Devoted: The Blackwell Lessons Part 32

'I'm just too nervous,' I say. 'And sick. I'll eat something after the scan. I promise.'

The sonographer smiles. 'Okay Mrs Blackwell. Would you mind lifting your t-s.h.i.+rt?'

I do, and the sonographer rubs cold gel on my tummy. Then she puts a plastic, white thing on my s.h.i.+ny skin. 'Let's get started.'

'Can you see if it's a boy or girl?' I ask.

'Not yet. Not until your next scan. We're just going to do a few checks today to make sure the baby's healthy.'

I tighten my grip on Marc's hand.

As the sonographer moves the plastic thing around my belly, I notice white shadows appear on the TV hanging over the bed.

'That's your baby,' says the sonographer, nodding at the screen.

'Oh my G.o.d!' I whisper in awe. 'Oh Marc. Look!'

Marc's beautiful, dark eyebrows furrow together. 'Does everything look the way it should?'

The sonographer laughs. 'Typical father question. Yes, Mr Blackwell. From what I can see here, you have a perfectly healthy baby in there. We'll be able to see more on the next scan. But so far so good.'

'So nothing to worry about?' I squeak.

'We never know for absolute certain of course,' says the sonographer. 'And there's still the other scan. But I don't think you have anything to worry about.'

Marc helps wipe the gel from my tummy and pulls my t-s.h.i.+rt down.

'Happy?' I ask, squeezing his hand.

'Relieved.'

'It'll be fine Marc. I promise.'

'Well we've got the first scan out of the way,' says Marc. 'What's next on the emotional, calendar? Ah yes. Your bedroom scene with Leo Falkirk.'

'I'm sorry. I know it's going to be difficult. It'll be difficult for me too.'

'Why?'

'Because I know you'll hate it.'

'That's not the only reason. You're nervous. Aren't you? I can tell.'

'Yes,' I admit. 'I've never done a bedroom scene on camera before. I suppose I still have inhibitions.'

'Let's go home. You can show me the script again.'

61.

Back at the townhouse, Marc and I sit in the lounge while he looks over the script.

Marc dismisses Rodney for the day, telling him we'll order takeout food for our evening meal.

I know as soon as Marc dismisses Rodney that he has something planned. Something to do with the script. And helping me with my inhibitions.

'Okay.' Marc smacks the script on his knee. 'So this isn't the usual bedroom scene. This is a little more animalistic two people covered in dirt and bruises having s.e.x on a hay bale.'

'Animalistic?'

'Can you think of a better word?'

'What about ... pa.s.sionate?'

'It's more than pa.s.sionate. The characters are both bruised and worn out. Rapunzel is bleeding. The hero could be killed soon, by Baz's character, and he thinks, "If I'm going to die, we need to make love".

'She resists him. Tries to fight him off. But then she relents, knowing she loves him and wants him too.' Marc raises a teasing eyebrow at me. 'In other words, the scene is animalistic.'

'Fine. We'll go with your word.'

'I'm glad to hear you're finally doing what you're told. Now. Let's get you in costume.'

'We don't have any costumes here.'

'Rapunzel wears rags in this scene. I'm sure we can construct something.'

'Is that really necessary?'

'Yes. It's really necessary. You need to practise having your clothes torn off.'

I laugh. 'Don't you think we've practised that enough already?'

'Go choose one of my s.h.i.+rts. I'll get some scissors.'

'We don't have a hay bale,' says Marc, leading me down into the bas.e.m.e.nt car park. 'But we do have a dungeon.'

'We're going to practise here?' I say, following him down the steps.

'Can you think of a better place? It's dark. Gloomy. The perfect atmosphere don't you think.'

'I suppose.'

Marc's carrying a handful of leather sofa cus.h.i.+ons, and he drops them on the concrete floor, right by an oil stain.

'They're going to get filthy,' I say.

'So I'll buy some more.'

'It must be nice being a millionaire.'

'I'm not a millionaire, Sophia. I'm a billionaire.'

I laugh. 'Either way, it's not good to waste things.'

'These are leather cus.h.i.+ons. Wipe clean. They may get a few scuff marks, but that just adds to their character.'

'If you're sure.'

'I'm sure. I love seeing you in my clothes.'

I'm wearing one of Marc's black s.h.i.+rts, which swamps me and comes to the middle of my thighs. On Marc's insistence I'm wearing nothing underneath, because in the scene I'll look naked.

Marc wears cargo trousers and an unb.u.t.toned black s.h.i.+rt.

As I stand, bare feet on concrete, Marc turns me around and slashes the back of the s.h.i.+rt with sharp scissors.

'Whoa!' I say, as I hear cotton ripping.

'Turn around.'

I do, and Marc artfully slashes the front of the s.h.i.+rt just enough to reveal bare flesh but no x-rated parts.

'You're good at that,' I remark. 'Maybe you should have a career in s.e.xy rag making.'

Marc stands back and looks me up and down. 'Okay. We'll go from the part where the prince is in manacles and you release him.'

'It'll be funny doing it that way around,' I grin.

'Won't it just?' Marc gives me that stomach melting smile of his.

'Marc-'

'We're working. Time to be serious.'

He goes to stand by the rough brick wall and raises his hands over his head. 'Shame there aren't any real manacles down here,' he says. 'Maybe I should get some fitted.'

'Maybe you should.' I take a sharp intake of breath as I watch my handsome husband with his s.h.i.+rt undone, arms raised over his head, bare chest rising and falling.

'Well. What are you waiting for Rapunzel?' says Marc. 'Come and rescue me.'

I move my body to stand more like the Rapunzel character she's sort of a tomboy; feisty and full of energy. Then I pretend to run through a doorway, out of breath, and desperately searching for the love of my life.

'Prince Frederick!' I gasp, throwing a hand to my chest. 'Oh my G.o.d. What did they do to you?'

Marc's stern, measured temperament vanishes, and he suddenly becomes the c.o.c.ky, relaxed Prince Frederick, all flirty smiles and smouldering eyes. 'Tortured me. It wasn't my best day.'

'Let me get you down.' I run to Marc, moving my hands over his wrists, pretending to undo manacles.

Marc rubs his wrists and fixes me with playful eyes.

He is such an incredible actor. I'm just blown away by how he can transform like this.

'Thank you, Princess.'

I take a step back. 'You're welcome.'

'So tell me. Why did you rescue me?'

'Because you're the only one who can free this city.'

'That's the only reason?' Marc takes a step forward.

'We should go. We need to ...'

Marc grabs my wrist. 'Nothing to do with love then?'

I struggle against him. 'I don't love you.'

'You know, your lips tremble when you're lying.' Marc presses his lips to mine, but I struggle away.

'We need to go,' I stammer. 'We need to-'

But then Marc kisses me again and I fall silent.

We tear at each other's clothes, gasping for breath as we rip away fabric.

Marc carries me to the cus.h.i.+ons and lays me down, tearing my s.h.i.+rt clean off.

He simulates movement between my legs, kissing me pa.s.sionately at the same time.

Oh my G.o.d. He is so incredible.

'How are you staying in control?' I say, my voice husky.

'It's difficult.'

'You don't have to. We don't have to act any more.'

'Thank G.o.d for that.'

Marc's thumb moves in circles between my legs and I arch my back and throw my head back.