Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"
Автор книги: Tina Reber
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
I tried to be cheery enough for the both of us; after all, I was excited just being backstage like this, and it helped a lot that his father and Pete were here to lift his spirits. The men were talking about the Stanley Cup playoffs, joking that they were going to relocate their dinner plates by the first television they found in the restaurant tonight. I was thankful that Ryan’s brother kept his sarcastic, hurtful comments to himself this time. Ryan had enough on his mind; he didn’t need to be pushed over the edge tonight.
Marla was hovering around Ryan. She acted like he was her property, and she was on the defensive, blocking anyone who attempted to come close to him. She rudely interrupted the conversation he was trying to have with his family and I felt my anger flare. It was even more infuriating when she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. How petty and childish.
Sadness swirled back in me as she schooled him on the appropriate responses he should give during the interview to deflect any surprise questions Jimmy Collins might spring on him. Marla’s black heart didn’t change colors.
I stewed privately, twisting the diamonds on my finger to keep my hands busy while I paced behind the large black leather couch.
Ryan’s mother looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Taryn, would you like to sit?” Ellen asked, patting the space next to her on the couch. “Please. Come.”
I shook my head slightly, watching my fiancé intently. “That’s okay, Mom,” I said softly. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Trish slipped into the room through the closed door. Her eyes darted around, quickly assessing the tension in the room. I hoped she could read my body language to see how upset I was. We all heard Marla clearly when she told Ryan to “try not to screw this up.”
My fingers clenched into the back of the couch to keep from lunging at her. Ellen let out a maternal tsk and an audible huff, glaring eye daggers at Marla.
Trish quickly intervened. “Marla, excuse me. An assistant just told me that the stage director is looking for you.”
“Now?” Marla questioned. She looked at her watch and collected her bag. “Stay with him,” she ordered.
Ryan was sitting in the swivel chair, rubbing his forehead.
Trish appeared conflicted as she sidled up to his chair. “Ryan? Can we talk for a minute?”
Ryan followed her to the back corner of the room.
“So, are you ready? Are you all right with the format?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Trish, just tell him,” I pleaded, gazing nervously back at the door. I knew we only had ten minutes, if that, to get Ryan prepped.
“Tell me what?” Ryan asked, confused.
Trish cleared her throat. “You know Collins is going to ask about the proposal regardless.”
Ryan sighed. “I know. He wants the exclusive.”
“I was just wondering . . . if Marla wasn’t advising you, how would you handle it?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”
Trish took a deep breath. “I think the advice Marla gave you might be a mistake.”
Ryan looked at me, questioning why we were doing this to him right before he was due to walk out onstage.
“It’s your personal business, Ryan, but look at it this way—if you deny that you’re engaged, now that there are pictures and videos, your credibility is going to be worthless.” Trish reflexively glanced over her shoulder again to make sure Marla was still nowhere to be seen.
“When Collins brings it up, I think you should admit to it. Don’t embellish the story with personal information; just be honest and somewhat open. Your fans are going to cling to you if you expose your sensitive, romantic side,” she continued.
“I’m worried about the extra media attention on Taryn,” Ryan said, looking worried and guilty at the same time.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said adamantly. Ryan shot me a look, wordlessly telling me that it was impossible for him to do that.
“If you don’t fess up to it now, the media is going to keep pursuing the story and it’s going to get worse. Hiding it will only sensationalize it and Collins already knows that Taryn is in the building.”
Ryan nodded. “Tomorrow’s press conference?”
“Covered, just like today. Still Q-and-A only on the film,” she quickly replied.
“But I’ve spent the entire day avoiding the subject,” Ryan stressed.
“I know, but Jimmy is going to put you on the spot out there in front of a live studio audience regardless, so you need to be ready for it. This is a huge story, Ryan, and you know he wants it! Collins is renegotiating his contract with the network and he’s looking for the ratings boost. If he gets you to admit it—”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “What? Marla never told me that.”
Trish searched through her bag and retrieved a sheet of paper, which she immediately handed to Ryan.
