Why Resist a Rebel? (17 page)

They were just protecting his mum, and had absolutely no reason to believe that today was the start of something new. That he wouldn’t let her down—let them all down—again.

If this was a movie, the script would probably call for him to dramatically jump to his feet—to declare his grief for the loss of his father and for the loss of more than a decade of time with his family. For never meeting his niece and nephew before today. He’d use words and phrases like
a tragedy
and
regret
and
I can only hope you can forgive me
and that type of thing, and then all
would
be forgiven, and the camera would pan back, and they’d all be one big happy family. The End.

But life didn’t work like that, at least not in the Cooper household.

Today was not the day for dramatic declarations, and it was not the day to expect a magic wand to be waved and for everything to be okay.

It was, and remained, simply a step in the right direction.

He needed to earn a conversation without tense undertones. And he intended to.

Ruby was the first person to tell him he was being stupid to wish the family he had away. The words had resonated more than he’d realised—when he’d been unable to sleep, when the words had been piled on top of all the other snatches of memory and guilt that filled his subconscious to the brim. Even now they still resonated, even when sleep came—mostly—much more easily.

That was a very stupid thing to say.

So to the point, so straightforward. So Ruby.

It was why he was here. She was why he was here.

‘How is Ruby?’ his mum asked from the head of the table, reading his mind.

‘The blonde from Mum’s party?’ asked Brad, and Ros nodded.

‘I liked her,’ she said.

‘Me, too,’ Dev said, without thinking. Then he cleared his throat. ‘She’s well, I think. I don’t really know—we’re just colleagues. She’s the Production Co-ordinator.’

As of three days ago, it was all true, but still the words felt just like a lie.

Three days since whatever had happened in his trailer. Even now he wasn’t sure what had really taken place—or what he could’ve done to ensure a different ending. Sometimes he was angry at her, and frustrated at the crazy assumptions she’d leapt to; how unfair it had been of her to put words into his mouth, to assume the worst of him—and to fast-forward their relationship to a point where they needed to consider anything beyond the next night, or next week.

But other times he was furious with himself. Furious for letting her walk away, for not running across Unit Base—screw what anyone thought—and saying whatever he needed to say to get her to stay. Furious for not considering how she’d react, not considering what a public relationship with him might mean to her—a woman still scarred by the gossipmongering of her past. Of course she didn’t want to open her life up to the world for a fleeting fling.

But would she do it for something more?

Because what they had couldn’t be on her terms any more—no more secrets, no more end dates.

And she hadn’t wanted to hear that, hadn’t wanted to consider it.

Until
love
had come into it. Out of nowhere. And love just wasn’t something he was familiar with. That he knew how to do.

The conversations around him had moved on, but he barely heard a word.

Had
it been out of nowhere?
Had
it been so shocking, so unexpected?

Yes, he’d told himself.

But now—it was a no. An honest, raw, no.

Everything he’d told her in that trailer, about what he’d shared with her, what he’d revealed—that came from a place of trust, of intimacy, of connection.

A place he’d never gone before—that he hadn’t been capable of going to before.

A place of
love.

In his mother’s back yard he was surrounded by his family, and he was here because of love. Love he’d tossed away, not appreciated, and now was hoping to win back, slowly and with absolutely no assumptions. It was going to take time.

And he was doing this because in his darkest moments, when the darkness had sucked the world away from him so that he was left isolated and so, so alone,
love
was what he had craved. Love from his father, but also from his family. Love and respect were all that he’d ever wanted.

In his rejection of his father, he’d tossed away a family who loved him. And they must love him, to allow him to sit here after so long.

He’d let himself believe he’d failed his father, and his family, with his chosen career.

But he’d been wrong.

His failure was in being as stubborn as his dad. For closing himself off from the possibility of love—from his family, or from anyone. He’d rejected love, because he’d been too scared to risk it—to risk failing in the eyes of someone he loved again.

Now he wanted love back in his life, regardless of the risks.

