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  Preface

  Yay!

  You’ve downloaded the Box Set for my bestselling Ivy series. Excellent choice!

  The box sex includes all FIVE Ivy books.

  At the end, you’ll be a FREE bonus novella from Marc Blackwell’s point of view, plus a chance to join my exclusive Devoted Readers, who receive secret launch news and discounts.

  I still can’t believe so many people read my stories.

  Each and every day, I am humbled by this fact.

  I write feel-good stories that let you escape into romantic worlds. I hope this book makes you smile and feel warm and happy inside.

  I can’t thank you enough for reading. See you at the end.

  Huge kisses,

  Love, Suzy K Quinn xxx

  Book I – The Ivy Lessons

  Chapter 1

  Ivy: A hardy climbing vine with evergreen leaves and black, berry-like fruits that can both damage buildings and protect them from weather damage.

  You’ve been accepted ...

  I stare at the letter, and can’t believe what I’m seeing. The words Ivy College glitter in gold at the top of the page.

  ... to study Creative Theatre at Ivy College, London.

  The mug of tea in my hand shakes, and I feel a big, silly smile on my face.

  I can’t believe it. I absolutely can’t believe it. Thousands of young actors auditioned for Ivy College this year. I didn’t think for a moment I’d get through.

  I look at the letter again, not totally sure it can be real, and think back to the day I auditioned for Ivy College.

  It had been a particularly hot morning, and London’s tubes were a sticky mess of people, water bottles and fizzy drink cans.

  I’d only ever been to London once before, to help my best friend, Jen, find a special pair of shoes for a wedding, and that day we hadn’t ventured past Oxford Street.

  I’d never experienced the panic, aggression and heat of summer rush hour, and I’d felt like a little doll, being thrown back and forth.

  I got lost finding the college, and when I’d asked people for help, most of them were too busy to stop.

  Eventually, a man with a white beard and clipped accent offered to show me the way. He led me off the main road and past pretty townhouses, to several acres of green grounds circled by fir trees and black railings.

  On the grounds, I saw red-brick buildings covered in real ivy, silver and green. The buildings were surrounded by green grass and woodlands.

  ‘I love ivy,’ I’d told the man. ‘It’s one of my favourite plants.’

  ‘Enjoy it while it lasts,’ the man had said. ‘This college is owned by a Hollywood actor. It’ll only be a matter of time before he tears the whole place down and turns it to glass and concrete.’

  ‘Are you talking about Marc Blackwell?’ I’d asked.

  The man had nodded. ‘I’ve heard nothing but bad things about him. Extraordinarily arrogant, apparently. A very cold man.’

  ‘I heard that too,’ I’d said. ‘But then, I suppose he has every reason to be arrogant. He’s not much older than I am, but he’s achieved so much. Winning two Oscars, founding this college.’

  The man had looked at me then, perhaps wondering what business someone in a faded t-shirt and jeans had with the college.

  ‘I’m applying for a place here,’ I’d explained. ‘I won’t get it. Not in a million years. I only came because my university tutor said the audition would be a good experience. And it’s lovely to see the college. It’s beautiful. There are so many trees. You could get lost in those trees.’

  I remember the red-brick, ivy-covered buildings were huddled close together, like they were trying to keep warm. They’d looked like children lost in a forest.

  ‘Well. Good luck to you.’ The man had left me then, and I’d stared at the college in wonder. The buildings all had turrets, balconies and arched windows like something from a fairy tale. A princess’s castle. But I’d liked the trees better than the buildings. A little wildness in the centre of London.

  I’d stared for a long time, before pushing open the wrought-iron gate and heading through the grounds. I felt so tiny and plain in such grand surroundings, but I wasn’t nervous. I had nothing to lose, after all, and experience to gain. I had no idea I’d be meeting Marc Blackwell himself at the audition.

  Chapter 2

  Somehow, I found the audition room amid the winding pathways, brick arches and corridors.

  When I walked into the room, I saw two people sitting behind a long desk.