“Just having you on the show tonight in light of everything is upping his points. See? You’re going to have to respond to it one way or another.”
He held back a curse. “How do I handle Night Life tomorrow then?”
“Same way,” Trish advised, stuffing the paper evidence back in her bag. “If you open up to Jimmy now, Nigel Allen is going to press even harder for new details tomorrow. His ratings are going to jump just because you acknowledged the engagement tonight—if you choose to do that. But if you do, then you’ll have both Collins and Allen in your pocket for further PR. But let’s not worry about that now.
You’ve got to concentrate on handling this appearance.”
Ryan glanced over to the doorway that led out to the main hallway. “Marla doesn’t know about this, does she?” He motioned with his finger, swaying it between the two of us.
“No,” I answered. “Trish is sticking her neck out to protect your reputation.”
“I’ll probably get fired tonight,” she huffed. “But anyway, you need to turn scandal into opportunity, Ryan. Treat it with honesty. Jimmy said that if he gets you to talk about your engagement, he’s going to try and contrast the romance in the movie back against your admission to keep it moving. I was there when Marla talked to him and his producer just before you came in for your pre-interview.”
Ryan blew out a big lungful of air through his pursed lips.
“It’s a good segue from your personal business back to the film,” Trish advised. “If you choose to talk about it, keep the details on the surface and take your time so you don’t blurt out anything too personal.”
“Tricia!” Marla barked harshly from the open doorway. Her high heels were clicking forcefully in our direction.
Ryan strolled away, deep in thought when Marla reached us. I thought about going with him just so I wouldn’t have to be that close to Marla, but I could not let Trish take the heat alone. After what she just did for us, I was not going to abandon her.
Trish was prepared, calmly deflecting Marla’s anger at being called away for nothing with quick answers. I looked away so she wouldn’t notice my smirk.
Ryan purposefully walked over to me and gathered my hand in his, pulling me away from Marla. “How are you doing?” he whispered privately.
I gave him my best “doing okay” nod and wink, even though my eyes slid back to see where Marla was. I think he caught my glance because he sighed heavily.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Excuse me, sir, we’re ready to seat your guests,” a crew member said to Ryan.
“I’ll see you later,” Ryan whispered, grasping my fingertips to pull me in for a soft kiss.
“Okay, hon. Good luck!” I watched his retreating back as a production assistant led him away.
Our group was ushered out into the hallway so we could take our seats in the studio audience. We had our own section off to the left side of the stage; I sat in the seat next to Ryan’s mom. Janelle, Ryan’s sister-in-law, sat next to me. Ryan’s father, Bill, kept fidgeting in his chair, anxiously waiting like the rest of us for Ryan to make his appearance onstage. Ryan was in the primary guest spot for the show, so he would be up first.
Janelle leaned over. “Are you okay?”
I was staring at one of the TV monitors, twisting my ring. My feet were bouncing up and down on the floor.
I shrugged. “Just nervous, I guess.”
“Why?” she questioned me strangely.
I leaned closer. “Photos of his proposal were leaked.”
Janelle scoffed. “Ah, so what.” And then I think it dawned on her. “Oh, he’s going to get asked about it now, isn’t he?” she said, appearing happy about it.
I nodded a few times, unwilling to tear my eyes away from the stage.
I held my breath as the camera returned to the host, Jimmy Collins, now seated at his desk after his monologue. His fingers picked at a magazine that lay facedown in front of him.
“Unless you’ve been living on the dark side of the moon, you know our first guest tonight had his breakout role playing time-traveling hit man Charles Conroy in the hit movie Seaside. He’s here tonight to tell us about his latest film, Reparation, which opens in theaters nationwide this Friday. Here he is on the cover of Entertainment Week. Please help me welcome Ryan Christensen!”
Music blared out of the studio sound system as I watched Ryan come out from around the corner. The entire audience sprang from their chairs. Women all around us went absolutely crazy, jumping up and down and shrieking for him. Their screams were ear-piercing.
