by Nicola Marsh
She didn’t have to open them to know what kind of rubbish had been written about her.
PM’s daughter shacked up in Gold Coast love nest.
Ava Beckett under extreme heat with new lover.
From one extreme to another: PM’s daughter runs from diplomat’s arms into adrenalin junkie’s.
Blah, blah, blah.
Roman unlocked his door in record time and she stomped in, knowing she’d have to get a handle on her temper before she said something stupid.
This wasn’t his fault but a small part of her blamed him: for tempting her into a fling in the first place, for cultivating a relationship with the very vultures that’d written this rubbish about her. Irrational reasons fuelled by anger and exacerbating the emotions whirring through her like a pinwheel.
Having Roman propose a relationship had thrown her and having to cope with this hot on the heels of his heartfelt declaration…
He dumped his magazines on a glass table and she did the same, her gaze lighting on the top one, with an old pic of her taken last year at some garden tea party and the headline SUN, SEX & SIZZLE: PM’S DAUGHTER GOES TO EXTREMES.
Compressing her lips to stop from swearing, she picked it up and flicked through, her fury exponentially growing as she speed-read the drivel they’d written about her and Roman.
That was when it hit her.
Roman’s precious reputation…
He’d walked away from his mother when she’d threatened to ruin it via the very medium she held in her trembling hands.
Oh no…
The magazine tumbled from her lifeless fingers as the implication sank through the numbness perforating her heart.
If they stayed together, his reputation wouldn’t just be in jeopardy, it’d be ruined.
All the years of hard work he’d put into cultivating it, gone, torn to shreds, because of her.
She couldn’t do it to him.
‘Hey, sit down, you’re shaking.’
He guided her into a nearby chair and she let him hold her, knowing it would be the last time.
‘You know I’m going to throw all of these into the bin, right?’
She mumbled a response, her mind reeling at what she had to do. Tear apart their short-lived happiness and dreams of a future.
‘They’ve probably invented a whole lot when they couldn’t get a comment from us at the Palazzo so don’t worry about it.’
She pulled out of his embrace, hating what she was about to do.
‘Don’t worry? Are you nuts?’
He winced. ‘You’re seriously peed off.’
‘I passed seriously peed off about five minutes ago when I realised I can never escape this.’
Sharp regret, deep and cutting, slashed her resolve. But she loved him too much for him to lose everything because of her.
‘As long as I’m with you.’
He flinched as if she’d struck him. ‘Look, I know you hate the paparazzi because of your past but—’
‘You know nothing about my past!’
Aching from the realisation she’d have to push him away once and for all, she lashed out, emotionally careening out of control.
‘You want to know about my past? Try being a teenage girl having a bunch of sleazy PR guys watching what you eat and how much you exercise just because they think you’re a few pounds too heavy for the cameras. Try having a homeless guy spit in your face because he thinks your dad’s policies keep him on the streets. Try having some psycho creep stalk you because he has grand kidnapping plans to make a quick million.’
Her chest heaved as a red haze settled over her eyes. ‘Try having a dad who only saw you as a prop, an adjunct to his all-important career. Try having bodyguards watching your every move on a trip to the mall so you can’t even pee in peace. Try having a battered self-esteem because you have no idea whether people like you for who you are and not just your name.’
He reached out and she sidestepped him. ‘Try having your divorce spread over the tabloids every day for a week. Having your character questioned and speculated over and found lacking. Being called everything from ice queen to frigid. Having people point at you in the street and snigger and worse. People who don’t care about shredding your reputation…I can’t do it.’
She tasted saltiness, unaware she’d started crying during her tirade and this time when he made a move to touch her she let him. She let him hold her. She let him smooth her back. She let him murmur comforting words.
Then she let him go.
Drained, she propped on the back of the couch, knowing if she sank into it she’d be tempted to not get back up.
‘We can handle this—’
‘No, we can’t.’
She clutched the couch for support, her bravado wavering beneath the intensity of his bewildered hurt.
‘You said it yourself, Roman. You’re a celebrity. Your profile is important to you—you need publicity.’
‘Extreme sports are underrated, I need to foster the right image for sponsors, competitions—’
‘I understand but I can’t do this again.’
‘I’ll be with you every step of the way, supporting you. We can travel to places anonymously, out-of-the-way places—’
‘I don’t want that kind of life.’
It ripped her heart to say it but she had to, had to make him understand the cost she was willing to pay for him.
‘I don’t want to hide away any more. I’m done skulking around because of the intrusion of others. I’m done ducking from long-range cameras and wearing stupid disguises. I’m done…’
He dragged in a breath, harsh in the gloomy silence.
‘Where does that leave us?’
Regret clogged her throat, the burn of tears making her blink.
‘I can’t live under a spotlight again, Roman.’
The tears finally fell and she swiped them away. ‘Even for you.’
His anguish matched hers as she strode towards the door and out of his life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AVA interviewed the eco lodge owner, wrote her article and handed it in a day before deadline.
