Love Unrehearsed
Page 37
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I panicked. “You’re not!”
“Don’t worry.” He threw on his jeans and grabbed a T-shirt, whacking my rear with his hand as he passed. “Only you are privy to viewing my naughty bits, my love. Give me the camera.”
Barefoot, he slipped out the door and into the morning sun. I kept the door cracked and watched as he walked to the railing. I could hear the rising screams and shouts from the crowd below. It sounded like the squawks from ten thousand excited birds trying to take flight. Ryan leaned over and waved, and then started taking pictures of the crowd, of the landscape, and of me standing by the door.
“Tar, come out here.”
I stepped out and joined him. It was weird waving at screaming girls like I was someone important.
Yeah, hi, we’re people up here looking out at you people standing down there. I certainly wasn’t the reason why they were gathered outside of our hotel and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Fortunately, there were eight floors separating us.
Ryan looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna give them a show?”
“No! Oh my God, they’ll hate me for sure.”
“Hey, I’m just offering a bona fide public kiss here. Candid shots with lots of tongue action. Worth millions by the way.” I choked at the absurdity of that notion.
“Like someone would pay a million dollars for a picture of us kissing.”
“Don’t laugh. Wait until the wedding photo offers come in.”
“What wedding photos?”
Ryan took a few more pictures, stopping to look at them on the viewer. “Ours. When we get married. You’re going to be shocked when you see the dollar figures tossed at us.
Stand over there so I can get the Eiffel Tower behind you.”
I leaned back on the railing, feeling in shock at the mere idea already. “Are you serious?”
He peered over the camera. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
The thought of so many zeros for wedding photos
seemed preposterous.
“Like
millions?”
“Probably like several million. We’ll see—that’s if we decide to sell. Come on, smile!”
He then stood next to me, trying to take our picture together.
“Would you want to do that? Sell our photos?”
He adjusted the camera settings and shrugged. “Honestly? No. That’s private. But then again, it’s also money barely earned for the front cover and an article spread inside.
We could always donate it to charity.”
Very noble idea. That made the idea more palatable. “You’d consider it? Giving the money to charity?”
“Absolutely. There are plenty of them out there. Charities for needy kids. Sick kids.” He turned the camera around on us again and clicked. “You know, we don’t have to wait for our wedding if you want to do something hu-manitarian. Talk to Trish.”
I thought about the shoe box of photos I had back in my apartment. “It’s hard to imagine personal pictures having anything more than sentimental value. But if we can, I’d like to do something to help children.”
“We did a few charity-type things when we filmed the two
Seaside s. Anyway, we can think about selling our wedding photos later.” He pulled me to his chest. “I’m rather enjoying the engagement phase right now. A lot.”
His grin was priceless.
“Are you going to kiss me in public?”
Ryan smiled devilishly. “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m capturing the moment, too.”
His lips were on mine so fast I barely had time to breathe. Amazing how every thought melted away into a blur of nothingness when he kissed me.
He backed me up until my body made contact with the glass door, taking pictures of us with my camera held out, giddy with our playfulness.
“How long until those paparazzi pictures of us hit the Internet?” I joked, stumbling back into our suite.
“Ahh, who cares. You need to quit worrying about things like that.” Easy for him to say. That kiss probably hung a new tabloid target around my neck.
Ryan’s press interviews started promptly at 9 A.M., held at a different hotel in Paris.
We were whisked away in yet another chauffeured town car, allowing me to gaze in wonder at the sights. That’s when it hit me—another moment of awe at how lucky I was.
I slipped my hand into Ryan’s, wondering how I could ever thank him for such a gift.
David, Trish, and Ryan’s agent, Aaron, were in the car in front of us. Mike stretched his arms out to shield us as we exited. The press, foreign paparazzi, and a small cluster of fans shouted for our attention, snapping photos of our arrival.
“Don’t worry.” He threw on his jeans and grabbed a T-shirt, whacking my rear with his hand as he passed. “Only you are privy to viewing my naughty bits, my love. Give me the camera.”
Barefoot, he slipped out the door and into the morning sun. I kept the door cracked and watched as he walked to the railing. I could hear the rising screams and shouts from the crowd below. It sounded like the squawks from ten thousand excited birds trying to take flight. Ryan leaned over and waved, and then started taking pictures of the crowd, of the landscape, and of me standing by the door.
“Tar, come out here.”
I stepped out and joined him. It was weird waving at screaming girls like I was someone important.
Yeah, hi, we’re people up here looking out at you people standing down there. I certainly wasn’t the reason why they were gathered outside of our hotel and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Fortunately, there were eight floors separating us.
Ryan looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna give them a show?”
“No! Oh my God, they’ll hate me for sure.”
“Hey, I’m just offering a bona fide public kiss here. Candid shots with lots of tongue action. Worth millions by the way.” I choked at the absurdity of that notion.
“Like someone would pay a million dollars for a picture of us kissing.”
“Don’t laugh. Wait until the wedding photo offers come in.”
“What wedding photos?”
Ryan took a few more pictures, stopping to look at them on the viewer. “Ours. When we get married. You’re going to be shocked when you see the dollar figures tossed at us.
Stand over there so I can get the Eiffel Tower behind you.”
I leaned back on the railing, feeling in shock at the mere idea already. “Are you serious?”
He peered over the camera. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
The thought of so many zeros for wedding photos
seemed preposterous.
“Like
millions?”
“Probably like several million. We’ll see—that’s if we decide to sell. Come on, smile!”
He then stood next to me, trying to take our picture together.
“Would you want to do that? Sell our photos?”
He adjusted the camera settings and shrugged. “Honestly? No. That’s private. But then again, it’s also money barely earned for the front cover and an article spread inside.
We could always donate it to charity.”
Very noble idea. That made the idea more palatable. “You’d consider it? Giving the money to charity?”
“Absolutely. There are plenty of them out there. Charities for needy kids. Sick kids.” He turned the camera around on us again and clicked. “You know, we don’t have to wait for our wedding if you want to do something hu-manitarian. Talk to Trish.”
I thought about the shoe box of photos I had back in my apartment. “It’s hard to imagine personal pictures having anything more than sentimental value. But if we can, I’d like to do something to help children.”
“We did a few charity-type things when we filmed the two
Seaside s. Anyway, we can think about selling our wedding photos later.” He pulled me to his chest. “I’m rather enjoying the engagement phase right now. A lot.”
His grin was priceless.
“Are you going to kiss me in public?”
Ryan smiled devilishly. “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m capturing the moment, too.”
His lips were on mine so fast I barely had time to breathe. Amazing how every thought melted away into a blur of nothingness when he kissed me.
He backed me up until my body made contact with the glass door, taking pictures of us with my camera held out, giddy with our playfulness.
“How long until those paparazzi pictures of us hit the Internet?” I joked, stumbling back into our suite.
“Ahh, who cares. You need to quit worrying about things like that.” Easy for him to say. That kiss probably hung a new tabloid target around my neck.
Ryan’s press interviews started promptly at 9 A.M., held at a different hotel in Paris.
We were whisked away in yet another chauffeured town car, allowing me to gaze in wonder at the sights. That’s when it hit me—another moment of awe at how lucky I was.
I slipped my hand into Ryan’s, wondering how I could ever thank him for such a gift.
David, Trish, and Ryan’s agent, Aaron, were in the car in front of us. Mike stretched his arms out to shield us as we exited. The press, foreign paparazzi, and a small cluster of fans shouted for our attention, snapping photos of our arrival.