He’d wasted a huge chunk of life alone, even if he had been surrounded by people and the glitz and glamour of his career.

But enough was enough.

He wasn’t letting Ruby go without a fight.

FOURTEEN

Ruby padded to her front door in bright pink fuzzy bed socks and floral-printed pyjamas, a mug of instant noodles warming her hands.

It wasn’t late, not even nine p.m., but it had been a long day and the lure of her couch had been far stronger than that of the pub and the rest of the crew.

Whoever was at the door knocked again as she opened the door just a crack, and the insistent pressure pushed the door to the limits of the short security chain.

‘Settle down!’ she said, ‘I’m here.’

‘You’re not really in a position to complain, you know.’ The all too familiar deep voice froze Ruby to the spot. ‘I’ve learnt my door-knocking technique from you. Loud and...demanding.’

She ignored that.

‘Why are you here?’ she said, trying to sound calm. She considered, and dismissed, pretending to assume this was work-related. Or simply closing the door and walking away.

Option two had the most merit, but...well...

It was Dev. He just didn’t do good things to the logical, sensible, decision-making part of her brain.

‘We need to talk,’ he said.

He’d stepped up right close to her door, so he could peer through the opening at Ruby. A dim globe above the door shone weak light over him, throwing his face into angular sections of darkness and light.

He met her gaze, and his was...too hard to make out.

She told herself that was why she mechanically reached upwards to close the door temporarily to unhook the chain, and then to swing it wide open and gesture him inside.

He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts or taking a deep breath, and then strode into her tiny living area. He stared at her couch and its piles of blankets and magazines, and the small collection of DVDs she’d hired from the motel’s surprisingly extensive supply.

Ruby swallowed her automatic apology and the compulsion to fuss and tidy. He’d just turned up uninvited—he could stand.

‘So?’ she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. ‘Talk.’

If he was ruffled by her abruptness he revealed none of it.

‘You don’t have to live in Beverly Hills,’ he said. ‘Or work in Hollywood. I wouldn’t expect you to.’

Ruby walked back to the door. ‘I think you should go.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why did you let me in? What else did you think I was here to talk about? The film?’ He laughed. ‘No. You knew this was about us.’

She shook her head, but he didn’t move. He just looked at her.

Now she could interpret his gaze. It was...just Dev. Honest, with not a shred of the actor’s artifice that had fallen away as their time together had lengthened.

But right now, she didn’t want to deal with that. She wanted to deal with the arrogant actor she’d originally thought him to be, the man who always got his way, who manipulated people—manipulated her—to get what he wanted.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t now believe any of that was true.

She didn’t know what to say, but she did walk away from the door. She remained standing, more than an arm’s length away from Dev, too far away to touch.

‘Ruby?’

She picked a spot on the wall to stare at—a crack in the plaster beyond Dev’s shoulder. ‘There is no us,’ she pointed out.

‘There could be,’ he said. ‘I want there to be.’

‘I don’t do relationships,’ she said.

‘Neither do I—don’t you remember?’

That night out on the main street, under the street lamp.

‘We’d need to figure out the details—find a way for our careers to work together—but they can. I don’t care where I live, and I don’t need to cram a million films into each year.’

Ruby sniffed dismissively. ‘So you’ll just hang around whatever place I end up, waiting for me to come home each day from work? Right.’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? I could do with a break. I’ve been filming back to back my whole career. And who knows? I’ve always been interested in production. Maybe I could look into funding a few projects, having a go at being an executive producer or something.’

Ruby tried hard to hate him for having enough money to have these choices. But couldn’t.

Besides, logistics weren’t the real issue. Not at all.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This isn’t what I want.’

Now she met his gaze, so he knew she wasn’t talking about career decisions.

‘Isn’t it?’ he said. He took a few steps forward. Now touching would be really easy—all she had to do was...

She curled her nails into her palms, hoping the tiny bite of pain would bring her back to her senses.

‘No. I like my life. I’m happy just as I am.’

