Love Unrehearsed: A Novel

by Tina Reber

  I stilled his hand. “Ryan, please. I’ve ruined enough. You have to go.”

  His nostrils flared. “I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”

  I took the washcloth from him, ignoring the fact that the once-pure-white towel was now tinged pink.

  “It’s only for a few hours.” I tried to smile encouragingly, feeling as dirty and stained as the cloth in my hand.

  His lip quivered ever so slightly as he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  I locked eyes with David, wishing he wouldn’t hover. I was about to do him a huge favor. “Can you please excuse us for a moment?”

  I hoped David could read me enough to know that I was trying to do the right thing. Mike, bless his soul, cleared everyone out of our suite.

  Ryan pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Don’t try to talk me into going.”

  His tone left no room for argument. I was resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere tonight anyway, including a stately dinner with the prime minister of France and his family.

  “The world is not going to come to an end if I miss the premiere.”

  So he thinks. Maybe not, but his fans would surely be outraged.

  He cracked open a bottle of water, gaping at me. “What?”

  “You have obligations,” I hesitantly muttered.

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  I shook my head to disagree. He was just reacting to his own emotional overload, which I’ caused.

  “This is your career, your movie. I won’t let you ruin that. Not for me.” I searched my bag for anything resembling an aspirin.

  Ryan frowned. “I’m not going without you.”

  I stopped in front of him on my way to the bathroom. “Yes, you are.” As I turned for the bathroom doorway, a stick of nasty pain shot into my ribs again.

  One lift of my shirt and a sideways glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed my suspicions. I had a gigantic black and blue mark across my waist at least six inches long. It reminded me of the colors of the sky at dusk, wrapped in tender pain. Well, at least it wasn’t the right side like last time when the car struck me, but it sure looks the same.

  Ryan gasped. “What the hell is that?”

  He startled me. I quickly dropped my shirt, tugging hard on the hem.

  That’s when he saw the gash on the back of my forearm for the first time as well. His long fingers circled my wrist.

  A puffy red welt and scabby road rash decorated my arm.

  “It’s nothing.” I pulled my arm away.

  “The hell it is.”

  He shifted to face me and tried to lift my shirt but I held the hem, pulling it taut.

  “Let. Me. Look,” Ryan ordered, growling through his teeth. It was clear that he wasn’t asking. It was obvious that his tolerance was all used up.

  Tired of fighting it, I acquiesced. Ryan’s eyes scrunched together as if he were in pain, too.

  I didn’t know what to say other than “I’m sorry.” I pulled my shirt down as if it would hide my shame.

  “Please, go to your premiere. I’ve already done enough damage to your career for one day.”

  I turned the water on, planning on using the shower water to cleanse my wounds and mask more tears that I needed to shed before I drowned internally. After my shower, I’d pack. Overwhelming feelings of failure made me want to run and hide.

  “No. Taking care of you comes first for me, sweetheart.”

  If he only knew how much I felt the same.

  Ryan carefully pressed his body into mine, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tender embrace as if I were frail. “And I want you to stop saying you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  I shook my head and tried to tear away from him. God, he couldn’t be more wrong.

  “I should have listened to you and never ventured out on my own. And now . . . now I’ve humiliated us both. I don’t even know how you can stand to be so nice to me right now.”

  Confusion blanketed his face. He freed one arm long enough to turn the shower off. The bathroom was turning into a sauna, steamed up tight with fog.

  “Do you think if I had any other job, your first trip to Paris would have been different?”

  I tried to push him away. “Ryan, don’t . . .”

  He lifted my chin, refusing to let me go. “Or would the paparazzi have been stalking you when you strolled the streets of a safe foreign city? Instead of being out there enjoying all the sites with you as a couple, protecting you like a man should, you were left to fend for yourself, again. Do you think that makes me happy or feel worthy of you? Let me tell you, it doesn’t. And now, seeing you injured like this . . .”

  “Stop it, Ryan. Please. None of this is your fault. You had nothing to do with this. It was my stupid decision to go out. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to go shopping on my own. I know better now. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  His frustrated growl raised up a notch. “Do not put this on yourself, Taryn.”

  My mind raced. “How can I not? You’re here trying to do your job. I was the one making headline news wrestling with the cops. It seems like every time I try to make it easier or find my place I end up making it ten times worse somehow.”

  I had to hold it together before I completely lost it. “I just want you to be happy, Ryan, without jeopardizing your career. The media is going to rip you . . . I can’t stand it, knowing I caused you pain and humiliation today. You have no idea how sorry I am. I should have stayed out of the way.”

  I walked back into the bedroom and grabbed some of my clothes, shoving them back into my suitcase.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Packing.”

  “We don’t leave until the morning.”

  I ambled around the room collecting my things, feeling soreness in my bruised knee. I knew if I stopped moving the tears would flow and I really didn’t want to cry in front of him right now.

  “You’ve spent enough time today worrying about me,” I muttered ruefully. “Please just . . . You need to get ready for your premiere.”

  His face fell. “Babe, are you hurt somewhere else? You look like you’re limping.”