With her board paid until tomorrow she spent the day touring the island, swimming, trying to obliterate the memory of Roman now she’d stopped working.
But no matter how many laps she did or how many shops she browsed, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Thinking about the carefree, adventurous life he’d painted for both of them, with him following his dream of bringing his sport to the world’s attention, her following her dream to write, to travel, to revel in her independence and the life she’d created for herself.
Oh yeah, she’d pondered it at great length but every time her fantasy life materialised in her head it disappeared just as quickly under the weight of flashing cameras and intrusive microphones and long-range lenses.
How many years had she put up with this? Too many but crazily she’d do it again if it meant Roman wouldn’t be tarnished with her poor press reputation.
And that was what kept her away despite the constant urge to pick up the phone or visit his hotel. She knew he was still here; she’d seen flyers around advertising extreme sports tutoring with his handsome face beside the fine print and if she didn’t love him so much she would’ve signed up for a crash course in whatever mad stunt he was teaching.
Logically, she was trying to protect him but her aching heart was having a hard time adjusting.
She’d been desperate for adventure a few weeks ago: new job, fresh start and he’d seemed like the perfect adjunct to that. Nothing serious, a bit of lighthearted fun, a transient guy with a nomad life who’d bring a taste of the illicit into her previously dull life.
Yet somewhere along the way her heart had opened to a gorgeous, warm-hearted, free-spirited, charming guy who had offered her a relationship with no strings attached.
And she’d sacrificed the lot for him.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she hugged tight to stop the empty
, sick feeling churning her belly.
Some day this pain would subside. For now she had to concentrate on rebuilding her life and forget how much she loved Roman and how much she’d lost for that love.
Roman snuck a peek behind the curtain into the hotel’s ballroom and rubbed his hands together. Full house. Good, the more the merrier for what he had to say.
The irony wasn’t lost on him; the paparazzi he’d deliberately cultivated in his career had ended up costing him the woman he loved.
Loved…
He still couldn’t believe it. He loved Ava, a revelation that had been born of his misery and soul-searching the last week, leaving him tight-chested and confused and just a little bit crazy.
Over the last seven days he’d nursed his bruised ego, inventing all sorts of reasons why they wouldn’t have worked and he’d be better off without her. Stupid, irrational reasons, such as they were too different and she’d never stick around now she’d found her independence and she was probably just on the rebound.
But for every lousy reason his head came up with, his heart counteracted with another: she was funny and smart and willing to expand her horizons. She was beautiful and caring and so cute in her quest to live in the moment.
He’d left her alone though, having no experience in chasing women and not wanting to start now. Yeah, he sounded like an arrogant jerk but it wasn’t until a full week had passed he realised that was part of his problem.
Not the arrogance thing, but the fact he’d never had to work hard for female attention. His lifestyle, along with the danger aspect of his profession, ensured he was never short of female company. And he’d lapped it up, the same way he’d revelled in the adulation he’d received for his sporting prowess. Which made him think…was the attention as much of a buzz as the adrenalin rush?
Considering his mum had never paid him any—other than to make his life hell for ‘holding her back’—it was probably all very Freudian. He wanted what he’d never got as a child. So where did all the psychoanalysis leave him?
Ava didn’t want any part of the attention he lapped up. How could the two of them stand a chance when he needed to promote the celebrity status she abhorred?
He’d rehashed her final meltdown a hundred times in his head until he’d had a breakthrough. Something she’d said at the end about the press shredding reputations and it was as if a light bulb had gone off.
She’d said she didn’t want to be part of his life because of his celebrity status but what if there was more to it? What if she’d taken all that stuff he’d blurted about his mum and his reputation, and was doing this out of some warped way to protect him?
He could imagine her doing something like that, something so self-sacrificing, just as she’d done her entire life. Giving up who she was, what she really wanted to be, to do right by her dad and her husband. What if this time round she was doing the same thing for him?
The more he thought about it, the stronger his gut latched onto it as the truth.
There was only one way to find out and that was why he’d called a press conference here today. Once Ava heard what he had to say he hoped the truth would set them free.
Hoping she’d come, he scanned the crowd, finally spotting her in the far back corner, hiding behind sunglasses shading half her face and a floppy straw hat, and his heart stopped. She’d achieved what no amount of sand-boarding or sky surfing or white-water kayaking had achieved. His heart had to have stopped because he couldn’t breathe and it wasn’t until he searched the crowd and found her again did it kick-start.
While his lungs did their best to inject oxygen into his bloodstream again, he drank in another glance at her, dragged in several deep breaths and kinked his neck from side to side in his usual warm-up ritual.
He rarely experienced more than a fizz of fear jumping out of a plane but stepping onto this stage and declaring the truth for the woman he loved in the hope she’d take him back?
Absolutely freaking terrifying.