Ryan waved and smiled, scratching his forehead before being greeted by Jimmy Collins. He looked nervous and totally overwhelmed by their reception.
Ryan leaned forward when he sat down, almost resting his head between his knees from the shock of the audience’s continued excitement. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was once again blown away by their devotion. I was glad to see he was still so humbled by it. Janelle leaned closer, excitedly nudging me with her elbow as she clapped for her brother-in-law.
“Your fans come out in masses! Thanks for stopping by here tonight. How have you been?” Jimmy asked Ryan, trying to proceed with the interview. The studio audience finally simmered down just barely enough for us to hear them speak to each other.
“Good! Real good, thanks!” Ryan replied. “Thanks for having me.”
“You know, you’re not the only one who can make women scream like that,” Jimmy teased. “Now if I could just get the women to stop screaming obscenities at me, I’d have this thing set!”
The crowd laughed at his joke.
Ryan snickered uncomfortably and took a sip from the cup they had setting there for him. “Sometimes they scream obscenities at me, too,” he admitted.
“I heard you had quite a reception by one of the fans when you arrived here,” Jimmy prompted.
“Yeah, I had just gotten out of the car and I was signing a few pictures and whatnot and I looked up and this girl lifted her shirt and flashed her . . . at me.” Ryan motioned, appearing both excited and appalled at the same time.
I gasped slightly at hearing the news that some girl showed her breasts to my fiancé.
“Did she want you to sign them?” Jimmy repeated Ryan’s motion.
“I honestly don’t know if she said anything at all. She was jumping up and down and screaming.” He laughed. “It was hard to hold a conversation with things, um, bouncing like that.”
Jimmy laughed and continued on. “That’s funny! So how are things? I think the last time you were here was about six months ago and we were talking about Seaside.”
The women in the audience went berserk from hearing that word.
Ryan looked out at the audience, shaking his head in amazement at their devotion.
“And I can see that the fan reaction has tripled since then. Wow!” Jimmy rubbed his ear. “It’s like pressing a hot button. Anytime I want to get my wife in the mood, I just burst into the bedroom and yell ‘Seaside’ and she instantly starts tearing her clothes off.”
Ryan laughed uncomfortably. “Glad to hear it works for you.”
“Of course it helps when I’m wearing my ‘Charles’ mask. I mean you and I are built so much alike that she can hardly tell the difference,” Jimmy joked, noticeably rolling his eyes to get a laugh out of the crowd.
“So how’s life been treating you?” Jimmy asked.
“Things are great. Really great! I just came from Miami, where I’ve been shooting a movie called Thousand Miles. It’s a bit of a thriller.”
That’s it, honey, pitch your movies. Keep the tempo going.
“And in like another two weeks I’ll be back on set in Vancouver for my next project,” Ryan said, nervously scratching his neck.
“And what’s that?” Jimmy asked.
“It’s a film called Slipknot. Jonathan Follweiler is directing it. This will be my first time working on a project with him, which is very exciting. And I get to do a little rock climbing, which I’m really looking forward to trying. It’s something that I’ve never done before. A little danger.”
“I hear you’ve been practicing for it, though. Climbing on tables and stuff?” Jimmy goaded Ryan with his comment, raising his eyebrows and tapping the note cards he held in his hand on the desk to get a rise out of the audience.
Laughter exploded all around us. I watched to see if Ryan’s expression would change, and sure enough, he flushed with embarrassment.
Jimmy quickly fired off his next question. “Now is the second Seaside finished or are you still working on that, too?”
Ryan fidgeted, adjusted his posture in the chair. “No, we’re finished. We wrapped in December.”
As if on cue, the audience screamed again.
“And where did you film that?”
“We filmed this one in a little town called Seaport in Rhode Island. It’s a beautiful place right on the coast.”
My breath hitched.
“And . . . what did you do while you were there? Meet anyone special?” Jimmy asked with the inflection of a nosey mother.
Ryan’s mouth opened and closed a few times; he appeared at a loss for words as he nervously scratched his forehead and squirmed in his chair.
