by Suzy K Quinn
‘Señor.’ Michael taps his arm. ‘More bread rolls. There’s a lad.’
‘Very good sir.’ The waiter strides off.
‘What are you doing here, Michael?’ I ask.
‘I wanted to see my niece,’ he replies. ‘So I stowed away.’
The way he’s talking – it’s like this is all some big joke. But it’s serious. If people realise there’s someone else who looks like Marc, he won’t be able to help us evade the paparazzi anymore.
The waiter reappears with a bowl of bread rolls, brightly coloured in saffron yellow and beetroot pink.
‘Thanks,’ we both say in unison.
‘Never seen a bread roll like this before, have you?’ says Michael, as the waiter walks away. ‘I love all this fancy stuff. You know, once in London—’
‘Michael! What happens when you get found out?’
‘I won’t get found out,’ he insists, tearing a roll open. ‘Everyone thinks I’m Marc. The eye sees what the head believes.’
‘I think you’re sailing pretty close to the wind, don’t you? Taking his place at lunch?’
‘I thought you’d be bringing my niece here.’ Michael liberally butters his roll. ‘I wanted to see her. You have to understand, nothing like this has ever happened to me before.’
‘Nothing like what?’ I ask.
‘Like love.’
I laugh, but Michael stays serious.
‘It’s not funny,’ he replies, eyes flashing with hurt. ‘I am madly in love with that little baby of yours. I’ve hardly seen her all year. She’s growing every day.’
‘Oh god.’ My smile falls away. ‘You mean it, don’t you?’
‘I’m an uncle now,’ says Michael. ‘I take the job seriously. Ivy is my family and I want to be with her whenever I can.’
‘But this is such a massive risk. Marc will kill you.’
‘She’s worth it.’ Michael looks at his bread roll. ‘You know, I never had much of a family. But then Marc came into my life. And you. And Ivy. I finally feel I have something worth bettering myself for. You know? I will look out for that little baby of yours as long as I live.’
I sigh. ‘Marc’s going to be so furious.’
‘What else could I do?’ Michael insists. ‘It could take him years to trust me again. By that time, Ivy could be all grown up.’
‘We can figure out a plan,’ I decide. ‘But listen. You can’t stay here. Marc isn’t stupid. He’s going to work out where I am, sooner or later. And if he knows you took his place at lunch—’
‘Too late.’ Michael’s face turns pale. ‘I think I’ve been rumbled.’
Marc strides across the dining deck, a thunderous look on his face.
Our waiter notices Marc, then looks back at our table. Bewildered, he turns his head back and forth between the two men like he’s watching tennis.
Marc reaches our table in five long strides. ‘Michael. Come with me. Right now.’
Michael manages a weak smile. ‘You’re sure you won’t stay for a drink?’
‘Don’t be too angry with him, Marc,’ I insist. ‘He was just—’
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Marc barks. ‘Get up, Michael. Now.’
Reluctantly, Michael stands. He takes a last hasty sip of his cocktail.
‘Sophia, stay here,’ says Marc. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
With Marc and Michael gone, the eyes of the dining room turn to me.
I want to hide behind a napkin.
Dimly, I notice Jen hurrying around tables.
‘You okay, Soph?’ she says, as she reaches my table.
I can’t manage much of a reply. ‘Um …’
‘Come with me.’ She grabs my arm and clicks her fingers at a waiter. ‘Have our lunches brought to Leo Falkirk’s cabin,’ she tells him. ‘Okay?’
38
Jen and Leo’s suite is lovely.
If I hadn’t seen my own, I would guess it was the best onboard.
There’s a cocktail bar, and real fish swim under the bathroom floor.
‘Leo loves those fish,’ says Jen, stooping to pick up a trail of towels. ‘God, he’s such a messy bastard.’
‘I can tell which side of the bed you sleep on,’ I remark.
On one bedside table sits a gleaming Kindle and neatly folded eye mask. The other has tangles of wires, loose script pages and a stray sock.
