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

by Suzy K Quinn

  ‘Tanya!’ Denise calls out. ‘A very determined young lady. You really made The Vagina Monologues come to life. I can see the passion when you perform. You make everything so real.’

  Tanya grins from ear to ear.

  ‘Tom Davenport.’ Denise bends down to shake Tom’s hand. ‘Such an elegant voice and manner. The perfect King Lear. You command attention. I could watch you all day.’

  ‘And Sophia.’ Denise smiles warmly. ‘So humble. So charming. You draw us all in and make us love you.’

  I’m dumbfounded. I give a half smile, and mutter thanks, then walk into the room, where there’s a horseshoe of chairs facing a whiteboard. Tanya and I take seats at the end, and Tom wheels himself beside us.

  ‘I can’t believe she remembered all our performances,’ says Tanya, watching eagerly as Denise comes to the front of the class.

  ‘Command attention,’ says Tom, banging a fist to his chest. ‘I am deeply in love with this woman.’

  Denise clears her throat and holds up her hands for silence. ‘A very big welcome to you, class. And congratulations on being the chosen few. The UK’s finest new talent. We expect big things from all of you.’

  Cecile and Ryan exchange smug glances.

  ‘Feel free to call me by my first name,’ says Denise. ‘I know Mr Blackwell likes to retain authority, but I can’t pretend I have any. I’m a push over, which is why I teach university students, not school kids. They’d eat me up and chew me out. And on the subject of Mr Blackwell, you should all know his bark’s worse than his bite.’

  There are a few uneasy murmurs of laughter.

  ‘I’m serious,’ says Denise. ‘I practically brought him up when he was a tearaway teen, and he’s got a softer side. Softer than he shows. He’d kill me for telling you, but Marc cares about each and every one of you, that I promise. His strictness is his way of showing it. Of getting the best out of you.’

  Suddenly, she blurts out a set of scales: ‘La, la, la, la, la, la, laaa.’ Then she walks around the horseshoe, her fingers on her chin. ‘Mmm. Who will I pick on first?’

  Everyone shuffles in their seats.

  To my horror, Denise stops right in front of me.

  ‘Sophia. You go first. They say singing reveals the soul, don’t they? Let’s see what your soul sounds like.’

  ‘I’m no singer,’ I insist. ‘I’m hoping you’ll teach me.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ says Denise. ‘Everybody can sing. Just give me a few short notes. La la la la la la laaa.’

  I know I’ve gone bright red, but Tanya and Tom are looking at me encouragingly.

  I clear my throat. ‘La la la la la la laaa,’ I croak. I know I sound terrible. Not out of tune – I know the basics. But just ... I don’t know. Sort of thin and girly.

  ‘What a lovely soul you have,’ says Denise, smiling.

  ‘But I have no power in my voice.’

  ‘Singing isn’t all about power,’ says Denise. ‘It’s about feelings, too. You put feeling into your voice when you sing, and you sound beautiful. We just have to work on the technical parts – volume, pitch, and most of all, confidence, if you can call that technical. You need to feel more comfortable, exercise your vocal chords and you’ll be there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  I love the rest of the singing class. Denise shows us old movie footage of her favourite singers, and we sing along to The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins. She gives us vocal exercises to practise on our own, too.

  ‘You can practise in your rooms,’ she says. ‘In the shower. Anywhere private really, to build up your confidence.’

  When we leave the lecture theatre, Tanya puts a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Marc Blackwell soon,’ she says. ‘Grade time.’

  Chapter 22

  I’m early for Marc’s lecture, of course. Crazy early. The door to the lecture theatre is open, so I go in. I slide into the front row, taking the same seat as last class.

  I flick through books, and doodle on my notepad, and a few more students arrive. After drawing little flowers over my reading list, I sense someone watching me and my neck prickles.

  I look up. There, three feet away, is Marc. When I look up, my eyes meet his and for a moment I feel like I’m falling into him. His eyes are clearer and bluer than I’ve ever seen them. Marc snatches his gaze away and strides to the podium, his laptop case under his arm.