Like a flash, in fast-forward I envisioned Ryan saying nine different answers, one right after the other.
My hopes rested on the one where he points at me and tells the world that he’s madly in love.
“We met a lot of nice people there,” he admitted slyly, smiling out at the audience when they screamed their excitement again. Ryan glanced over in my direction and, for a brief moment, I think our eyes met. “Everyone was great to us.”
I smiled proudly at my future husband.
“So, Ryan, you know everyone wants to know so I’m just going to ask. There are all these rumors flying around and pictures of you climbing on tables. So please—put these poor women out of their misery already and tell us. Are you an engaged man now?”
My fingers reflexively clenched the armrest as I held every bit of oxygen in my lungs, waiting . . .
anticipating. Jimmy had defied the interview agreements and put Ryan on the spot.
Ryan smirked, looking bashful and guilty, and for a moment I thought he was just going to blurt it out, as if the news he held so privately would just gush from his lips.
As quickly as it came, I saw the exact moment when it left.
“When aren’t I engaged?” Ryan bantered, trying to be funny. “Let’s just say I’m very, very happy and in a very good place in my life.”
The audience responded with a few outbursts and claps, but that was that—a fleeting moment—gone.
Not one mention about his personal life or the woman he pledged his undying love to from the top of a barroom table in front of his parents, my friends, and a crowd of strangers.
Physical disappointment pricked like a thousand needles into my arms, my chest, finally forcing my reluctant lungs to exhale.
Why didn’t he just . . . ?
Janelle looked at me with apologetic eyes, apparently feeling sorry for me. I slid my eyes away, refraining from engaging her pity.
After all this time, after all the reports and press, after the printed speculation of our engagement, I was still a part of his life to be publicly disavowed.
Chapter 3
Atonement
“Wow,” Ryan breathed out, setting his dark gray suit coat down over the chair when I came out of the bedroom.
“What?” I asked reflexively. I wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw or not, considering I had just spent the last two hours being painted, brushed, curled, and sprayed. I felt like an overdone walking makeup ad.
I smoothed my hands across the bodice of my strapless gown to assure that everything was in place.
The wardrobe stylist had selected a black satin and chiffon sheath, overlaid with fine silver lace by Versace. It had a high slit to show a little thigh and flowed like water over my curves. A teardrop diamond pendant and matching earrings finished off the look.
“You are absolutely stunning,” he continued breathlessly, pacing each word as if to give it proper emphasis. His swagger and smoldering eyes told me that I wasn’t the only one having naughty thoughts about stripping each other bare. He was absolutely beautiful dressed up. My desire to rend the shirt right off his back and roll my tongue around on his muscular chest had me hungry and blushing.
“What do you think?” He seemed unsure of his attire, tugging at his vest to straighten it. “Does this look okay?”
It wasn’t the first time I had seen him in a suit, but tonight in a three-piece, custom-tailored, charcoal-gray Armani he looked devastatingly handsome. I nodded emphatically, distracted by thoughts of him wearing nothing but that white dress shirt at some point in the very near future. Opened instead of buttoned to display every hard line of his chest and abs. I straightened the knot of his black-patterned necktie and smiled. “I think you look like a gorgeous movie star.”
Ryan cradled my face in his hands and smiled gently, kissing me softly as he always does. His blue eyes, framed by those gorgeous long lashes, locked on to mine. “I love you,” he whispered.
I kissed him and returned his sentiment, but deep inside I privately ached. All day I had tried to get over my sullen mood, and even though I loved him with every fiber of my soul, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed by him. Okay—honestly, I was feeling very disappointed by him.
“Hey.” He gently grasped my arm when I turned to walk away. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t want to get into a discussion about my dejected feelings before his premiere. He didn’t need to deal with that right now. Mom always used to say to “sleep on things for a night” before acting rash.
Maybe with time I’d see things in a different light. I had spent most of last night praying for an epiphany.
“Nothing is wrong.” I tried to dismiss his keen observation by putting on a forced grin to shake off his speculation.
“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?”