When Ava had received an email from Rex saying she’d got the job, she’d been ecstatic. Until she read the addendum: she had to attend a press conference today to get the low-down on whatever announcement the hotel was making and possibly nab an interview with the owner.
She would’ve rather taken out a full-page ad in a major newspaper and posed naked than attend a room full of press but considering this was her first bonafide writing gig she had little choice.
Waiting ’til most of the crowd were inside, she slunk behind them, positioning herself against the farthest back corner. The sunglasses and hat were a little extreme but the last thing she needed was any of this crowd twigging to her identity.
A lone figure strode onto the stage and she sagged against the wall in shock.
Roman stared directly at her, his gaze defiant? Challenging? What was he trying to tell her? Better yet, what the hell was he doing up on stage?
Her confusion increased when he stepped up to the microphone, slid it out of its holder and brought it to his lips, not too close, not too far, a veteran.
‘Thanks for coming today, ladies and gentleman. I promised you an exclusive and you’re going to get it.’
Trepidation tiptoed across the back of her neck, raising hackles. She didn’t like surprises and seeing the guy she loved in front of a crowd of jackals she usually despised? Didn’t bode well.
They would’ve seen the articles written about him in conjunction with her: the supposition, the speculation. Surely he didn’t want to be questioned less than a week after those trashy magazines had hit newsstands here?
‘I called you here today because there have been a lot of falsities reported and I want to clarify a few issues.’
Silence reigned and she stifled the urge to clear her throat.
‘My life has been an open book for the press. I like you guys.’
He made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and cocked it at the audience, who laughed.
‘But I don’t like reading rubbish bordering on slander and that’s what’s been happening lately with a friend of mine.’
Her heart twanged. She’d been relegated to friend status. Considering how she’d walked away from his offer, she should be grateful.
‘Though that’s not entirely true. She’s much more than a friend.’
His steely stare pinned her with a ferocity that snatched her breath.
‘She’s the woman I love.’
His gaze didn’t waver and a few of the reporters started looking around, trying to follow his line of sight, while she shrank farther into the corner.
Why was he doing this? It could only hurt his reputation more than she already had.
‘The thing is, she loves me too and has this warped way of showing it, by wanting to leave me in order to protect me.’
Shock ripped through her and she straightened, wishing she could read his expression from this distance. Had he really figured it out? Why she’d walked away from him?
‘You see, my reputation is important to me. I’ve projected a certain image for a long time now but it’s time to clue you in on the rest.’
Ava had no idea what Roman was about to say but the expectant silence pulsated with curiosity as the horde leaned forward collectively, waiting for their next titbit to blow up out of all proportion.
‘My father? No idea who he was as my mum won’t tell me but that’s the least of her problems. She’s an alcoholic who has finally agreed to go into rehab. And has given me the okay to tell you all of this.’
Not comprehending what brought on Roman’s lapse into the full-blown truth, she struggled not to squirm under the impact of his unwavering stare. It was as if the room were empty and he were speaking directly to her.
‘I wanted this all out in the open so there’s absolutely no dirt you can dig up on me, nothing you can invent because now you know it all. And to my beautiful girlfriend who I love very much and who has been protecting me and my precious reputation, you have no excuse to not spend th
e rest of your life with me any more.’
The women in the crowd sighed and Ava blinked back tears.
He knew.
And he’d done all this for her. Stood up in front of this room, which equated the world once the copy hit their editors’ desks, and laid bare his soul without thought for the reputation he’d spent a lifetime building.
If he loved her that much, and she loved him more, what was she waiting for?
She slid the sunglasses off, yanked off the hat and stuffed them into her bag, which she hid behind an indoor pot plant before squaring her shoulders and marching through the crowd towards the stage.
If Roman had done this for her, the least she could do was confront her demons for him.
Roman had been about to step off the stage when he saw Ava weaving her way through the crowd, cool and elegant in a calf-length lemon dress that skimmed her curves and accentuated the tan she’d acquired. She looked fresh and vibrant and ready to take on the world. His world with a bit of luck.
He’d laid his heart on the line but the closer she got to the stage he was no closer to determining whether she’d give them another chance.
Her heels clacked against the stairs as she stepped up onto the stage and the low buzz in the room died out to nothing.
He wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to never let her go. Instead, he respected the directive she issued with a slight wave of her hand and stepped back from the microphone.
He wondered if the press noticed the slight tremble of her hands as she gripped the microphone stand and the subtle shift of her body weight from side to side. She was nervous, that much was obvious, and he would’ve moved to stand beside her if not for that determined glare she’d given him as she’d stepped onto the stage, as if he’d said his piece and now it was her turn.
She cleared her throat once, twice, before tilting her chin up and facing down her biggest nightmare.
‘As many of you know I’m Ava Beckett, daughter of Earl Beckett, Australia’s recent prime minister. You’ve written about me for years, reserving a special place in your journalistic hearts for my recent divorce, but I’m here today to give you the latest scoop in the hope you’ll respect my privacy later.’