  I watch him take out papers and sort through them. He studies the pages intently, and I see the hollows in his cheeks ripple as his jaw tightens and releases.

  Over the next few minutes, more students filter in. Tanya and Tom sit next to me – on time today – and Cecile sits a few seats down, as close to Marc’s podium as possible.

  Marc bangs his laptop case closed.

  ‘Good afternoon class,’ he says, his head snapping up. ‘Some interesting performances yesterday and this morning.’ He doesn’t look at me. ‘I’m feeling comfortable that I picked the right people for this course.’

  The right people ... I feel my whole body sag in relief. Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t mess it up too badly. Even if he does think I’m an idiot after last night. It’s okay. It’s okay.

  ‘However, you all have things to work on. I want to bring out your hidden talents. The things you’ve kept secret, even from yourselves. You need to work on your discipline, too. As actors, we control our emotions. Hence, my insistence that you follow my rules and arrive on time. If you can’t be disciplined, you have no future as an actor.’

  He strolls back to his podium. ‘If I teach you anything, it’s that discipline and craft go together. Without discipline, researching the role, learning a character’s life and habits, we have nothing. But if there is only discipline alone – if we don’t let go, and let our own instincts and feelings work with the character – we have nothing either.’

  Marc walks past the blank white board. His gaze falls on me, but he quickly pulls it away. ‘I was like all of you, once. Nervous. Afraid. Out of control. As a young boy, I was very fearful, as a matter of fact. And it made me deliver some spectacular performances. So don’t feel too bad about being afraid. But you must master it.

  ‘All your experiences, good and bad, can be drawn upon, when you master your emotions. Your father beat you? Use your humiliation, your pain, your sense of injustice, and bring it to a character who requires those emotions. You have bad habits? Use your sense of shame and self-loathing to bring depth to a misunderstood character. Acting is a wonderful profession. We can turn our greatest pain into our greatest triumph.’

  Your father beat you? The way he says those words, I feel he’s talking about himself – his own experiences. And bad habits ... yes, I know he must have those too.

  At the end of the class, Marc announces we’ll be performing again in a few weeks’ time. Oh good god. Just when I thought we’d got past the stress of the first performance, already we have another one to think about.

  My heart flutters in my chest, and I feel my stomach tighten. Another audition. After I made such a mess of the last one. I can’t do it. At least, not without help. I need Marc’s help. I need him to show me where I went wrong, and help me put it right.

  All the other pupils filter out, but I stay behind. I can see some of the students giving me odd looks and nudging each other.

  I wait until the last pupil leaves the room, and then walk round to where Marc is putting papers in his laptop case.

  He doesn’t look up, but he glances sideways at me. ‘Can I help you, Miss Rose? Not planning any more midnight swimming sessions I hope?’

  I smile. ‘No.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Can I ... Mr Blackwell, I think I need extra help. Before the next audition.’

  Marc snaps his laptop case closed and looks up. ‘Extra help? Sophia, listen. You’re a promising actress. Very promising. And there’s something so ...’ He spreads out his hands, and looks at the ceiling. ‘It’s hard to put into words. I don’t know. Unaf
fected. Genuine in your performance. Like nothing, no one I’ve ever seen before. But ... I’m being totally honest with you here. I’ve been thinking. I had high hopes for you, but maybe I gave you a challenge too far. Let’s just stick to the nice young lady parts for now, and see where they take us.’

  ‘But I want to challenge myself,’ I say. ‘I want to fulfil my potential. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Well.’ Marc picks up his laptop case. ‘That’s admirable. But sometimes in life, we have to accept our limitations, as well as trying to overcome them. Let’s take a step back. I have something a little easier planned for your next performance.’

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘I want to be challenged. I want to try again. I don’t want to be held back. I’m here to try my best.’

  ‘It’s good to hear that. But I think ... extra help in your case may not be such a good idea.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’d best be going.’

  ‘Please,’ I call out. ‘You’re my teacher. If I can’t ask you for help, who can I ask?’

