Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (2 page)

I’d been trying not to think about what’s waiting for us outside the college.

Wrapped up in Marc’s arms, cocooned in my bedroom, we’re safe. But out there ... I know paparazzi will be waiting for us. Waiting for me, more precisely.

They’re going to get quite the story this morning. A Marc Blackwell bonus.

I think about the picture they took of Marc and
me at my dad’s house. God knows what story they’ll tell with it in the morning papers. Innocent girl seduced by wicked older man? Or slutty student seduces her Hollywood hunk teacher?

‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Marc asks, serious now. I was enjoying his playful side and wish,
wish
we could just be a normal couple. But ... we’re not. Not in any way.

‘Nearly.’ I’m enjoying my cheek against his warm chest and want a few more minutes of him – his bare skin, his beaut
iful smell and his strong arms.

We lay like that for a moment, until I
force myself to move.

‘Let’s do it,’ I say, tearing myself away from him.

‘You’re sure? Because Sophia, I could get out of here without being seen. You can still call this off. I didn’t want any of this for you. Believe me. I still don’t.’

‘But I want you,’ I say. ‘And all this comes with you. It’s part of you.’

Marc props himself on his elbow, and I get a nice view of his long, toned arm. ‘Let’s have breakfast, then go give them their pictures.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m too nervous to eat.’

‘You should eat something.’

‘Honestly
, I couldn’t. I just want to get this over with.’

Marc sighs. ‘Fine. If you insist.’

I slip away from him and go to my wardrobe. I put on clean underwear, and my hand hovers over a navy trouser suit Jen made me buy for auditions. I should look smart. Capable. Adult. Not too young.

I feel Marc behind me, and he reaches over my shoulder to pluck out my favourite pair of skinny jeans.

‘Wear what’s you,’ he says. ‘Be yourself today. They should know who you really are. They’ll love the real you, just like I do.’

I turn to him and look up into his blue eyes, so clear and light today, like diamonds reflecting the sky. ‘
Marc. Why do you love me? I mean ... that’s what they’ll all be thinking, won’t they? Why would someone like you fall in love with someone like me?’

He smiles, and my heart melts. ‘Because you’re you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You don’t see it, do you?’

‘See what?’

‘What it is that makes people love you.’

‘People don’t love me,’ I laugh. ‘At least, no more than anyone else. I don’t see what makes
you
love me. I’m just ordinary. Just an ordinary girl from an ordinary place.’

‘You’re certainly
not
ordinary,’ says Marc. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you in my life. If you’d been anyone else, this situation would never have happened.’ He sighs. ‘Christ, what a mess.’

I feel a pain in my chest. ‘A mess? Is that how you see us?’

Marc lifts his head, and I see pain in his eyes. ‘Not you. Me.’

‘You’re not a mess. You’re perfect.’

Marc laughs. ‘And that’s why I love you, Sophia. Because everything to you is good.’ He puts his arms around me. ‘Get dressed, now. Your public is waiting.’

We walk out of the accommodation tower, hand-in-hand, dazzled by the bright sunlight. I’m wearing my most comfortable clothes – a black sweater that I’ve had since forever, jeans and Converse. The real me.

Of course, I’m also wearing the navy cashmere coat Marc bought me that fits like a glove and gives me a far better figure than I have. A little bit of Marc can’t hurt today.

Marc is wearing what he wore last night – a black t-shirt, cargo pants a
nd grey trainers. He’s showered, and his hair is a little damp.

No coat, of course. Typical Marc. He’s not noticing the cold at all, and it certainly
is
cold today. He looks every bit the action hero, and I marvel at the fact this man, this handsome Hollywood actor, is holding my hand. We’re together. It feels crazy to even think those words. But they’re true.

The grounds are quiet and empty, and there’s a feeling of total stillness as we crunch along the gravel path. I guess it must come from all those sleeping students, metres away from us in their warm beds. Lucky them. All they have to worry about is breakfast and today’s lectures.

It’s a beautiful, cold crisp day, and the icy white blue sky reminds me of the day Marc found me in the woods. A sliver of fuzzy sun shines above us, but it’s definitely autumn now. Almost winter. The air is cold and mist is coming from our mouths.

What wi
ll become of my life at college once we tell the world?

‘Marc.’ I squeeze his hand and pull him to a stop. ‘What will happen, once we tell everyone? Will I ever come back here?’

Marc smiles. ‘Of course you will. It’s all arranged.’

‘What ... how?’

Marc takes both my hands in his. ‘I planned everything.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘In the highly unlikely event that you’d decide to throw away your privacy and your safety to be with a man like me.’

I smile. ‘You must have known what an easy choice it would be for me.’ I raise an eyebrow back.

‘I have other plans in place, too.’

‘Other plans?’

‘In case you change your mind.’

‘Change my mind?’ I swallow. Does he not have any clue how I feel about him? ‘I won’t change my mind.’

Marc shakes his head and his brow furrows. ‘Don’t speak too soon.’

‘Marc, I -’

Marc squeezes my hands. ‘I won’t be teaching you anymore. At least, not in the classroom.’

‘No, Marc. You promised. You can’t leave. The other students -’

‘Sophia. You should know by now, I would never break a promise to you. I’ll still be teaching the other students. But you and I will have private tuition. You won’t be attending my classes anymore. I don’t think it would be appropriate, do you?’

I think about that. It seems
like an ideal solution, so ... what’s my problem?

I
suck in a breath. ‘Things like this, can we talk them over first?’

‘You don’t like what I’ve planned?’

‘I don’t like not being
asked
.’

Marc pulls me too his chest, and black cotton rubs my cheek.

