made breakfast. It’s laid out in the kitchen.’

  ‘Is Ivy okay?’

  Marc tilts his chin to look at the sleeping baby on his chest. ‘She’s perfect.’