‘Bloody Leo,’ Jen moans, grabbing a crumpled pair of cargo shorts from the floor. ‘Can’t he behave like an adult, just once in his life? How can it be so messy already? We’ve been here like, half an hour.’
I laugh. ‘He’s good for you, Jen. He balances you out. You’re sensible, he’s childlike. And somewhere in the middle, you get magic.’
Jen’s eyes look faraway. ‘He can be magic sometimes.’ Her gaze falls on a pair of underpants. ‘But oh my GOD, why can’t he be tidier?’
‘No one’s perfect,’ I say.
‘Marc is perfect.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘He isn’t. He’s controlling.’
Jen falls backwards onto the soft bed, hands behind her head. ‘So how come Michael’s onboard anyway?’
‘He snuck on without anyone knowing,’ I tell her.
‘But why?’ Jen asks.
‘He wanted to see Ivy.’
‘That’s sweet.’ She throws pants into the open wardrobe.
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘If only Marc could see’
There’s a sharp knock on the door.
‘Sophia?’ Marc’s voice cuts through the wood.
Jen and I glance at each other.
‘I’ll get it,’ I tell Jen, opening the door. I find Marc in the doorway, frowning and serious, hands on hips.
‘You didn’t throw Michael overboard, did you?’ I say, trying for a joke.
‘The thought had occurred to me.’ Marc stalks into the suite, closing the door behind him.
‘I hope you listened to what Michael had to say.’ I sit on the bed. ‘He just wants to be a good brother and uncle—’
Marc paces back and forth. ‘My brother needs no one’s sympathy. He has too much of our father in him.’
‘But he didn’t mean to—’
‘Oh, he never means to.’ Marc throws his hands up. ‘But here we are, yet again. Another mess to sort out, thanks to Michael’s dazzling sense of humour. Jen – I’ll be needing your skills. The waiter on that dining deck needs a reason to keep quiet. I don’t care what it costs.’
‘I’m on it. Wait.’ She puts a hand to her mouth and runs to the bathroom. ‘Just … let me throw up quickly.’
‘Christ.’ Marc runs a hand through his hair. ‘Jen – it’s okay. You can’t work if you’re sick.’
‘It’s FINE!’ Jen shouts through the bathroom door. ‘I can do it. Just give me a minute.’
‘You don’t sound fine at all,’ Marc barks.
‘I’LL DO IT!’ Jen shouts, crashing out of the bathroom, drinking from a toothbrush mug. ‘I’ve just taken three sea-sickness tablets and gargled with Listerine. I’ll be fine. I am fine.’
Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘The indomitable Jen.’
‘You’ve got that right. Now excuse me, I have diners to talk to.’ Jen drops an iPad in her beige Chanel bag, fluffs her hair and clip clops out of the suite.
Marc’s smile grows. ‘She’s quite a girl, that friend of yours.’
‘I know. But listen. About Michael —’
‘It’s already done.’ Marc sits beside me on the bed. ‘He’ll leave the boat when we reach Spain. And stay out of sight until we get there. I’ve had a cabin arranged. All his meals will be below deck from now on.’
‘Sounds like you’re throwing him into prison,’ I say. ‘All he wanted to do was spend time with his family.’
‘And he did so in the most careless, thoughtless way.’
‘Not everyone is as logical as you, Marc. He just went with his heart.’
‘Well maybe he’ll learn to go with his head in future.’
�
�You’re not being fair. He wants to see Ivy. And I want him to see her too. The more love she has, the better.’
Marc is still frowning. ‘Michael can give her all the love he likes back in the UK.’
‘But you hardly ever let him visit,’ I point out.
‘Trust takes time.’
‘What else can he do? He’s trying, Marc,’ I say, taking his hand.
‘And so am I. You have to understand, Sophia. I’m doing my best to protect you and our daughter.’
‘I just think Michael deserves a break,’ I say.
Marc’s frown deepens. ‘In time.’
39
The ship ploughs on through clear waters, and with Ivy looked after by Tanya, Marc and I have a chance to explore our luxurious transportation.
‘This is like a floating paradise,’ I say, as we stroll past real flowerbeds and swaying palm trees, the sea churning below us.