  The lady on the left I recognised as Denise Crompton, an actress famous for her musical theatre roles. She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling.

  When I saw who was sitting on the right, I nearly tripped over my feet. There, real enough to touch, sat Marc Blackwell. I’d seen him in the movies many times, of course. But this was the first time I’d seen someone so famous in real life.

  His light-brown hair looked softer and cleaner than it did in the movies, but his blue eyes were just as intense under thick, brown eyebrows. He was wearing a black t-shirt, and I remember thinking how lean and toned he looked. I’d read somewhere that he was playing a drug addict in his latest movie, and guessed he’d had to lose weight.

  His cheeks, already angular, were a little hollow, and there were smudges of grey under his eyes. His skin looked very white as usual and he was handsome, in that cold, edgy way that made him the perfect choice for all those arty films he won awards for. His leanness and the curves of his muscles made him look more elegant, somehow, and a little bit dangerous.

  He wore a black shirt, and despite the hot day, it was crisp and hung perfectly on his long, lean body.

  I just stood there like an idiot, staring at Marc for the longest time. In real life, he was captivating. Just captivating. I found my gaze dropping to his lips, which were a sharp red colour and looked ever so slightly amused.

  Despite his handsomeness, the hard look in his blue eyes told me he didn’t stand for any nonsense, and that he wasn’t impressed so far.

  Denise smiled at me again, but Marc’s face remained serious. He didn’t waste any time with pleasantries.

  ‘This is Denise Crompton,’ Marc said, gesturing to his left. His voice was deep, and each word was spoken clearly. Precisely. He had the edges of an English accent, which surprised me since I’d heard he grew up in LA. ‘She teaches singing, music and dance.’ Marc folded his long fingers together. ‘And if you have any sense, you’ll know who I am. I own the college and offer students three lectures a week. And you are?’

  ‘Sophia Rose,’ I said, feeling my throat tighten. Try as I might, I just couldn’t tear myself away from his eyes. They were like a flickering candle in a dark room. There was nowhere else to look. He returned my stare, leaning forwards onto his elbows.

  ‘Well, Miss Rose,’ he said, a smile spiking his curved lips. ‘Nice of you to dress up for us today.’

  I looked down at my white t-shirt and jeans.

  ‘My university lecturer told me to go casual for auditions,’ I said. ‘Otherwise you look like you’re trying too hard.’

  Marc raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he indeed?’

  ‘She.’

  The smile just about reached Marc’s eyes. ‘Are you correcting me, Miss Rose?’

  ‘I -’

  ‘Let’s see what you can do. Who are you playing?’

  ‘Lady Macbeth.’

  ‘Ah.�
� Marc leaned back in his chair and tapped a navy pen on his notepad. ‘The evil lady of Shakespeare.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I felt myself stand taller. ‘She’s not evil.’

  ‘Correcting me again?’

  ‘But she isn’t.’ I insisted. ‘I don’t believe anyone is wholly evil. Even bad characters have lightness in them. You just have to look for it. If I don’t see the good in a character, I can’t play her.’

  Marc’s gaze was so intense, then, that I honestly thought it might knock me off balance. His blue eyes grew darker, and his brows pulled into a straight line.

  I found myself moving my feet further apart, and my shoes squeaked on the parquet floor. We stared at each other for the longest time. Then Marc sat back, and spun his pen around his long fingers.

  ‘Well, Miss Rose. As I said. Let’s see what you can do. Ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ I gave a stupid nod, shook out my fingers and took a deep breath.

  I played the scene where Lady Macbeth has blood on her hands. I read from a script that I’d altered myself, and put all my passion and spirit into the performance. I felt the light and dark of the character, her hunger for power, but also her remorse and madness.

  I didn’t look at Marc, but sometimes out of the corner of my eye I saw his eyebrow raise and the hollows in his cheeks ripple.

  When I’d finished, Denise clapped heartily. Marc watched me, stony faced, and I guessed I’d have to do a lot more to impress an Oscar-winning Hollywood star.

