Love Unrehearsed (7 page)

“Bullshit,” he returned with a sharp laugh as he followed me into the bathroom. “You don’t think I can tell when you’re upset, Tar? Give me some credit.”

Ryan trapped me at the bathroom sink; his chest pressed into my back. I could feel the warmth of his breath heating my ear. “I know you better than you think I do.”

I swallowed hard, loving that he cared to know my feelings but hesitant to share them before I had sorted those feelings out.

“You’ve been this way since dinner last night, and every time I’ve asked, you’ve avoided telling me. So please don’t tell me you’re
fine
anymore. What’s going on?”

He kissed my bare shoulder tenderly.

I opted for saving him from my bruised emotions. “It’s not important. We can talk later. You have enough to deal with right now.”

His arms crossed over my abdomen, pulling me closer. “No. I’m not waiting that long. We made a promise to each other, remember? More open and honest? I want to know what’s bothering you, and I want to know what it is right now.”

I looked at him through our reflection in the large mirror, stalling.

“Right now,” he ordered, his voice taking on a new, direct tone.

My will cracked. “I thought you were going to say something on the show last night, that’s all.” I casually added a shrug, trying to lessen the impact.

“About what?”

My apprehension to go down this road made me fidget. “About being engaged. I just thought . . . since you didn’t say anything on Jimmy Collins that you might say something on Night Life, but you didn’t. I’m trying not to be one of those needy girls, Ryan, but I just don’t understand why you’ve avoided confirming it when they asked.”

I hoped his reasons weren’t any of the ones on my speculated list.

It took all of ten seconds for him to break eye contact and make a few of his standard throaty noises before his hands freed me. Next came his “stare at the floor and rub the forehead” maneuver.

I turned my eyes back to the sink counter. This repeat pattern of having to walk on damn eggshells around men was getting so freaking old. “See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything. I know you have your reasons, Ryan. It’s just . . . I thought I was your fiancée, but I can’t help but feel as though I’m some dirty little secret.”

Ryan closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. “You’re not a dirty secret, Taryn. Nor have you ever been.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

He paled as if I’d just smacked him. “Of course not! Why would you even say that?”

“You denied being engaged to me on television and during every interview. I don’t understand why, beyond Marla telling you not to, so what else am I to think? I’m sorry, but I can’t help feeling the way I do.”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” he grumbled, letting his hands slap down on his thighs.

I held his gaze, worried that he might think I was even remotely interested in having this turn into an argument. “I love you—with all of my heart. I want to be your wife, your partner. I want to be by your side through all of your adventures. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or what role I’m supposed to play. Help me to understand, Ryan. Help
me
to be a part of all of this.”

Ryan exhaled with new frustration. “Tar, you see how things are—the paparazzi, the fucking tabloids. They take
everything
from me. Everything I hold sacred. Why can’t our private life stay private, you know? If I give them that, then what do I have left? Nothing.”

Massive confusion tore through my mind, followed closely by my anger. “Maybe I should just stay here then. That way I can stay a private matter,” I muttered to the tiled floor.

“No. Fuck that.”

I studied the design in the lace of my dress for a moment before begging his eyes for some clarity. “Just answer one question. Why did you do it? If you don’t want to acknowledge that we’re engaged, if it’s supposed to be some well-guarded secret, why did you make your proposal public?”

“You don’t understand.” With a short huff, Ryan stood and stepped around me to head toward the door.

Wonderful. Just like every other guy I’ve ever been with. Bail when the topic gets a little uncomfortable. That’s it. Walk away.
“You’re right. I don’t.”

Ryan stopped on the threshold and gripped the door frame with both hands, completely surprising me. His head hung low for a moment. “I didn’t say anything on Jimmy Collins because all that asshole wanted was a confession to up his ratings.”

He turned around and then paced the length of the bath, from the cavernous sandstone-tiled shower to the doorway and back again. “The intimate details of our personal life are
not
for public discussion, Tar. Nor am I going to allow it to be used to make other people rich. That’s
our
life—our business.”

