Virgin's Sweet Rebellion

‘More?’ Olivia whispered when she’d finally found her voice. ‘What more is there, Ben?’

He turned to the window and she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Then he said, his voice an ache, ‘For not being able to be the man you want and need me to be.’

‘And what kind of man is that?’ Olivia asked. Her throat was so tight it hurt to get the words out.

‘I can’t...’ He let out a low breath. ‘I can’t explain.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Both.’ He turned to her with such sadness and even agony in his eyes that Olivia nearly gasped aloud. ‘I don’t want you to hate me, Olivia. I don’t want you to look at me with derision or worse. So can we just call time on what we had, and remember how good it was?’

She stared at him, torn between hurt, confusion and a deep empathy even though she had no idea why he thought she might hate him. ‘We were only talking about a fling, Ben,’ she finally said. ‘A week or two. What happened to make you change your mind about that?’

He looked out the window again. ‘I just realised it was a mistake.’

‘It? You mean me. I was a mistake.’

‘Our affair.’

‘Our one-night stand,’ she corrected, the words bitten off and spat out.

‘Fine. Yes.’

Olivia slumped against the seat, suddenly exhausted by their wrangling. And what purpose did it even serve? Whatever they had, whatever either one of them called it, it was over. The end. And she should let it go and get on with her life.

The cab pulled up to the front of the impressive Neues Museum, where the benefit was being held. A line of limos and cabs snaked down the drive, while women in evening gowns and cocktail dresses and men in a wide array of evening dress mounted the front steps to the museum.

With a sigh Olivia opened the door of the cab. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ she said.

She joined the throng of celebrity guests, stretching her lips into a smile that felt like her worst performance ever as the paparazzi called out and the flashbulbs popped. Ben walked by her side, and to her surprise, as a reporter aimed a camera at them, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

A lump rose in Olivia’s throat. It had been only forty-eight hours, and she knew he was only holding her hand for the cameras, but she’d missed him. She’d missed this closeness.

They passed the photographers and Ben slipped his hand from hers.

The party was, as Olivia had known it would be, nearly intolerable. After an hour enduring several stilted conversations as they circulated the grand foyer of the museum, glasses of champagne in hand, she was ready to go. Ben had smiled and chatted with apparent ease, fooling, Olivia suspected, everyone but her.

She felt his tension, even his anger. She could almost hear it, like a thrumming in the air, or as if a live wire connecting them shivered and pulsed.

Silly, fanciful thoughts, and yet she could not deny the sense of connection she felt with Ben, even when he was doing his best to be distant. His desolate words from the cab echoed through her. I don’t want you to hate me, Olivia. I don’t want you to look at me with derision or worse.

Why on earth would he say or even think such a thing? What secret was he hiding that he believed if she knew would make her turn away from him?

Or was she jumping to conclusions? Yet what else could he have meant?

She knew about secrets. She knew about guilt. The thought of admitting her own made her wince and cringe. Was Ben the same? Did they have that in common too? If she admitted her own, would that help Ben to open up?

The question horrified her, but it also wouldn’t leave her alone. She didn’t want to be that honest. That intimate.

Then what are you playing at here, Olivia? Call time like Ben said or go all in. It’s one or the other.

Suddenly she couldn’t stand being at this party for another minute, being fake with everyone, especially Ben. Abruptly she turned to him.

‘Let’s go.’

He stared at her, unsmiling. ‘We’ve only been here an hour.’

‘I’m done,’ she said flatly. ‘Done with pretending. I want to go.’

Surprise flickered across his features and slowly he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said, and took her arm before heading towards the doors.

Outside the museum the paparazzi sprang into action as soon as they exited the doors. The questions came thick and fast, as there was no one else around to distract the voracious reporters.

‘Olivia, is there trouble between you and Ben? Is that why you’re leaving early?’

‘Why did he push you away outside the premiere of your film? Not happy with your performance?’ Olivia blinked, startled by the sneering innuendo of the male reporter who pushed his camera close to her face. ‘Maybe it was your performance outside of the film that disappointed him?’ the man continued with an obvious leer.