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 thought you were still in the dressing room,’ he whispers. ‘Final call. You’re on in less than a minute.’

  ‘Right.’ I wait for my entry line: I’ll see if I can find her.

  Sweat prickles my forehead, and my palms feel slippery.

  ‘I’ll see if I can find her,’ says Marc.

  And boom. I walk on stage, seeing hundreds of shadowy people in the audience, their faces watching me expectantly. I’m wearing nothing but underwear, and soon I’ll be wearing even less.

  God I’m nervous. But I’ve done this. Lots of times. Fully clothed, granted, but Marc’s right – it shouldn’t matter. Just become the part, I think. As long as you’re playing the part, you’re safe.

  I clear my throat, but the script goes right out of my head. I look at Marc, and start to panic. I’d be so humiliated if someone had to shout out my line.

  Marc waits for me, calmly and with a look in his eyes that tells me he knows I can do it. I decide to ad lib.

  ‘What’s a nice man like you doing in a place like this?’ I say, my lips extending into a pout, hands falling onto my hips.

  ‘Looking for a not very nice girl,’ says Marc.

  I laugh, throwing my head back. ‘I think you’ve found her. Darling, I’m just getting dressed. You don’t mind do you?’ The script starts coming back to me.

  ‘Why should I mind?’

  ‘We’re all naked under our clothes at the end of the day.’ My hands begin to tremble at the thought of what’s coming next.

  ‘That we are,’ says Marc.

  ‘Would you help me with this?’ I say, turning around and holding the back of my bra strap. The words sound confident, which surprises me. The way I’m feeling inside, I expected them to come out all of a wobble.

  Marc unhooks my bra, and the audience falls completely silent. They know what’s coming. Anyone who reads the newspaper knows what happens in this scene. I take a deep breath, and turn around, removing my bra and throwing it to the floor.

  Hundreds of faces stare at me. I can’t see their expressions. I look over their heads.

  ‘I expect your wife’s breasts used to look like these,’ I say. ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’

  ‘Very pretty,’ says Marc, lifting me into his arms. He places me on a prop bed, with a thin mattress that would leave me black and blue if I ever slept on it.

  I throw my arms behind my head, and Marc stands between my legs.

  Music starts, and I feel Marc begin to move. Unlike the last time we performed the scene, I feel him growing hard. As soon as the curtain falls, he stands back and pulls in deep breaths.

  ‘Okay?’ I ask.

  ‘You were excellent,’ he says, pacing back and forth. ‘I’m very proud of what you achieved today. But. This was a bad idea. I wanted to test myself, too. To prove I could control myself around you. If I’m ever going to let go, I need to know I can get the control back. I thought maybe I could. But ...’ He marches off the stage.

  I walk after him, following him down to the star dressing room, which is all thick red carpet, silver paint and white roses.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, and Marc turns at the dressing room door. ‘Is it such a bad thing?’

  ‘We shouldn’t talk out here.’ He pulls me into the dressing room, slamming the door behind us.

  ‘I said, is it such a bad thing?’ I repeat. ‘I mean, we all lose control sometimes.’

  ‘Not me,’ says Marc. ‘Not on stage. Not in real life. Not ever. Not any more.’ He looks at me, and his eyes are lost. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. How can I look after you if I’m not in control?’

  ‘You can,’ I say, sitting on his lap. His arms come around me. ‘Because you’re even closer to me that way.’

  There’s a knock on the dressing room door, and we spring apart.

  ‘Mr Blackwell,’ says the stagehand. ‘On stage in five.’

  ‘You should go back to the house,’ says Marc, pulling me onto his lap and burying his head in my hair. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Back at the glass house, Marc seems younger, somehow, and a little lost. He brings Thai food from the big island, and we eat on the glass balcony, overlooking the sea. Marc holds my hand under the table, and talks and talks.

  He tells me about his sister, and how he supports her and her fiancé. He tells me he doesn’t like his sister’s fiancé, but until his sister works out for herself what’s right for her, there’s nothing he can do. I don’t ask him about the drug dealing, and he doesn’t tell me. It’s not the right time. He’s revealing nice things about himself, not wounds, and I’m fine with that.