  If I tell him, he’ll blow off the premiere for sure. Well, not because of me, he won’t. I tried to shove the pain aside. “No.”

  Ryan marched over to me, ripped my shoes from my hand, and hurled them across the room.

  “Stop fucking packing! “What part of I’m not going without you didn’t you understand? You expect me to what, just roll out of here without you so I can come back later to find that you’ve run off?”

  I shook my head, adamantly denying his assumption. I doubted France had a big enough rock for me to crawl under.

  “You think I don’t know your MO by now? How you willingly martyr yourself for my greater good?

  Dammit, Taryn. You think all this shit means that much to me? I can’t believe you’d think I’d just leave you here alone after all you’ve been through today.”

  He threw a few of his own clothes into his open suitcase. “You wanna go? Fine. Let’s go. We’ll be on the next fucking plane home.”

  I set my jacket down. His newfound anger frightened me. “I wasn’t going to leave.” Well, not that I would ever admit. “It’s just . . . I feel like shit for bringing this on you. I’m mad, and embarrassed, and frustrated.”

  The scab on my lower lip pulled, reminding me that I had matching bruises on the outside as well.

  “I will never, ever put you in a position where you’d have to choose between me and your career, Ryan. Never. I’ll never do that.”

  I gathered up my shoes from the floor. Why he puts up with me, I’ll never know.

  “What did you just say?”

  I froze. I didn’t think my internal grumblings were audible.

  “Did you just say, ‘put up with you’?”

  I reluctantly nodded.

  Ryan grabbed one of the ornate side chairs, forcefully pulling it
closer to the bed. He propped his legs up, crossing them at the ankles. “Oh, I’ve gotta hear this shit. Please, go on. Enlighten me how I put up with you.”

  Common sense told me this wasn’t going to end well so why bother starting. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “Well?” He was growing impatient. So was I.

  My Christian Louboutin black pump ricocheted off the lid when I lobbed it at my suitcase. I was so riled I’d resorted to mistreating the thousand-dollar shoes that Ryan had purchased for me. “All I wanted to do was look at a jacket and even that turned into a disaster.”

  He looked around the room. “Did you buy it? I don’t see any bags.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You went shopping and didn’t buy anything?”

  “I lost my shopping bags when I fell. I bought some gifts, but everything I bought disappeared in the mêlée.”

  Ryan sat up. “How much did you lose?”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

  “I used my charge card so it’s my loss,” I muttered contritely.

  “Jesus Christ, Tar.” He got up and stalked around the room. “Where’s your purse?” he growled, shoving things around to look for it.

  “What do you want it for?” I moved my coat to get it.

  “Because now you’ve pissed me off.” He grabbed the small bag from my hand and yanked on the zipper. Then he slipped my credit card out and examined it.

  “This,” he said, holding it up, “is mine now. It doesn’t exist.” He looked at the other card, which was our joint card, and shoved it back in its slot.

  “Wait, stop—”

  He grabbed his wallet out of his jeans pocket and confiscated my card. “I don’t give a shit if you need it to put gas in your fucking car; you use our card from now on.”

  He was being ridiculous. I held out my hand. “Come on. Just give it back.”

  He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and glared at me. “Do you want to wear that ring?”

  “What?” I looked at my hand.

  “Do you want to be my wife, yes or no?”

  Now he was scaring me. “Of course I want to be your wife, but th—”

  “No buts. It’s a yes-or-no question, Taryn.”

  I squared my shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Gah. “Yes, I want to be your wife.”

  “Good. Then get over your shit. Got me?”

  “Ryan, you know I—”

  “Got me?” he yelled louder. “I’m not playing this game anymore, Tar. All this bullshit provides for one hell of a lifestyle so deal with it. I provide. I take care of what’s mine. And if you even so much as breathe on my wallet to get your card so help me God I will tie your ass up, lock you in a fucking room, and play Guns N’ Roses on endless loop.”

  I gasped. Now he was fighting dirty. “You wouldn’t . . .”

  “Oh no? Try me.”

  “You can’t take my cr—”

  “Oh no? ‘Welcome to the jungle, baby.’ Over and over again. That what you want?”

  I rubbed a fingertip over my cracked lip, cringing. “No.”

  “Good, now that we have that settled, why don’t you tell me how this other bullshit got started.”

  “I woke up?”

  He frowned at me.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “There wasn’t a huge crowd outside when I left the hotel.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . when I came back there were hundreds. The police wouldn’t let me enter the hotel without proof of stay. I tried to get closer to the entrance and then I accidentally stepped on some girl’s toe.”

  Ryan stared at my incredulously. “A toe. This”—he waved his hand up and down—“all started because you accidentally stepped on some girl’s foot?”

  I nodded again, hating how ridiculous this all sounded. “I tried to call you but I forgot about having to put in the country code first.” I hoped my sheepish look was enough to indicate how remorseful I was. “I was trying to squeeze past them and it just happened. Some girls recognized me and asked for my autograph and then someone wanted to take pictures and then I stepped on someone’s foot. I tried to apologize but another girl shoved me and I bumped the girl behind me and . . . well, they shoved me and I shoved back.”