  He strides to the door, but when he reaches the doorway, he stops. He places his hand onto the doorframe, and I see his chest move up and down. He turns around.

  I see his jaw ripple, and his teeth are a little gritted. ‘You’re right. I am your teacher.’ He closes his eyes slowly, then opens them again. ‘I’m on campus tonight until seven thirty. Queen’s Theatre is free all evening. Meet me at seven, and we’ll see what we can do.’

  He strides out of the room.

  Seven o’clock tonight. I’m meeting Marc Blackwell at seven o’clock tonight. Alone. Oh good god, what have I got myself into?

  Chapter 23

  It’s still light when I arrive at Queen’s Theatre that evening. I’m dressed in jeans and a loose cashmere jumper, and shiver a little in the cold air.

  The door is locked, so I lean against it and wait.

  At exactly 7.30pm, I see Marc strolling towards the theatre. Suddenly I don’t know what to do with my arms. I wrap them around myself, and pretend to be studying the arched doorway intently.

  ‘Miss Rose. Nice and punctual I see. Very good.’

  I manage to give a little nod.

  ‘Well.’ He reaches past me to unlock the theatre doors. Then he flicks on the lights. ‘Let’s go inside. After you.’

  I wander into the theatre, ever aware of Marc’s sharp footsteps behind me. It’s a little chilly inside, and dust spins around under the lights.

  ‘Shall I go straight up on stage?’ I ask, turning my head. Marc is walking with his shoulders pulled back, like he owns the place. Actually, now I think about it, he does own the place.

  ‘Yes, go on up,’ says Marc. ‘Are you ready to try again as Jennifer Jones?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, walking up the theatre steps.

  ‘Good.’

  I clear my throat and head to the centre of the stage. ‘The same scene as before?’

  ‘No,’ says Marc. ‘Let’s try another. I’m guessing you’re reasonably familiar with the play?’

  I nod. ‘I read the whole thing before my performance with you.’

  ‘Okay. So pick a scene.’

  ‘How about the final scene, when she leaves the auditorium and -’

  Marc cuts me off with a shake of his head. ‘Too easy. At least, for you it’s too easy. I’ve seen you do melancholy.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘How about the scene when she seduces the male ballerina in the play.’

  Marc frowns. ‘Maybe too much of a challenge. Antonio is a seductive character in his own right. Jennifer has to hold her own.’

  ‘I need a challenge, Mr Blackwell. I need to do better. That last audition -’

  ‘Okay, fine. I’ll play Antonio.’

  I take my script from my jeans pocket, but Marc shakes his head.

  ‘No script, Sophia. We’re going to ad lib. Like before. You have a feeling for the character. You remember the scene. So go with your instincts. It’s much more believable that way.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’ I ask. ‘When you act in movies?’

  ‘Always,’ says Marc. ‘But only after I know the script like the back of my hand. I spend weeks memorising movie dialogue. I could quote you any scene from any movie I’ve starred in.’

  ‘Wow. That’s very impressive.’ I raise an eyebrow, and to my surprise, Marc’s lips twitch into a smile.

  ‘Why thank you, Miss Rose. I like to think so.’ Marc’s smile vanishes. ‘You look far too tense.’ He walks towards me and I feel myself growing even more rigid. He takes my hands, and shakes my arms.

  My upper body relaxes a little, but I’m keenly aware he’s holding my hands. I find myself staring into his eyes.

  He drops my hands and looks away. ‘Better?’

  I nod. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t try to remember the scene,’ says Marc. ‘You don’t need to. I know it very well and I’ll lead. Try to feel what it is to be Jennifer at this moment. She’s just found out her director beau is sleeping with another young ballerina, and that she may lose her part. She’s looking for comfort. And reassurance that her sexuality can still get her what she wants. What would you be feeling if you were her?’

  ‘I’d be angry,’ I say. ‘And scared.’

  ‘Okay. Good. What else?’

  ‘I’d feel powerless. Humiliated. And I’d want to take some power back. Have some power over someone else.’

  ‘Very good. How would you show that in your body?’