I drew in a quick breath when he moved to stand directly in front of me.

“I make movies. That’s what I do for a living. If I go on a talk show, it’s to talk about my job, drum up more hype for the movie. Not to spill secrets about our personal life.”

“But there’s so much of your life that’s public. I always thought it was happy news when people got engaged.”

His hard glare softened as he took my left hand in his. “It
is
happy news. You’re my everything, Taryn, not my secret.” Ryan’s right hand drifted down my cheek, touching much more than just skin. “I just don’t want to share what is most sacred to me with the entire world on a talk show. You’re my world, babe. Mine. Not theirs. They can have me, but they can’t have you, too.”

His brow creased, frowning as though he was torn. “I was going to sing a different song to you when I proposed. I had it all planned. Everything was supposed to be private. But then everything got so screwed up and I ran out of time.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “Hell, everyone thought I’d been unfaithful to you, Taryn. Even you. At that time, considering . . . well, I felt a grand gesture was necessary.”

I took a deep breath, strewn with personal regret, knowing I was one of those who doubted.

Ryan dipped his head to recapture my eyes. “I was mad and hurt and then I thought . . .” His hand cradled my cheek. “God, I was so scared of losing you.”

Repentant tears pooled in my eyes as memories of that planted love letter and disastrous trip to Florida flooded back into my thoughts. “I thought I had lost you.”

His head swayed, forming a silent no.

I wiped the moisture from under my eye. “That song, the one you sang to me, I loved it. It was beautiful. Perfect. I’d really love to hear it again sometime.”

He smiled. “I wrote that song on the airplane. I wanted you to know how serious I am about us. How much I want you in my life, Taryn. I meant it when I said forever. That’s why. You are
it
for me. But the
me
that knelt in front of you that night and the
me
that is standing in front of you right now is not the same
me
that’s out there in the spotlight.” He thumped his hand over his heart. “They only get the outside, not the inside. That’s for you.”

God, the way he looked directly into my soul, I knew he was sincere. I rested my hand on his heart. “You know I love you, Ryan. All sides of you. Sometimes I—”

“Sweetheart, we’ve been through so much together.” His voice cracked. His thumb brushed over my lower abdomen. “There are things that I just don’t want to openly talk about, especially on national television. You bring me peace. That’s mine to cherish, not theirs.”

“And I hope you know that I’m trying to understand how all this works. That’s why I didn’t even want to start this conversation. I was trying to sort it out on my own. I guess I just don’t understand Marla’s reasoning sometimes.”

“I don’t understand sometimes, either, but I’m trying to trust what she says I should do. She has her reasons for protecting me—I mean us. She didn’t want me to sensationalize it on national television, although the story is out there already.” He shrugged.

Ryan tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Besides, in less than an hour, millions will know. As much as I want to protect you from the total craziness that is my life, I know I can’t do that forever. So everything changes tonight, but it changes on my terms.” He gently smiled at me, rubbing his thumb over my lips.

I breathed a sigh of relief but it didn’t seem to last long. Twenty minutes later I watched as he roamed around our bedroom, obviously on a frantic hunt.

“You put your watch in the bag inside your suitcase.” I pointed, knowing what he was looking for.

“How did you . . . ? Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he mumbled.

I thought about saying something witty back to him but I refrained. He had been in his own private foul mood ever since lunch, when Marla called his attention to all the slams that he received from the press this morning. Ryan emphatically stated that he didn’t care about the negative comments, but it was obvious that he did.

Instead of sitting and relaxing, Ryan paced. The more he paced and the closer it came time for us to leave, the more agitated he seemed to become. He picked his suit jacket up and then immediately set it back down, only to pick it right back up again. Then he patted his pockets, checking that he had his cell phone for the umpteenth time.

I was putting my lipstick in my small evening bag when Ryan breathed out forcefully.

“Is it hot in here?” He started pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck and I noticed he looked a little pale.