  This apparently amused him.

  “It’s not funny.”

  He wiped his hand over his lips. “I’m not laughing. But I’m glad you defended yourself.”

  I chose not to reply. Defending myself was my downfall.

  “So are you going to explain how I put up with you or should we just throw more shoes around instead?”

  I turned back to him and grumbled, “You threw the first shoe.”

  He was unruffled. “I did. And you’re avoiding answering me.”

  “Okay, fine. You want to know? Your publicist, your manager—hard to hide the fact that they both despise me. The only one who’s nice is Aaron and I suppose it’s only to keep you happy. I know they all think I got pregnant on purpose.”

  I tossed the other black stiletto into my open suitcase, gentler this time. “Taryn, the evil little temptress, out to trap you and steal your millions.” I took a deep breath.

  “We both know how you got pregnant, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It may have been an accident instead of something we planned for but it certainly wasn’t intentional. And it was a risk we took together. Besides, if I didn’t want to have kids with you someday I would have been wearing condoms from day one.”

  That stopped me dead in my tracks. “I’ve always wondered about that, actually.”

  His brow rose. “About?”

  “The unprotected day-one part.”

  He laughed shyly as if he had his own private joke. His eyes locked on mine. “Tar, I knew that very first day I stumbled into your pub that you were the one. I think I fell in love with you when you were rubbing that shit on my cuts.”

  I gasped, shocked by his admission.

  Another private thought wisped through him, causing a sly grin to form. “I started to have naughty fantasies about you being the mother of my kids when you were kicking my ass playing pool. By the time we finally hooked up, I honestly didn’t care one way or the other if I knocked you up. Feeling your skin on mine was worth taking the risk. And if getting you pregnant meant that you were tied to me somehow permanently, even better.”

  I instantly softened at that. Melted, died, and floated to heaven actually.

  He held his arms open, welcoming me. I curled up in his lap and snuggled into his neck, never wanting to let go.

  His nose drifted over mine. “You know I want kids, so I couldn’t give two shits about what Marla or anyone else thinks. All I care about are the decisions we make as a couple.”

  I brushed my lips on his for a kiss, loving him even more than I thought was possible.

  Ryan lounged back and I rested my head on his shoulder. “But,” he said conspiratorially, “back to the Marla thing. I found out earlier today that on the day I proposed to you, Marla caught her husband screwing one of the bartenders from the Chateau in her shower.”

  My head popped off his bare chest. “No kidding?”

  “I think that explains some things, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

  He combed my long hair back. “Trish wanted to tell you about the email she got this morning but I guess I spoiled all her fun now.”

  I envisioned Marla walking into her palatial estate, catching her husband’s wet, naked ass in mid-thrust. Oh to have been a fly on the wall for that one. Still, part of me could relate all too well to that scenario and I actually pitied her.

  “Bartender, huh? She probably thinks we’re all sluts.”

  “Well, that’s her problem, not ours, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Ryan gently rubbed his hand up and down my back, lulling me into a stupor.

/>   “I just wish David didn’t hate me, too,” I said.

  Ryan huffed. “David sees you as a distraction.”

  The way he spoke, I could tell that wasn’t all there was to it.

  “And?”

  “Annnd . . . I really don’t care what he thinks.”

  “He’s had it in for me ever since we had that dinner meeting with Follweiler.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t like you influencing my career decisions.”

  “Maybe I should keep my opinions to myself then.”

  Ryan stirred. “No way. Screw that. I want to know what you think. Your views aren’t jaded like his are.

  Besides, I know what’s temporary and what’s permanent in my life.”

  He shifted me on his lap. “Anything else you want to get off your chest while we’re on a roll?”

  I scratched my puffy lip and muttered, “I was arrested today.”

  “No, you weren’t, remember? No charges?”

  “There will be photos of me getting taken into custody in every paper, Ryan.”

  “And you’re expecting me to be mad at you about it?”

  “Well, yeah. Not just mad, furious actually.”

  “I am mad. I’m freaking furious, but not at you. I’m pissed off that hordes of women prevented you from getting back into the hotel and that you were manhandled and treated like a criminal and injured.

  That’s what I’m pissed about.”

  I bristled. “You don’t need negative press.”

  Ryan shirked it off. “It is what it is. If it bleeds, it leads. This isn’t a scandal, Tar. It will blow away eventually so spending a lot of energy on it is a waste. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ryan stood up with me in his arms. “Oh, you’re a big lug,” he said. He smiled and kissed me before setting me gently down on the bed. “Hungry? I take it they didn’t feed you in the slammer.”

  I frowned at his lame joke, but he was too busy reading the room service menu to notice. “Starving, actually.”

  He glanced back at me. “Come to think of it, I am sort of mad at you, though. If you were so desperate to try bondage and handcuffs and shit, all you had to do was ask. I’d be more than happy to go there with you. We have yet to fully explore the depraved side of sex. Hell, we haven’t even scratched the surface.”