On the top deck, we discover three salt-water swimming pools and various cocktail and champagne bars. On the deck below, we found a Turkish bath, cinema and massage room.
Marc and I dine alone that night, enjoying a champagne and seafood supper on our private balcony as we watch the pink sun set over sparkling water.
The sun fades, stars come out and I ask Marc if we’ll reach Spain by morning.
He leans back in his chair, watching the water. ‘Yes. Ms Malbeck’s luxury floating taxi service.’ His lips twitch. ‘And Benjamin Van Rosen’s too.’
I feel my stomach skip over.
Benjamin Van Rosen.
He’s an incredible actor, and almost as famous as Marc. Certainly as infamous.
‘Something the matter, Sophia?’ Marc turns to me, eyebrow raised.
I shake my head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Not nervous at all?’ He refills my champagne glass.
‘Of course not. I’m ready and raring to go.’
‘Sophia—’
‘Look, if I tell you the truth, you’ll just say “I told you so”.’ I pick up my glass.
‘Why don’t you try me?’ Marc asks.
I take a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles swill around my mouth.
‘Okay, fine. I’m incredibly scared. The nearer we get to filming, the more I feel … like maybe I’m not ready for this. Especially acting with someone of Benjamin Van Rosen’s calibre. And reputation. Happy now?’
‘Not in the slightest.’ He refills his own glass. ‘But you can’t back out.’
‘Of course not.’
Marc taps thoughtful fingers on the table. ‘So how about accepting some tuition?’
‘Tuition?’
Marc nods.
‘You’d teach me again? Out here?’ I ask, gesturing to the huge, dark ocean churning around us.
‘Why not?’ says Marc. ‘A classroom can be anywhere.’
‘You don’t want to rub it in?’ I say. ‘How right you were about me jumping in the deep end?’
‘I don’t see the purpose of humiliating you. At least, not outside the bedroom.’ Marc raises an eyebrow.
‘But there’s no time to teach me, Marc. We start filming tomorrow.’
Marc checks his watch. ‘There’s time. We can start right now.’
‘Now? It’s nine at night. Actually – ten o’clock Spanish time.’
‘There’s no time like the present.’ Marc pulls his sleeve cuff back in place. ‘But don’t expect me to go easy on you, just because it’s late.’
I laugh. ‘I’d forgotten how strict you could be.’
‘It gets results.’ Marc takes a neat sip of champagne, then examines his glass in the moonlight.
‘It certainly does.’
‘What are you struggling with, so far?’ Marc asks, placing his glass on the table.
‘The dialogue,’ I admit. ‘It’s so different to how we talk these days. The lines aren’t going in.’
Marc frowns. ‘You’ve been studying the script too hard.’
‘But you always memorise the whole script before you film,’ I insist.
‘True.’ Marc nods. ‘But you don’t need to hold on to it too tight.’
I grab the script from a sun lounger. ‘These sorts of lines – you can’t mess around with them too much. Or it’ll sound too modern.’
‘You can still ad lib,’ says Marc. ‘You’ll see. Once you relax.’
I turn pages. ‘You know, I’m supposed to hate you for a good part of this movie.’
‘I’m sure you have plenty of real life experiences to draw upon.’ Marc takes the script from my hand. ‘You don’t need that. Not right now.’
‘I do.’ I try to take my script back, but Marc holds it away from me.
‘Feeling contempt yet?’ he asks.
‘Beginning too.’
‘Good.’ Marc picks me up and throws me over one shoulder, the script still in his fingers.
I yell in surprise as he carries me into the suite and throws me on the bed.
‘Marc!’
‘Just getting into character,’ he says.
‘Hey.’ I sit up and push hair from my face. ‘Give me my script.’
‘I already told you. It’s not going to help you right now. You want to learn how to own this movie? You want to really feel the lines?’
‘Yes,’ I mutter.
‘Then listen to your teacher.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t adlib. It won’t sound right. The words just aren’t there. They’re all jumbled up and in the wrong order.’
‘Let’s try.’ He throws the script onto the study desk.