His lips quirked, and the small movement shocked her. ‘Now you’re just being stubborn.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I am not. I—’

Then he was closer, really close. Still not touching, but crowding her, as he had the day they’d met.

This wasn’t fair. He
knew
what he did to her, how his nearness loosened her hold on lucidity.

She felt herself faltering, felt herself tilt her chin upwards, her fingers itch to reach out and touch him, regardless of the contradictory indignation that rushed through her veins.

No.
She couldn’t let this happen—she couldn’t let her hormones have so much control over her. She was right. She’d made the right decision to walk away. This could never end well; this was all wrong; she didn’t need this; she didn’t need Dev; she didn’t...

‘Love.’

The single world stopped the tumult in her brain. It stopped everything, actually. Ruby’s whole world went perfectly still.

Automatically she opened her mouth. To what? Question? Deny?

But Dev was too quick for her.

‘I figured it out today,’ he said, really softly. ‘That you were right. That is the word to describe this, to describe us.
Love.
’

‘I never mentioned love. I don’t do love.’

She sounded just as stubborn as Dev had accused her of being. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regroup.

She didn’t know how to deal with this. How to deal with any of this.

She was tempted to repeat what she’d said before, something about the stress that Dev had experienced, about his depression, about how it was natural for him to read more into his feelings for her at such a vulnerable time.

But she couldn’t say that. Firstly because she didn’t believe any of it, but secondly because that neat little explanation didn’t explain
her.

It didn’t explain why she’d so haphazardly and unwisely spoken in his trailer. Words she hadn’t planned and a concept she didn’t even know she was capable of considering.

It also didn’t explain the rest. Sharing her past with Dev—not just the version she rolled out to everyone just to get it over with: her foster child upbringing, a hint of her rebellious past. But the real stuff—the stuff that mattered. The stuff that had hurt, that had changed everything—and continued to hurt.

And it didn’t explain why, despite her fear of what was happening with Dev and her ingrained habit of distancing herself from men, she hadn’t run away from him. Not when it counted.

So did that mean she loved him? That she was in love with Dev?

Ruby opened her eyes, incredibly slowly. She looked up at Dev, catching his gaze and holding on tight.

Did he love her? The way he was looking at her right now, it was tempting to believe it.

To imagine that finally it was actually real.

That he was her fairy-tale prince, about to carry her away into the sunset.

Away from her life as she knew it.

To her happy ever after.

That was a fantasy.

Ruby took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders.

With great difficulty she took a step backwards, the action suddenly the hardest thing she’d ever done.

‘I don’t do love,’ she repeated. ‘This isn’t love.’

Eventually, he nodded. A sharp movement.

The next thing she knew he was gone, and she was standing alone in her tiny apartment. So she walked to her kitchen, and turned on her kettle. Then, with fingers that shook only slightly, she found a new mug, and tore open a packet of noodles.

And the night continued on exactly as she’d planned.

It had to.

The Riva, Split, Croatia—two weeks later

Ruby strolled across the wide, smooth tiles that paved Split’s Riva, a line of towering palm trees to her right, the Adriatic Sea to her left.

Beside her was—
Tom?
Maybe. Some guy who’d been on the walking tour of Diocletian’s Palace that she’d just completed. She’d paid little attention to the tour, to be honest, and hadn’t even noticed the tall, blond thirty-something guy who now walked beside her.

Accepting his invitation for an ice cream and a walk had been a reflex action. She needed to move on—needed a
distraction,
she supposed. The occasional times she did date, it was always somewhere like this—somewhere exotic and amazing where everything was light and, importantly, temporary. No hopes, no expectations.

She hadn’t touched her ice cream, and it had begun to run in rivulets down the waffle cone as it melted, trickling stickily onto her hand.

The breeze whipped off the ocean, and she shivered despite the warm autumn sun.

Tom was talking about what he did back in Canada.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. ‘I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. I’m...’ What? Getting over a break up? That didn’t sound right in her head. Too...trivial. So she just finished lamely: ‘...not interested.’

