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“No.”
Dominik lets go of my arm and opens the book, leafing through the weathered pages of my old copy of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
“Let me guess. Is this because you relate to Catherine’s complex and difficult personality? Or maybe to the intense love she and Heathcliff share? But it’s so destructive, so tremulous that it makes their love story hard to follow. I personally found her infuriating, but their romance was hauntingly beautiful. Is it because they are both so hard to love, Zoe? And yet, they understand one another so well?”
I don’t have words. I am speechless…how…
“What?”
Dom takes a step closer to me.
“No words? That’s a shame.” He smirks.
“Did you just say tremulous?”
“I think I know you better than you think.”
“You’ve read Wuthering Heights? Wait…you read? I have so many questions.”
“There is a lot you don’t know about me.”
Dominik motions to the bed, his mind already elsewhere while I am still processing everything that just happened.
“Lie on the bed, and hold this out in front of your face as if you’re reading it. I’m going to take a couple of photos, and we’ll use whichever one you think will look best from a PR lens.”
Walking to my bed in a haze, I sit down as he hands me the book.
I open it somewhere near the middle, to a random page, and my eyes land on one particular sentence.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
Of course it’s this quote. I feel the words grab hold of me, reminding me how potent just one sentence can be. This is why I don’t read romance anymore. Why I stopped believing in things and emotions that only belong within the world of fiction. They’re only as real as ink on paper.
I feel Dominik’s hands on my shoulders as he guides me backward onto the bed. He plays with my hair, positioning it as I try to focus on my breathing. Laying the book down on the bed, I close my eyes and remind myself why we’re doing this dance right now.
This is all fake. For show.
“Ready?”
I nod, picking up the book and holding it in front of my face.
“Hey, Zo?”
“Yeah?” The room is so incredibly quiet and my heart is beating so fast, I’m worried he can hear it.
“Mind turning the book? It’s upside down.”
Oh my God.
I turn the book slowly, promising myself to sucker punch him right in the stomach as soon as we’re done here. He doesn’t give me shit for it though, nor does he laugh, but I do see the shadow of a smile on his face as he snaps some pictures. A minute later, he grabs the book and chucks it onto the bed. Sitting up quickly, I smooth down my hair as he plops down beside me, holding out his phone to me.
I flip through the photos. Not hating a single one.
He’s even got an eye for photography.
The dark, gothic lighting is perfect, matching the theme of the book, and every angle covers my face perfectly.
I pause on one in particular. The only one that shows my lips.
