Virgin's Sweet Rebellion

‘Look, I realise this is awkward, and I also realise it’s my fault.’

‘I’m so relieved.’ He stood in the doorway of the living room, one massive shoulder propped against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, making his biceps bulge and the expensive fabric of his suit stretch taut across his shoulders.

Even though he was completely still and self-contained, she felt the restlessness from him. The anger. Oh, dear. This was going to be rather difficult.

‘I didn’t tell the press we were dating as some sort of revenge,’ she told him, keeping her voice light and playful with effort. ‘What kind of revenge would that be anyway? You’d just deny it and I’d look like an idiot who had a crush on you.’

Ben inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘So why did you say it then?’

‘Well, remember that look-before-you-leap thing?’

‘You mean that you don’t?’

She nodded sombrely even as her eyes sparkled at him, invited him to see the funny side of it. Because there was one, right? ‘I’m afraid that’s what happened this afternoon.’

Ben eyed her coolly. ‘So you just happened to blurt out that we were dating? How did the subject even come up?’

‘Have you seen the newspapers?’

His mouth hardened into a line and he shook his head. ‘No, not yet.’

‘Here.’ She pulled a paper out of her shoulder bag and slapped it onto the table. ‘Have a look.’

His jaw tight, Ben reached for the newspaper and snapped it open.

Olivia turned away, because she really didn’t need to see those photos again. Isabelle had just called her, utterly furious about the story.

‘How could you do this?’ she’d demanded. ‘He’s a Chatsfield.’

‘We’re not seeing each other, Isabelle,’ Olivia had explained wearily. ‘It was just...an awkward moment.’

‘And you should not be having any awkward moments with a Chatsfield!’

‘What is this, Romeo and Juliet?’ Olivia demanded sarcastically, although she’d been the one to invoke the Bard with that irritating reporter earlier. ‘You’re the one with the vendetta against the Chatsfields, Isabelle, not me.’

‘So you don’t care if they take over our family business?’ Isabelle demanded, and Olivia had just kept herself from saying that maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe Isabelle would be happier if she didn’t have the hotel to obsess over. Maybe Olivia would be happier if her family wasn’t so concerned with the hotel, above everything else.

‘I’m just saying we all need to calm down,’ Olivia said instead, and Isabelle huffed.

‘I’m very calm. But you need to fix this, Olivia. I don’t need any bad press right now, okay?’

‘Neither do I, as it happens,’ Olivia answered. Her sister hadn’t even asked how the festival was going. She, like everyone else in their family, didn’t really care. At least it felt that way to Olivia. But maybe if she landed a real role, if she proved herself as an actress...

It would all be worth it. She’d show her family she was serious; she’d honour her mother’s memory.

But you can’t rewrite history, Olivia. You can’t fix the mistakes you’ve already made.

No, but she could orient everything in her life so she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

‘How did this happen?’ Ben bit out, tossing the paper back onto the table like so much trash. He paced the room like a caged tiger, one hand driven through his hair. ‘We were in a private space, a rooftop pool...’

‘Telephoto lens from another building,’ Olivia answered with a shrug. ‘That’s my best guess.’

He whirled on her, his face suffused with barely leashed anger. ‘And a reporter just happened to be there, at nearly midnight?’

She drew back at the implication. ‘Are you accusing me of setting you up? Why would I?’

‘Why would I give you a supply closet for a room?’ Ben practically snarled.

Olivia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I already apologised for the assumption I made about the room.’

He stood there rigidly for a moment, and then the anger left his face and body as if he were willing it away. He raked a hand through his hair, letting out a long, low breath. ‘And I apologised for the things I said to you last night.’

‘You mean, self-important, shallow wannabe actress?’ she couldn’t help but remind him.

‘That would be them,’ he agreed without so much as a wince.

‘Okay, so apologies have been made and accepted. And I think we can agree that neither of us is out to get the other. Right?’