‘Marc—’
Suddenly, Marc flashes into character. ‘This is bullshit,’ he yells, his eyes furious and intense. ‘You don’t care about me. What am I to you? Nothing more than a half-time show. Grow up and go back to your boyfriend.’
Whoa.
They’re lines from the script. Sort of. Although Marc has put his own spin on them.
Sometimes I forget what an amazing actor Marc is. He’s just mesmerising.
I catch my breath.
For a moment, my mind trips over 1930s phrases. But then words begin to flow.
‘Why are you pretending?’ I snap back. ‘That dance meant something. You know it did.’
I try to stand again, but Marc pins my shoulders.
God, he is incredible. His conflict, loving my character, but hating her too … I can feel it all in his stare. I know of no other actor who can do that. Marc was so right to take this part. Benjamin Van Rosen would be nothing in comparison.
‘Go live your life, princess,’ says Marc.
‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ I shout, pleased that the words sound okay. Not too out of place.
Marc’s eyes are filled with pain. ‘Live it with him, not with me.’
‘I don’t want him,’ I yell. ‘I never wanted him. It wasn’t real. The way I feel about you … this is real. You’re real.’
I’m surprising myself. Okay, my words are a little modern. But the emotion is there, and I get what Marc’s trying to do. Find the emotion first. Worry about the words later.
Marc watches me for a moment, his blue eyes stormy and thoughtful. He holds the pause for just long enough. Long enough for the audience to lift themselves off their seats and scream, kiss her!
40
Then Marc kisses me.
His lips are firm on mine, and he is so passionate – uninhibited and uncontrolled.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, and our bodies tangle up.
Marc is Nicky – in love, but too proud to admit it. And I am Violet – the girl who wants him, but knows there is no future.
Marc pulls back and stares at me, breath rising and falling in his chest, his eyes intense and in love.
‘This can go nowhere,’ he says, his words panting and desperate.
‘I know,’ I gasp.
‘But I can’t stop.’ Marc pulls my top over my head and moves his lips down my chest and onto my breasts.
My body tightens and I gr
ab his hair.
‘Tell me you don’t love him,’ says Marc, his mouth on my skin.
‘Nicky—’
‘Tell me.’ Marc moves back up my body, cupping my face in his hands.
‘I don’t love him,’ I say softly. ‘I love you.’
Marc leans back onto his elbows, watching me with soft hurt in his eyes.
‘You don’t mean that, rich girl.’
‘Yes. I do.’
Marc shakes his head, and I see his sorrow. ‘This can go nowhere.’
‘Kiss me,’ I beg. ‘Please just kiss me.’
Marc stands, and suddenly he is himself again – cool and in control. ‘That’s not the line.’
‘I thought you wanted adlibbing,’ I say.
‘Don’t play games, Sophia. You know what’s supposed to happen in this scene. Nicky says there’s no future. And you are hurt. Frustrated. Rejected. And run back to your fiancé. If you can’t differentiate between your professional and private life, you have no business being an actress.’
‘I just wanted—’
‘I know want you wanted,’ says Marc. ‘I wanted it too. But an actor should stay in control. Always. Even in rehearsal. That’s what makes the difference between a great actor and someone who fades into the background. Control. Discipline and concentration. You’re the leading lady, Sophia. I expect more from you.’
I grab my top, holding it against my body. ‘I’d forgotten you could be like this.’
‘You need tuition,’ Marc barks. ‘You’ll have to take it how it comes. Strictness is necessary, because you obviously still haven’t learned to control yourself.’
‘I just lost it for a moment. I wanted to—’
Marc puts hands to his hips. ‘Acting isn’t about you. In this scene, Violet decides to go with her head.’
My body is still warm from Marc, and I want him so badly.
‘Maybe we could talk about this another time,’ I murmur. ‘And give into the moment …’
‘Oh no.’ Marc smiles. ‘You, young lady, need a lesson in self control. There are three more scenes like this one. If you can’t control yourself, there’ll be problems.’
I scoot to the edge of the bed. ‘It’ll be different when the cameras are rolling.’