  He tells me about his mother, what he remembers of her. In his head, she was a beautiful, brown-haired angel who sang to him and put magic dust on his cuts and bruises. She’d been an amateur actress herself, and won him a junior role in one of her plays. It had led to a chocolate bar commercial, and from there his father took over, honing him for fame and fortune.

  I tell him about my baby brother and my stepmother – how I feel they can’t survive without me. How Genoveva can’t really cope, and how my father is muddling through. He listens intently, his knuckles bent under his chin. When I tell him about my mother – how much I love her and still miss her – he squeezes my hand tightly.

  ‘It’s Saturday, tomorrow. You’ll want to see your family.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I should.’

  ‘Then we’ll fly back.’

  When the sun goes down, we go down to the dark beach and watch the silver ocean lap back and forth.

  Marc tells me about the first time he saw the ocean. It was in California, and the sand was so hot it hurt his bare feet. He discovered that no matter how long he stayed in the sun, he never tanned. Apparently, whenever he needs to be tanned in films, it’s all done by a makeup artist.

  We talk about tomorrow, and the fact we’ll be heading back to London. Neither of us have any answers. All we know is, we don’t have much time left.

  We sit on the sand, right by the warm ocean, letting the waves lap at our feet. The moon is round and silver above us.

  I turn to Marc, and see his eyes are glistening, but his expression is pained.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I love you,’ says Marc simply, staring at the ocean. ‘But this isn’t a movie. I don’t know how this will end.’

  I feel myself smiling. ‘You love me?’

  Marc nods, looking out to sea.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.’

  He turns and kisses me, stroking my hair, his eyes soft and pained looking.

  My heart is leaping, but then again …

  Maybe he loves me in his Marc ‘in control’ way. But I want him to let go. To let me all the way in.

  When we get back to the house, Marc sleeps beside me in the round bed.

  Chapter 69

  In the morning, the sun is brighter than I’ve ever seen it. I see Marc asleep next to me, and watch his beautiful, peaceful face. His nose, straight and handsome, and the gentle curves either side of his mouth, look so familiar now. One large hand rests on his toned chest, and the other lays out, open, long fingers outstretched.

  His eyelids aren’t flickering. Everything about him is still, except for his gentle breathing.

  I stroke his face, and his eyes open immediately.

  When he recognises me, his face relaxes. ‘Sophia,’ he whispers.

  ‘We have to go back today,’ I say. ‘But I want to be with you. Properly. A proper couple. I don’t care who knows. I don’t care about my reputation. Just as long as you keep teaching the other students. I don’t want them losing out because of me.’

  ‘Sophia, you don’t know what you’re saying,’ says Marc. ‘You don’t know what you’d be giving up to become part of my world. Your freedom – gone. Just like that. They’d trawl through your past, bother your family ... I won
’t let you go through it. Not for me.’

  ‘What if it wasn’t your choice?’ I say. ‘What if when we go back to London, I tell the press myself?’

  Marc stares at me. ‘I’d forbid you from doing that.’

  ‘You’d forbid me?’ I laugh. ‘What if I didn’t listen?’

  ‘You’d really go and do something like that? Without my permission?’

  ‘If it means being with you, out in the open, then yes.’

  Marc sits up. ‘It means that much to you, having a relationship with me? That you’d give up your privacy. Your freedom ...’

  ‘Yes.’

  Marc rubs his eyes, and stares at the sun rising above the sea. ‘No one has ever thought what I offered was worth giving anything up for. I never expected ... I don’t know how I’ve got you into this situation. Christ.’ He puts his hands to his forehead. ‘I’m always so careful. So controlled. I plan everything. How could I let this happen?’

  ‘Feelings aren’t something you can plan,’ I say.

  He looks at me, then. A long, steady look. ‘Don’t I know it. If you were determined to bring us out in the open, then I’d get my PR people to manage a campaign around you to mediate the damage. Make sure you were set up as the good girl. Make sure I took all the blame.’