  I stumbled on my way towards the door. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Miss Rose,’ Marc barked.

  My hand faltered on the door handle.

  ‘Light and dark, is that what you believe? The good in everybody?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He gripped his pen so tight that his knuckles went white. I noticed his jaw harden, and I wondered if I’d upset him. Then he rested his pen on his notepad. ‘Thank you for your performance. I enjoyed it very much.’

  Chapter 3

  I think about those words as I stare at my acceptance letter. I enjoyed it very much. I guess he must have meant it.

  I pick up my Blackberry and find Jen’s number. It’s sunny in Dad’s garden, and I shade the screen as I press to connect. Jen is my best friend, and she’s always top of my frequent calls.

  ‘Jen. It’s Soph.’

  ‘What happened? Are you okay? Your voice sounds funny – where are you?’

  I laugh. She knows me so well. ‘It’s okay. Nothing bad. At least, not yet. I’m just at Dad’s house, taking a break from cleaning.’

  ‘You spend every weekend cleaning their cottage -’

  ‘I know, Jen, but they need my help.’ Since Dad had a baby with his new girlfriend, Genoveva, their house has been in chaos. I used to live there before I started university, but now I just visit at weekends.

  I take a deep breath. ‘But ... I got accepted on a post-graduate course. A good one. At a college in London.’

  ‘Accepted? To a college? I thought you were done with university and all of that.’

  ‘It’s post graduate. And it’s a really good college.’

  ‘Which college is it?’

  ‘Ivy College. London.’

  ‘Oh. My. God. You’re kidding me!’ Jen shrieks down the phone. ‘The Marc Blackwell college? You MUST be kidding me. You told me that course had thousands of applicants. Thousands and thousands. You said you were never going to get it. You said Marc didn’t like your audition.’

  ‘I know. But I guess he did.’

  ‘I can’t believe it, Soph. I said you were good. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Thanks Jen.’

  ‘Marc Blackwell,’ Jen shrieks. ‘He’ll be teaching you. You’ll be living in his college.’

  I put a hand to my mouth to stifle a nervous laugh. ‘Mad, isn’t it? I mean, I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  I hear pages rustle.

  ‘I’ve got Heat magazine right here,’ say Jen. ‘There’s an article about him. Here it is. Something about him pledging money to save some crumbling old church in London. There’s a picture of him. He’s hot. Not exactly the university lecturer type, though. I mean, he’s – what – twenty seven?’

  ‘Marc Blackwell’s been acting since he was a child,’ I say. ‘He’s been in more movies than most forty year olds.’

  ‘Oh my God, Soph, he is so sexy. Those eyes ... that body ... there’s something so lethal about him. Maybe it’s all those gritty, martial arts movies he does. He’ll be teaching you. Talking to you.’

  ‘That’s if I accept the place,’ I say. ‘I met him already, remember? He’s kind of cold. Not exactly nurturing and supportive. Maybe it’s not the right course for me.’

  ‘Have you told your dad yet?’

  I bite my thumbnail. ‘No. I mean, there’s nothing to tell right now, is there? I haven’t even decided if I’m going to accept.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? That’s it.’ The phone goes dead. I know what that means. Jen is driving over here in her new Mini.

  Jen and I have been friends since primary school, but we’re from totally different worlds. Her dad works for a city law firm, and her mum stays at home, ironing clothes, cleaning and generally making sure Jen and her dad are presentable.

  My world is much more chaotic. When I was seven, my mother passed away, and I was raised by my father. My dad is fantastic, but he works odd hours as a taxi driver, so sometimes I go days without seeing him. I did my best to take care of the house when we lived together, but my dad is the sort of person who makes things messy just by looking at them, so it was always a struggle. I was the kid who turned up at school in a crumpled shirt with sleeves an inch too short.

  A few years ago, my dad got together with Genoveva – a woman Jen calls my wicked stepmother. I don’t see Genoveva that way. She’s not a bad person, she just doesn’t want to share my father with anyone or be reminded he had a life before she came along.