  I feel myself standing taller, looking him dead in the eye, a hand falling to my hip. My eyes narrow and my lips part a little.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s start.’

  I nod. ‘You’re an extremely talented dancer, Antonio.’ I stroke my hair. ‘I imagine you’ve known a lot of leading ladies in your time.’

  ‘A few,’ says Marc, with a quirky smile. Once again, I’m amazed by how he manages to transform, just like that. I feel Antonio’s youth and muscular energy.

  ‘Oh?’ I say, with a smile. ‘How well have you known these leading ladies?’

  ‘Some of them very well,’ says Marc.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to get to know me better too,’ I say, coming closer. Our torsos are inches apart, and I can feel the heat from his chest. Wow. That tug again. Can he feel it too? Like a magnet, and it frightens me because I can barely stop myself throwing my body into his arms. And that isn’t what a student should do with her teacher.

  I move closer, not because of the tug, but because I’m Jennifer, and this is what she would do with Antonio.

  Chapter 24

  If Marc is feeling our bodies pull together, he’s not showing it. He’s Antonio through and through. Calm and in control.

  I walk in a circle around him. Marc – or rather, Antonio – watches me keenly until I come to a stop in front of him.

  ‘Do you like what you see?’

  ‘Very much.’

  I pause. I know what Jennifer would do and, from what I remember of the script, is roughly what she does do. But I don’t know if, feeling what I’m feeling, it would be a good idea. I take a deep breath.

  ‘Keep it going,’ Marc says. ‘You’re doing well. Don’t let it go.’

  I nod, and make myself tall again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to see more?’ I turn around, slide my jumper down over a shoulder, and look back at him with a little smile.

  ‘Very nice.’

  I slide the jumper across and over the other shoulder. ‘Could you help me unlace this costume?’

  Marc comes to stand right behind me. He pretends to undo laces from my shoulders to my lower back, and I feel a shiver down my spine. I pretend to climb out of my costume.

  I go to him, and wrap an arm around his neck, looking fiercely into his eyes. I whisper, ‘I’m yours if you want me.’

  Feeling his chest against mine feels so good. My insides feel soft, and the low-lit theatre rushes around me like a train. All I can see, feel and hear is Marc.

  He returns my gaze with equ
al ferocity, and I feel his arms coming around me, leaning me backwards. ‘I do.’

  I hear a little sigh escape my body, and smell that smell again –a dewy morning in the woods. It makes me feel so safe. Warm and protected.

  I know what should happen next. The couple freeze on stage, and then break apart for a scene change. The sexual experience between them is left to the imagination of the audience. I remain still, his arms around me, unable to break away from his eyes, even if I wanted to. I don’t want to move. I want to stay like this forever.

  I hear his breathing. Thick and heavy. His chest heaves back and forth against mine.

  My senses come back to me, and I remember I should be Jennifer – seductive, powerful and confident. It’s not in the script, but Marc told me to ad lib. So I lean forward and kiss him on the mouth, my body swaying slightly in his arms. It’s a stage kiss, light and innocent, but I try to fill it with Jennifer’s power and sexual energy.

  I’m about to pull away, when Marc pulls me into his body, and presses his lips against mine.

  Oh my god.

  The theatre disappears, and it’s just the two of us, our lips together. Nothing, no one else matters.

  My heart pounds. He puts a hand behind my head, and pulls me tighter against him, pushing his lips and body into mine. I feel his strength as he brings me into him.

  I close my eyes and let the sensations wash over me. The softness and power of his lips. The strength of his fingers. The heat of his body. Our mouths blend together, and we’re no longer two separate people. I hear myself sigh again, and feel his hands tighten around me at the sound.

  Then he pulls me upright and we break apart.

  I stare at him, not knowing what to say or think. That kiss was real. Not to Jennifer. To me. To Sophia. He was kissing Sophia.

  I want him to do it again. Over and over again. And more. But as I stumble back, he strides away down the theatre steps.

  He turns and holds up his watch wrist. ‘There’s somewhere I need to be.’

  ‘Marc -’ I venture, not sure how I’m going to finish the sentence.