  He gets up and begins dressing. ‘I’m going to strike a deal with you.’

  ‘A deal?’

  Marc nods, sliding on his boxer shorts. ‘Wait until we’ve got back to London, then go back to your family. Talk to your father. Don’t make the decision straight away. And if, after all that, you still decide you want us to come out in the open, I’ll support your decision. I’ll come meet your father and explain myself.’

  ‘You would?’

  The hollows in Marc’s cheeks grow tight and shadowy. ‘Yes,’ he says eventually. ‘I’d support you. I’d support us. But if you make that decision, you have to be prepared for a lot of negative attention. I can only protect you so much.’

  ‘I think I can handle it,’ I say. ‘If it means being with you.’

  The flight back is smooth and calm, but I’m too anxious to relax. The thought of telling my father about Marc is overwhelming, and Marc’s warnings haven’t fallen on deaf ears. I know there might be a hate campaign against me. I know I might be painted as the slutty student who seduced Marc Blackwell. Or the naive student who’s fallen for a wicked older man.

  When we land, Marc arranges for Keith to take me straight to my dad’s house.

  Chapter 70

  I knock on the door tentatively, knowing Dad isn’t expecting me.

  Dad opens the door with strawberry jam on his forehead and pastry in his hair.

  ‘Love!’ He throws his arms around me. ‘This is a nice surprise.’ Sam is in the background in his highchair, also covered in jam.

  ‘Good to see you too.’

  ‘Come in, come in.’ Dad opens the door. ‘Sam and I were just making jam tarts.’

  ‘Where’s Genoveva?’

  ‘Having a facial. She’s needs to relax. This is all very hard on her, parenthood late in life.’

  The house is a bombsite, made worse by Dad’s baking attempts. Sam bangs the highchair table when he sees me, his hands and face covered in pastry and jam.

  I pick him up, and put the kettle on.

  ‘I’m glad Genoveva isn’t here,’ I say. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about alone.’

  ‘Oh? Nothing serious is it, love? You’re not ill, are you?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Nothing like that.’ I make two teas and set them on the dining table.

  ‘So, what then?’

  This is so much harder than I’d imagined. And imagining it was pretty difficult.

  ‘It’s about a man I’m seeing.’

  ‘Are you ... in trouble or something?’

  ‘No, no.’ I shake my head, taking a seat and putting Sam on my lap. Dad comes to sit down too.

  ‘Because you know I’ll support you one hundred percent, whatever you want to do. Your mum had you very young, and I’ve never regretted -’

  ‘Dad, will you just listen? I’m not pregnant. But ... I’m seeing someone at university.’

  ‘Well, you’re twenty two,’ says Dad. ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m glad you’re seeing someone. Is he a nice chap? I’d like to meet him.’

  A nice chap. Those aren’t the first words I’d use to describe Marc. And yet, truly he is.

  ‘He’s ... a lecturer,’ I say. Sam grabs at my watch. I carefully unpeel his fingers.

  ‘Oh.’ Dad takes a sip of tea and looks thoughtful. ‘Right. I suppose that’s a little different. For a start, he must be a lot older than you.’

  ‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Only five years.’

  Dad considers this. ‘It’s not very ethical, for a lecturer to be having a relationship with a pupil. I can’t say I respect the man’s morals all that much.’

  ‘I understand that,’ I say. ‘But neither of us planned this. He was absolutely dead against anything happening between us. It was me who made the decision. If it had been left up to Marc, he would have quit the university for us to be together, or never seen me again.’

  ‘Marc?’ says Dad. ‘As in Marc Blackwell? Is that the man you’re seeing?’

  I nod.

  ‘Who does he think he is? Just because he’s famous, doesn’t mean he can take advantage of -’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I say. ‘We really feel something for each other.’

  ‘I haven’t heard good things about him at all,’ says Dad. ‘He seems like a very cold, snooty sort of man. Not the sort of character most men would be happy about their daughter seeing.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘He does come across that way. But he’s a very good person. I promise.’

  Dad nods. ‘I suppose I can’t imagine you choosing someone who wasn’t.’