  When they got together, Genoveva moved into our cottage. It was okay for a while, but then Genoveva got pregnant, and I offered to move into the annex next door so they’d have more space. I won a place at a Scottish university, but it was so obvious they needed my help that I chose a uni in the nearby town.

  The annex is a bit rough and ready, but it means I’m close enough to help out, and Dad let me stay there rent free while I was studying.

  I look at the cottage. I know what Dad will say if I tell him about Ivy College. Follow your heart, follow your dreams. But I also know he and Genoveva will struggle without my help.

  I hear a screech outside, and the crackle of gravel tells me Jen’s Mini has just skidded into our driveway. I grab the acceptance letter and run to the front of the house, waving at her.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Soph!’ Jen waves back. She looks amazing, as always. Long, blonde hair lying straight as a ruler down her back. Designer jeans. Huge green eyes outlined in kohl, and cute chubby cheeks like a chipmunk. She’s short and curvy, with a huge bust – just the opposite of me, with my willowy arms and legs, wavy brown hair and just-about B-cup.

  ‘You’re accepting that course,’ she says, as she crunches over gravel towards me.

  ‘Shush!’ I wave my hands at her. My dad, Genoveva and my baby brother, Samuel, are all inside the cottage. I can see Dad and Genoveva through the living room window and I think maybe they’re arguing, because Genoveva’s hands are flying around.

  Jen takes my arm and pulls me towards the annex, which sits metres away from the cottage. It’s a bungalow bedsit. Kitchen, bedroom and living area all in the same space, but it’s okay. It’s got everything I need, and as long as I keep it tidy, I don’t mind the lack of space.

  We go inside, and Jen slams the door behind us.

  ‘How can you stand this place?’ She goes to the kettle. ‘That woman has stolen your house from you.’

  ‘She keeps Dad happy,’ I say, wiping a cobweb from a framed photo of my mum, which si
ts on the windowsill. Mum smiles at me from the photograph. She was in our garden when that picture was taken – the sun shining on her long, black hair. ‘Anyway, I like the annex. It’s all mine.’

  ‘Is this your acceptance letter?’ Jen asks, taking the white paper from my hand.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I still haven’t read it properly. I’m in shock. I don’t know, Jen. I don’t know how Dad and Genoveva will cope without me. London is a long way away.’

  Jen waves a hand at me as she scans the letter. ‘London is half an hour by bus, then one hour by train. You can come back every weekend if you need to. Listen – you’re my best friend. I’m not going to let you pass up this chance. I’m just not.’

  ‘Just because some arrogant Hollywood star is teaching the course?’

  ‘He’s not just some Hollywood star,’ says Jen. ‘You said yourself, he’s an amazing actor.’

  ‘With an amazingly cold reputation,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, maybe he does come across as a bit arrogant,’ says Jen. ‘Apparently, he won’t even read a script unless it’s given to him exclusively. He takes it as an insult if any other actor is even considered for a role he’s up for.’

  I swallow. ‘And this is a man who might be teaching me? Do you really think that would be a good idea? You know I can be sensitive.’

  Jen shrugs. ‘It’s time you toughened up a bit. Maybe he’s exactly what you need. Anyway, perhaps all the gossip is just that. Gossip. Anyone who’s as successful as Marc is going to get knocked by the press. It’s what they do. You can’t pass up this chance, Sophia – you’re an amazing actress.’

  I sigh. ‘Jen, you’re biased.’

  ‘Hello!’ Jen waves the letter. ‘Evidently Marc Blackwell and everyone else at Ivy College agree with me.’

  ‘They saw one audition,’ I say. ‘An audition when I wasn’t nervous because I didn’t think for a moment I’d be accepted. They don’t really know me. When they do, they might think they’ve made a mistake. Anyway. There are practical things. How can I afford it? Dad’s got no money right now. He’s too busy taking care of Genoveva and Samuel. He’s already letting me stay at the annex for free – I can’t ask him for anything else.’