I shook my head. I actually thought the room was cold.

He wiped some moisture from his brow. “I’m freaking sweating.”

I was started to think that it was more than the temperature that was making him sweat. “Are you feeling sick?”

“A little. I sort of feel lightheaded, actually. Man it’s hot in here.” His breathing became labored and he was turning white.

Oh, no. Not now.

I did the first thing I could think of—I got him air.

Ryan was leaning on the wall absorbing the full blast of the air-conditioning vent when our family and friends convened in our suite.

Ellen peeked around one of our bedroom’s double doors. “What’s wrong with Ryan?”

I tried to prevent her from hovering by blocking her entry. “He’s feeling a little queasy,” I lied. “He’ll be all right. He just needs a minute.”

I had seen Ryan like this before and I knew exactly what was happening. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he was quietly freaking out. I was also wise enough to know what it was that brought it on.

“He’ll be down when he’s ready,” I said to David when he poked his nose around the door. I didn’t mean to get snippy with him, but Ryan didn’t need anyone snapping their fingers at him right now. It’s not like anxiety attacks have an exact timetable. I was glad when Mike took over and cleared everyone out of our suite.

I rubbed Ryan’s back and shoulders. The first time I’d seen him like this was when the street and sidewalks outside my pub were crowded with fans.

“You okay?”

Ryan’s head dipped, slowly swaying his assent; he was breathing heavily.

My heart ached for him, knowing his private suffering. “Mike will be by your side the entire time. You know he won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, trying to measure his breathing. “But things are different now.”

“You’ve done this countless times before. You’re going to be just fine. Your fans adore you.”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about.” He shook out his hands. “You have
no
idea. No idea. You don’t know how easy it is for someone in the crowd to just stick out a knife or a needle or a . . . or a gun . . . God, if something ever happened to you—”

I knew he was deep in the panic stage now. “Hey, come on. Just breathe with me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and paced each breath—slowly in, slowly out—hoping that this would calm him like it did the last time. “No one is going to hurt us.”

He cinched his hands around my arms, almost too hard, and glared down at me. “We share the world with lunatics, Taryn. You’ve seen how far some of my fans are willing to go,
so don’t tell me there is no threat!
Angelica was just one of hundreds.” I gasped a little. I think he realized how hard he was gripping me. His hands eased slightly. “I want you to stick tight to the event security tonight. If they tell you to move or go you listen, okay? No questions. You follow their orders. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not kidding, Tar. You’ve never experienced this. It’s going to be a shock. You’ve never seen crowds like this. If shit goes down, security is going to block me from getting to you.” Something new, something frighteningly alarming, coated his expression. This was beyond panic. His possessive grasp tightened again. “They will be in my way and I won’t be able to protect you myself and Mike will be—”

I pressed into him tighter as my own body trembled. “Ryan, please. You’re sort of scaring me. I get it.”

He sighed heavily into my hair. “I’m going to demand extra security from now on. Make sure you’re well protected.”

“Honey, you need to calm down. You’re shaking. Didn’t you take your medicine today?”

He sat down in one of the chairs. “No. Can you get me one? Hopefully that will . . . will do the trick.”

I dug through his bag for his anxiety medicine. No one knew that the famous Ryan Christensen suffered from agoraphobia. Large crowds totally freaked him out. “You know you have to take these every day. You’re not supposed to skip.”

He finished the glass of water while I hoped we had enough time to let the medicine kick in. Usually, he was good within a half hour. A gentle knock on our door startled us both.

Mike was waiting. He had changed out of his casual attire from this morning and was looking downright sexy dressed up in a black suit, white shirt, and sharp cobalt-blue tie. I had appreciated his good looks before, but dressed to the nines, he was freaking gorgeous.

He looked at Ryan with brotherly reverence and understanding, truly concerned and full of caring. “Are you okay, man? Your team is pushing to leave but just tell me if you need more time. I’ll call downstairs and tell them to wait.”