Ryan sat next to me, scrutinizing my injuries. My breath hissed uncontrollably from the sting when he rubbed a warm washcloth over my cheek.
His eyes were so repentant. “Sorry, honey.
I’m trying to be gentle, but we have to clean these cuts.”
As much as I loved him tending to me, I wanted to pull the cloth from his hand. I felt like I didn’t deserve that gentle hand.
David ended a phone call. “Marcia Gay Harden’s assistant is going to come up and stay with Taryn while you’re at the premiere, Ryan. Jenna’s people are all busy.”
“I’m not going,” Ryan said softly, wiping my lip with the utmost care.
All eyes landed on him—even mine.
David became overly animated in the midst of his talent-manager meltdown, rant-ing on and on about not believing what he had just heard.
“I said I’m not going,” Ryan repeated.
David started arguing but Ryan paid no attention to him. An eerie calm was over him.
The calm before the storm. perhaps?
I felt Ryan’s hand tremble lightly when he tipped my chin up. “I need to call the concierge and get some medicine for you,” he said softly. “I got most of the dirt out of the cuts but I’ll be able to do a better job once I get you in the shower.”
I stilled his hand. “Ryan, please. I’ve ruined enough. You have to go.”
His nostrils flared. “I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”
I took the washcloth from him, ignoring the fact that the once-pure-white towel was now tinged pink. “It’s only for a few hours.” I tried to smile encouragingly, feeling as dirty and stained as the cloth in my hand.
His lip quivered ever so slightly as he shook his head. “I can’t.”
I locked eyes with David, wishing he wouldn’t hover. I was about to do him a huge favor. “Can you please excuse us for a moment?”
I hoped David could read me enough to know that I was trying to do the right thing.
Mike, bless his soul, cleared everyone out of our suite.
Ryan pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Don’t try to talk me into going.” His tone left no room for argument. I was resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere tonight anyway, including a stately dinner with the prime minister of France and his family.
“The world is not going to come to an end if I miss the premiere.”
So he thinks. Maybe not, but his fans would surely be outraged.
He cracked open a bottle of water, gaping at me. “What?”
“You have obligations,” I hesitantly muttered.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I shook my head to disagree. He was just reacting to his own emotional overload, which I’ caused. “This is your career, your movie. I won’t let you ruin that. Not for me.” I searched my bag for anything resembling an aspirin.
Ryan frowned. “I’m not going without you.”
I stopped in front of him on my way to the bathroom. “Yes, you are.” As I turned for the bathroom doorway, a stick of nasty pain shot into my ribs again.
One lift of my shirt and a sideways glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed my suspicions. I had a gigantic black and blue mark across my waist at least six inches long. It reminded me of the colors of the sky at dusk, wrapped in tender pain.
Well, at least it wasn’t the right side like last time when the car struck me, but it sure looks the same.
Ryan gasped. “What the hell is that?” He startled me. I quickly dropped my shirt, tugging hard on the hem.
That’s when he saw the gash on the back of my forearm for the first time as well. His long fingers circled my wrist.
A puffy red welt and scabby road rash decorated my arm.
“It’s nothing.” I pulled my arm away.
“The hell it is.”
He shifted to face me and tried to lift my shirt but I held the hem, pulling it taut.
“Let. Me. Look,” Ryan ordered, growling through his teeth. It was clear that he wasn’t asking. It was obvious that his tolerance was all used up.
Tired of fighting it, I acquiesced. Ryan’s eyes scrunched together as if he were in pain, too.
I didn’t know what to say other than “I’m sorry.” I pulled my shirt down as if it would hide my shame. “Please, go to your premiere.
I’ve already done enough damage to your career for one day.”
I turned the water on, planning on using the shower water to cleanse my wounds and mask more tears that I needed to shed before I drowned internally. After my shower, I’d pack. Overwhelming feelings of failure made me want to run and hide.
“No. Taking care of you comes first for me, sweetheart.”
If he only knew how much I felt the same.
Ryan carefully pressed his body into mine, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tender embrace as if I were frail. “And I want you to stop saying you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
I shook my head and tried to tear away from him. God, he couldn’t be more wrong.
“I should have listened to you and never ventured out on my own. And now . . . now I’ve humiliated us both. I don’t even know how you can stand to be so nice to me right now.”
Confusion blanketed his face. He freed one arm long enough to turn the shower off.
The bathroom was turning into a sauna, steamed up tight with fog.
“Do you think if I had any other job, your first trip to Paris would have been different?” I tried to push him away. “Ryan, don’t . . .” He lifted my chin, refusing to let me go.
“Or would the paparazzi have been stalking you when you strolled the streets of a safe foreign city? Instead of being out there enjoying all the sites with you as a couple, protecting you like a man should, you were left to fend for yourself,
again. Do you think that makes me happy or feel worthy of you? Let me tell you,
it doesn’t. And now, seeing you injured like this . . .”
“Stop it, Ryan. Please.
None of this is your fault. You had nothing to do with this. It was my stupid decision to go out. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to go shopping on my own. I know better now. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
His frustrated growl raised up a notch.
“
Do not put this on yourself, Taryn.” My mind raced. “How can I not? You’re here trying to do your job. I was the one making headline news wrestling with the cops. It seems like every time I try to make it easier or find my place I end up making it ten times worse somehow.”