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19
? My phone went off just as I was heading out of the dressing room. I could tell it was Elaina calling from work by the ringtone, so I let it go to voice mail without listening to the message. I sent her a fast text instead:
Can’t talk . . . on photo shoot now. Call u later. —B
I silenced my cell but left it powered up as Ethan had told me to—something about the GPS app he’d activated—slipped it into the pocket of my robe, and didn’t give it another thought. I had a job to do and found my focus.
The hair extensions tickled my back and the floor was downright cold under my ass. I wasn’t wearing any string thong today either, but I did have some really gorgeous black stockings with pink ribbons laced around the top of my thighs and tied into bows.
Simon, my photographer for this shoot, was an unconventional dresser at best, but with his electric-blue skinny jeans paired with a lime-green shirt and white-patent-leather ankle boots, not only had me in need of retina protection but had me attempting a shot I’d never tried before. I could only shudder at what Ethan would say when he got a look at the proofs.
He would hate them on sight, and then try to buy the images so no one else could have them.
I felt the rush of adrenaline, though—the knowledge of doing something a little scary and unfamiliar. I liked to push myself, and wanted these pictures to turn out well, to deliver the most professional services I could to the artist.
My back faced the camera, legs spread open, knees slightly bent, feet flat, my palms holding on to my inner calves to hold my legs apart. It was meant to be a provocative shot, and anyone who walked in front of me right now would see my lady parts on full pornographic display. Ethan will definitely disapprove. But I wasn’t worried. There were rules in place, and everyone followed those rules . . . or they didn’t get called back again for another job.
The ends of the hair extensions just barely brushed the floor, in effect covering my butt, which was a good thing because I didn’t want ass crack to be visible in these pictures.
I told Simon and he laughed over at me. “Brynne, my luv, if anyone can do elegant bum cleavage it would be you.”
“Well, thanks, Simon, but no thanks, if you get my drift. No vertical grin for me on this one, please.”
“I promise you, all I see is a suggestion of curves and your long sculpted legs. You are absolutely glowing, darling. New vitamins?” he asked distractedly as the camera clicked away.
“Well, actually, yes.”
“Oh, share with me, please,” he gushed. “I need any beauty secrets you’ve got.”
I snorted out a laugh. “I don’t think you want what I’m taking, Simon . . . unless you desire a set of breasts.”
“Oh, darling, please tell me you’re not going for implants. Your tits are perfection as is!”
I laughed at the canvas drape in front of me, wishing I could see his face. “Um . . . no, not getting implants. They’ll get bigger the natural way.”
“Huh? What treatment does that?” I could tell he was way off base from where I was trying to lead. Gay or not, Simon was a man, and they just don’t catch on to subtleties in these matters most of the time. I’m guessing it has something to do with having a penis.
“The kind where you have a baby at the end of it.” I grinned and wished I could see his face now more than before.
“Oh my god! You’re up the duff, aren’t you?”
“That has got to be one of the most hideous terms you Brits have ever come up with, but yes indeed, I am.”
“Congratulations, darling. I hope this is happy news for you?”
“It is.” I was quiet for a minute, thinking about everything that had changed for me in such a short time, battling the emotions that seemed to simmer just under the surface these days. Maybe I could blame the hormones raging inside me, but it was a still a daily struggle to stay even.
Simon continued to snap pictures, directing me with subtle changes of position and then the lighting, keeping up a dialogue as was his style. He chattered constantly while he worked. “So you’re getting married to your boyfriend?”
“Yeah, August the twenty-fourth is our big day. We’re doing it in the country at his sister’s Somerset mansion.”
“Sounds very posh . . .” Simon mused over a new direction. “Can you tilt your head back and look upward for me?”
“Yeah . . . that too,” I said dryly. “Do you want to come, Simon?”
“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! Perfect excuse for a new suit,” he babbled, going off on a tangent about Italian silks and something about a green one he’d spotted in a shop in Milan that would be just perfect for a country wedding.
I thought about my dad and how he wouldn’t be getting a new suit for my wedding. He wouldn’t be there to give me away. I had nobody to do that for me now. I wasn’t asking Frank either. My mom had already tried that angle with me and there was no way. I’d go down the aisle alone before I did that one. Nothing against Frank, but he was not my father in any sense of the word. He was my mother’s husband, and that’s all he was.