‘Oh, Sophia, Sophia. I promise I will do my very best to stop being a controlling monster. For you, anything is possible.’ His tone is light, but I can tell he’s serious.

‘It’s okay,’ I whisper, taking his hands.

‘Come on.’ He squeezes my fingers. ‘I want to find out what’s waiting out there. The sooner I know what we’re dealing with, the better.’

We hold hands, walking along the path. As we turn a corner, I see the college gates up ahead
, and my heart catches in my throat.

There, behind the wrought-iron, is a black swarm of photographers, jostling and fighting each other to get close to the bars.

Some have climbed up the gates and are pushing their cameras over the metal spikes. Others are pushing against the black railings, their jackets squashed, arms and legs spilling through.

Oh my god.

There’s a flash. Then another. Then dozens, snap, snap, snap, like a pan of popcorn.

I put my hand to my eyes.

‘Marc -’

‘Stay close to me.’ His voice is cold. Angry. ‘We have good security here. They won’t get over the gate. Just stand close to me. God, I wish you didn’t want to do this. I wish
we could fly away to my island, and you’d never have to deal with all this rubbish.’

‘We have to do this.’ I swallow, hard. ‘I don’t want to live in the shadows.’

Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘You can have a lot of fun in the shadows.’

I smile. ‘Maybe. But I like the light. Nothing grows without sunlight.’

We walk forward, and my knees feel weak. There are so many photographers. And they seem so ... violent. Grasping. Uncaring. All they want is a piece of us. They don’t care that we’re human beings.

‘Where did they all come from?’ I whisper, noticing one of the photographers is wearing a suit. The way he stands makes him look important – like a lawyer or businessman. Where the other photographers fight for a spot, he stands coolly at the front, and no one tries to jostle him out of the way.

He has a long face, neatly clipped black sideburns and choppy black hair, styled fashionably. Something about his grey eyes makes me think of a detective – there’s a cleverness about him that scares me.

I think I’ve seen him somewhere before, and then it hits me. Giles Getty. From
The Daily News
newspaper.

Marc sees Getty too, and his face darkens. ‘Some of them came straight from the gutter,’ he says, glaring. He grips my hand tighter. ‘Christ. Someone must have known ...’

‘Known?’

‘That we’d both be here today. This wasn’t supposed to be ...
Christ
. This is close enough.’ He pulls me to a stop. ‘If he’s here ... this is a bad idea.’

‘Who?’

‘Getty.’

The cameras are still flashing, and there are white spots floating in front of my eyes.

‘What’s so bad about him?’

‘I’ve known Giles Getty a long time,’ Marc growls. ‘An old enemy, you might say. He’s dangerous. Especially where women are concerned.’

Marc leads me away from the gate. ‘We’ll do a press interview later. For now, I need to get you somewhere safe.’

He pulls me back towards the college. We weave in and out of buildings and along gravel paths until we’re standing outside Queen’s Theatre.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, stumbling over gravel. ‘The back gate is over there.’

‘There’s another way out,’ says Marc, taking a bunch of keys from his cargo pants. ‘In here.’

He unlocks the theatre’s huge wooden doors and pulls me inside the building.

It’s cold and dark in the theatre, and
everything goes pitch black when Marc slams the doors closed. I hear the key crunch in the lock.

I can still feel Marc’s
hand in mine and hear his breathing – quick and shallow.

‘Marc? What’s happening?’

‘Just keep hold of my hand. It’s okay. Don’t be frightened.’

I hadn’t realised it, but I
am
frightened. My heart is thumping hard in my chest and my mouth is dry.

The way Marc reacted to Getty ... something’s going on. Something bad.

‘Why did Giles Getty bother you so much?’ I ask as Marc leads me through the theatre. In the darkness, with Marc holding my hand, my heart begins to slow.

‘
Let’s just say I know more about him than most,’ says Marc. ‘Everyone knows he doesn’t play fair. Or nice. He’ll stop at nothing to get his story, and he doesn’t care who gets hurt along the way. But there’s more ... he’s already ruined my sister’s life.’

‘Your sister?’

Marc doesn’t answer.

‘Marc?’

‘Sophia, Getty isn’t a man I want to talk about. Especially when I’m with you.’

I swallow.
‘You know your way through here,’ I say, stumbling over a raised floor tile. ‘Even in the dark. Do you do this often?’ I hope he can hear the smile in my voice.

‘Yes.’ Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s smiling back. ‘As a matter of fact, I was in the dark for years until I met you. Totally in the dark.’

‘And now?’

‘Things are different.’ He runs his thumb back and forth over my palm.

I can feel the bulk of the stage beside us and know we’re heading backstage. We come to a stop, and I hear the clunk of metal and the rattle of keys.

‘A secret passage?’ I whisper.

‘You could call it that. This door leads to a space underground.’

‘Is this how you got in last night?’

‘Perhaps. But I can’t reveal all my secrets.’

There’s a flicker of orange light, and I blink as it stings my eyes. I see a long, stone staircase in front of us, and the smell of mould hits me.

Cold air floats up from the staircase.

I turn to see Marc, his handsome face shadowed in orange, and marvel at how I’m standing here beside him. It still doesn’t feel real, being with Marc. The curve of his cheekbones and the lines on either side of his mouth. His thick eyebrows and those eyes, blue as a summer sky, watching me. He’s really all here. In real life. With me. This is no movie.

He sees me looking, and smiles.

‘Don’t worry. There are no monsters down there.’

‘
Oh no?’ I smile back.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you calling me a monster, Miss Rose?’ He places my hand on a cold, wooden handrail and helps me to the first step.