He nods.
Holy shit. A supermodel and an artist? Down, girl, down.
“Why do you hide them?” I ask, frowning a little.
“I’m not hiding them. I just don’t like sharing them,” he says matter-of-factly.
“But why? Zane, they’re so good!” I blurt out. Then I stop. “From what I saw that day, I mean. I haven’t been in your office, I promise.”
“I believe you,” he smiles.
“I just…I don’t understand why.”
Zane takes a breath and lets it out again. “Circling back to my parents. They have money. They came from money. Which means I have money too.”
“Of course you do,” I say. “You’re a model.”
Zane shakes his head. “I had money before that. I don’t talk about it much. My parents work in the celebrity news industry. High up. So high that even famous people have to know the right people to get in contact with them. So I have been in the public eye since I was little. And because of that, I have always been treated like a celebrity. Public schools weren’t safe. I couldn’t just go out with friends to movies or arcades or even just to a gas station for a candy bar. I was escorted everywhere. It was lonely. So eventually, I gave in to it and started modeling. At least in that world, I made friends and didn’t have to hide…well, my body anyway.”
“That’s wild,” I say softly. “So you never wanted it?”
“It’s not that I didn’t want it. But I didn’t exactly feel like I had options either,” I answer.
“You could have done art,” I say. As if it’s that simple. I’m sure it’s not.
“I wish,” he snorts. “They wouldn’t have supported that.”
“That’s crazy,” I tell him, what I’m sure he already knows.
“Maybe, but I’m not complaining,” I tell her. “I’ve had a good life. A lucky life. But I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t in art. It used to be. Back when it was exciting. Now it’s just a job.”
“So why keep your art private?” I ask. “You’re older now. You don’t have to live out someone else’s idea of the perfect life anymore.”
Zane chews his lips and leans in as if he is trying to decide the best way to answer this. “My life has been public for as long as I can remember. Once I started modeling, my life also became a subject of criticism. There is no part of me that isn’t under a magnifying glass or blown up on a billboard for everyone to see and judge. But my art…it’s still mine. And only mine. It’s not subject to criticism or judgement. And I like it that way.”
I study him, thinking about that. And after a long and thoughtful second, a smile finds its way onto my lips. “I love that. I get it.”
“You do?” he asks with a tone that suggests he doesn’t believe me.
“Photography was never supposed to be a full-time job for me. I loved working with children. I’d thought about doing photography for money, but I never wanted to do this,” I admit.
“You want it to be art,” he says, and I can feel my face lighting up softly. It’s like we are turning the pages of each other, getting to know each other’s stories one chapter at a time.
“I do,” I answer. “Prying into people’s lives before exposing all the things they’d rather keep quiet…that’s not art. That’s not anything.”
We both take a sip. Then we order a traditional shepherd’s pie and share it.
“Isn’t this going to wreck your diet?” I ask as he takes a bite.
“Absolutely,” he answers with a full mouth and a smile. “And just this once, it’s totally worth it.”
All of this is worth it.
After we go home, we thank Demi again. Bentley, of course, was an angel for her, and he’s still sleeping when we get there.
“You think he’ll sleep through the night?” Ashlyn asks.
“Fingers crossed,” I say, heading towards his room. Ashlyn tiptoes behind me, and we pad our way over to the crib. The moonlight glows around him, and he’s fast asleep, suckling on his pacifier as usual, snug in his warm pajamas. The room smells like lavender, a telltale sign that Demi gave him a bath. I smile down at him before we head back out into the hallway.