  I smile at him.

  ‘Would your mum have approved of this man?’

  I think about that. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think she would.’

  ‘Well.’ Dad rests his elbows on the table. ‘I suppose I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I say. ‘And so would he. You can meet him today, if you’d like.’

  Dad nods. ‘Yes. We can make some lunch. I won’t put that on Genoveva at short notice, we’ll order something in.’

  I smile. ‘I can cook, if you’d like.’

  ‘Would you love? That would be wonderful.’

  Chapter 71

  I ring Marc, and he picks up straight away.

  ‘Sophia. How are you?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t as tough as I’d thought. Dad wants to meet you. Would you like to come over for lunch today?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’

  He hangs up, and I set to work making lunch. There isn’t much in the house, but there’s flour and potatoes in the cupboard and I find some frozen beef and peas in the freezer, so I make a steak pie with mashed potato and gravy. It’s getting colder outside – good weather for comfort food.

  Genoveva comes back from her appointment, and squeezes her lips together when she sees me in the kitchen.

  Dad tells her about Marc coming over for lunch, and she hurries upstairs to get ready. An hour later, she comes down plastered in makeup, her long, caramel-coloured hair shiny and styled. She’s wearing a white linen suit, gold jewellery and heavy rose-scented perfume.

  ‘She never makes the effort for me,’ Dad whispers, with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Looks like she’s a bit star struck.’

  Just as I take the pie out of the oven, there’s a knock at the door.

  I open it and see the surreal sight of Marc Blackwell on my doorstep, his arms full of red roses, wine and a small, wrapped gift.

  He’s back in his black suit and shirt, freshly shaven, and hair combed back. He looks and smells expensive, and I love the way he can go from being causally handsome in a t-shirt to oh-so refined.

  ‘He
llo,’ I say, trying to hide my smile.

  ‘Hello.’ Marc smiles at me, that subtle, quirky smile. ‘It’s good to be here.’

  I wonder what he’ll make of our little house, with its open plan living area and rustic, country charm.

  Genoveva comes rushing over and curtsies before him. ‘Mr Blackwell. I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to my home.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ says Marc. ‘You must be Genoveva. I bought these for you.’ He hands her the roses.

  ‘Oh!’ she gushes, smelling them. ‘They’re beautiful. Please. Follow me to our dining area.’

  She leads him to the dining table, where my dad is sat, drinking a coffee. Dad stands as Marc approaches.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, sir,’ says Marc. ‘You must be Sophia’s father.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Dad, looking him over. He looks small next to Marc, but he’s holding himself with a quiet dignity.

  Marc puts the gift and wine on the table, and shakes his hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I bought a little something for Samuel.’

  ‘He’s sleeping right now,’ says Genoveva, picking up the gift. ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Marc.

  Genoveva tears open the paper, and inside is the simplest of gifts: a set of plastic, stacking cups. They must have cost all of three pounds, and I can see Genoveva looking them over, confused. Here is a man who can buy anything he wants, and he’s bought the most inexpensive present for her son.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, eyeing the cups uncertainly.

  ‘My sister has a son a little older than Samuel,’ Marc says. ‘He loves these things. Can’t leave them alone. I’ve given him all sorts of toys – a mini motorbike, a jungle gym, a train set, but he likes these best.’

  I smile. ‘They’re perfect,’ I say.

  ‘Would you like to take a seat?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Thank you.’ Marc sits beside my father. ‘I’d just like to say it’s a pleasure to be in your home. And you must be very proud of your daughter. She’s a remarkable person.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Dad.

  ‘We ... I never planned for the way things have turned out,’ says Marc. ‘It was never my intention to have a relationship with a student. I planned to leave the university, in fact, when I realised I was falling for Sophia. This must be so difficult for you. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t respect a man like me. I wouldn’t think a man like me would be good enough for my daughter. I’m hoping to prove that I am. For Sophia’s sake as much as anyone’s.’ He gives a sweet, humble smile that I’ve never seen before. ‘For some reason, she thinks I make her happy.’