Love Unrehearsed
Page 68
Filming halted for a ten-minute break. Ry-an was still tying the belt of his robe as he rushed over to me. Silent words passed between him and Mike as he grabbed my hand and hustled me away. We found a private corner and Ryan immediately pulled me into a tight embrace.
His hand held my head to his chest and I couldn’t help but tremble. He kissed my hair and my forehead over and over again.
“At least you get to keep your clothes on in this scene.” I couldn’t stop myself. I was trying so hard to be cool about things, nonchalant and teasingly playful even, but the bitter tone I thought I had under control kept rolling out with my words.
Witnessing a mostly naked Nicole writhe like a wanton whore under my very naked fiancé continued to twist poisonous thoughts around in my head. Ryan didn’t know it, but at 3 A.M. I slipped out of our bed to have a private crying session in the condo’s kitchen.
Agonizing pain from the paranoia of Hollywood and fame separating us one day squeezed my heart again. Besides John Tra-volta and Will Smith, I could not think of any other famous couples who stayed together for the long, long haul. Even the best poker players wouldn’t bet on those odds.
Ryan leaned over and gave me a quick kiss after we departed out of wardrobe. He draped an arm over my shoulders. “I like this jealous side of you. Makes me feel wanted.” He had no idea how close I was to freaking out. “You having fun torturing me? I don’t care what you say. Pretend or not, a kiss is still a kiss, especially those designed to sell the illusion for all it’s worth.” Ryan frowned at me and took my hand. “I told you she tasted awful. There was absolutely nothing about that entire experience that even came close to pleasure.” Yeah? What happens when the next one doesn’t taste so bad?
Several crew members hustled past us so I kept my voice low. “Well thank God for that.” I laughed at the absurdity, trying to cover up how territorial I was feeling with humor.
He took a long drink from his bottle of water as we walked to the large catering tent.
“I know it bothered you to see me doing that sort of stuff with someone else. I don’t know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ In time, you’ll get used to it. Or you won’t.” I zipped my hoodie to block the chill.
“‘That sort of stuff’ meaning grinding Nicole into the bed as if you were trying to fuck her clear through to the other side of the mattress ‘sort of stuff’? Yeah, that was beyond painful, fake or not.” A frustrated tear formed in the corner of my eye and I swiped it away quickly, hating that my lack of emotional control just flew out of my mouth.
Ryan stopped abruptly and spoke to Mike.
“Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” Mike folded his arms across his chest and turned away to give us privacy.
Ryan pulled me off to the side behind some equipment. “Sweetheart, come on. I know it was hard for you to watch. God, I’d never do anything intentional to hurt you like that. I wish you’d realize that there is absolutely no reason for you to feel sad or threatened.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t mean to be . . . I’m trying. I really am.” I couldn’t stop the flood of emotion once the damn had been breached. I knew I was being irrational, but I was also willing to bet that most women would go a little crazy after watching their lover fake-fuck someone for several hours.
“You have no idea how hard that was for me.
I wonder how you would feel if you had to watch me like that with another man.” I shrugged. “Maybe you’d understand then.” The glare I received was deadly. “Since you’re not an actress, that scenario better never happen, or you and me . . . we’ll have serious problems.”
I knew I was potentially instigating an argument, but I didn’t care. “Why? Does the thought of seeing me being intimate with someone else make you jealous?” Ryan’s nostrils flared, a telltale sign he was getting pissed-off, too.
“I’m trying to be confident and secure, Ry-an, but it was a new experience and I can’t help but feel betrayed. I am not used to having to share my fiancé, fake or not. It was hard and I thought . . . ah, forget it.”
“Wait, what? How the hell did I betray you?”
I planted a foot. “You did the hand thing with her,” I growled.
“What?”
“When you were . . . you wove your fingers with hers and did the over-the-head thing. I thought . . . I know it sounds ridiculous, but I thought that was mine. Ours. I guess I was wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
His hand held my head to his chest and I couldn’t help but tremble. He kissed my hair and my forehead over and over again.
“At least you get to keep your clothes on in this scene.” I couldn’t stop myself. I was trying so hard to be cool about things, nonchalant and teasingly playful even, but the bitter tone I thought I had under control kept rolling out with my words.
Witnessing a mostly naked Nicole writhe like a wanton whore under my very naked fiancé continued to twist poisonous thoughts around in my head. Ryan didn’t know it, but at 3 A.M. I slipped out of our bed to have a private crying session in the condo’s kitchen.
Agonizing pain from the paranoia of Hollywood and fame separating us one day squeezed my heart again. Besides John Tra-volta and Will Smith, I could not think of any other famous couples who stayed together for the long, long haul. Even the best poker players wouldn’t bet on those odds.
Ryan leaned over and gave me a quick kiss after we departed out of wardrobe. He draped an arm over my shoulders. “I like this jealous side of you. Makes me feel wanted.” He had no idea how close I was to freaking out. “You having fun torturing me? I don’t care what you say. Pretend or not, a kiss is still a kiss, especially those designed to sell the illusion for all it’s worth.” Ryan frowned at me and took my hand. “I told you she tasted awful. There was absolutely nothing about that entire experience that even came close to pleasure.” Yeah? What happens when the next one doesn’t taste so bad?
Several crew members hustled past us so I kept my voice low. “Well thank God for that.” I laughed at the absurdity, trying to cover up how territorial I was feeling with humor.
He took a long drink from his bottle of water as we walked to the large catering tent.
“I know it bothered you to see me doing that sort of stuff with someone else. I don’t know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ In time, you’ll get used to it. Or you won’t.” I zipped my hoodie to block the chill.
“‘That sort of stuff’ meaning grinding Nicole into the bed as if you were trying to fuck her clear through to the other side of the mattress ‘sort of stuff’? Yeah, that was beyond painful, fake or not.” A frustrated tear formed in the corner of my eye and I swiped it away quickly, hating that my lack of emotional control just flew out of my mouth.
Ryan stopped abruptly and spoke to Mike.
“Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” Mike folded his arms across his chest and turned away to give us privacy.
Ryan pulled me off to the side behind some equipment. “Sweetheart, come on. I know it was hard for you to watch. God, I’d never do anything intentional to hurt you like that. I wish you’d realize that there is absolutely no reason for you to feel sad or threatened.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t mean to be . . . I’m trying. I really am.” I couldn’t stop the flood of emotion once the damn had been breached. I knew I was being irrational, but I was also willing to bet that most women would go a little crazy after watching their lover fake-fuck someone for several hours.
“You have no idea how hard that was for me.
I wonder how you would feel if you had to watch me like that with another man.” I shrugged. “Maybe you’d understand then.” The glare I received was deadly. “Since you’re not an actress, that scenario better never happen, or you and me . . . we’ll have serious problems.”
I knew I was potentially instigating an argument, but I didn’t care. “Why? Does the thought of seeing me being intimate with someone else make you jealous?” Ryan’s nostrils flared, a telltale sign he was getting pissed-off, too.
“I’m trying to be confident and secure, Ry-an, but it was a new experience and I can’t help but feel betrayed. I am not used to having to share my fiancé, fake or not. It was hard and I thought . . . ah, forget it.”
“Wait, what? How the hell did I betray you?”
I planted a foot. “You did the hand thing with her,” I growled.
“What?”
“When you were . . . you wove your fingers with hers and did the over-the-head thing. I thought . . . I know it sounds ridiculous, but I thought that was mine. Ours. I guess I was wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