Ouch.
Quite rightly, Tom was less than impressed. He plucked her cone from her fingers, and dumped it, along with his, in a bin, before walking away.

Ruby felt a little bad, but mostly relieved. Not her proudest moment, but she just couldn’t pretend any more.

This little side trip to Split for a week before pre-production began in London was
not
exactly what she needed. It was
not
the perfect distraction.

It was not helping her relax and gain some perspective and just, well...get over it.

Get over Dev.

She’d been standing looking at nothing out at the ocean, so now she turned away, heading for the small apartment she was staying in, on the second floor of a local family’s stone cottage, right at the end of the Riva.

Maybe she should move her flight forward. Choosing to be alone was obviously her mistake. Surely her friend Carly wouldn’t mind if she moved in a few days early? And she was fabulous at entertaining her guests. A few nights out with her and then Dev and
The Land
would all be a distant memory...

Right. Kind of like how she’d told herself that working for Dev for another week wouldn’t be so bad, even though she’d then spent every hour of her work day preventing herself from throwing herself at him and babbling something ridiculous about having made a terrible mistake...

It had been most frustrating. She had done the right thing.

For her.

She didn’t need Dev. She’d been absolutely happy before she’d met him. She didn’t need Dev to make her life complete, to give her anything in life she wasn’t perfectly capable of achieving herself. Her life was full and lovely and gorgeous—and she didn’t need a partner, and certainly not a husband, to finish it off.

And she’d hate herself if she ever let herself believe differently.

It wasn’t peak tourist season in Croatia, and so around her people dotted the Riva, rather than cramming it full. Some were obviously tourists—couples holding hands, families with small crowds of children. Others not so much. An older couple walking in companionable silence, a group of women chatting enthusiastically away.

I wish Dev were here.

The thought came out of the blue, and Ruby walked faster, as if to escape her traitorous subconscious.

The thing was, now wasn’t the first time she’d wished such a thing.

Like on the plane to Heathrow, where one of the movies was so awful she’d turned in her seat to list all its flaws before realising that it was a stranger snoring softly beside her, and not Dev.

Or waking up in her gorgeous little Split apartment, the sun flooding through gossamer curtains onto her bed, and she’d turned and reached out for familiar, strong, warm, male skin.

But all she’d touched was emptiness.

She really needed to get over this.

She’d never spent every night with a guy like that—never in her whole life. That had been her mistake. She’d got too used to him, and now he was like a habit. A bad habit.

That theory didn’t even begin to convince her.

Ruby undid the latch of the wrought-iron gate that opened to the series of stone steps leading to her apartment.

As she unearthed her keys from her handbag she remembered her sticky ice-creamy fingers, tacky against the smooth metal.

What a waste of a perfectly delicious ice cream.

The random thought made her smile, but she noticed that something was blurring her vision.

Not tears, at least, not proper ones. These stayed contained within her lashes. Mostly.

In the bathroom she washed away the remnants of vanilla and caramel, and made the mistake of meeting her own gaze.

She looked pale, and blotchy—but mostly just miserable.

Like a woman who’d just walked away from the love of her life.

And who had absolutely no idea what to do next.

The sleek, low-slung car slid to a stop at the end of the long red carpet.

It was still daylight—late afternoon actually. Dev bit back a sigh—these awards nights started early and went notoriously late. He could think of another billion or so places he’d rather be right now.

Outside, temporary metal fencing kept rows of fans a good distance away, but he could already hear them calling his name. Other cars arrived around him, and women in dresses every colour of the rainbow emerged into the sunlight in front of the glamorous, sprawling Darling Harbour hotel. Their partners in monotonous black provided little more than a neutral backdrop.

Dev watched as each couple walked only a few metres before television cameras and shiny presenters swooped. Dev knew the drill; he’d been here—or at events just like this one—a thousand times. He knew this stuff, knew the name of the designer of his suit, exactly the right thing to say and how to smile enthusiastically for every single fan’s photo.