Page 98 of Claimed At First Sight

“Some did. I honestly didn’t think about that when I picked it. So I made sure to put my photo on the website and all my promotional stuff, so people know exactly who they’re booking.”

She wanders over to a shelf cluttered with camera lenses and picks one up.

“How did you get into this?”

Something in her expression softens.

“My best friend hated having her picture taken,” she says. “Like genuinely hated it. In every photo of herself, she found something she thought was wrong with her.”

I stay quiet, listening.

“One day I convinced her to let me photograph her,” Rory continues. “Nothing crazy. Just soft lighting, oversized shirt, bare legs, messy hair.”

Her eyes drop to the floor for a moment.

“And when she saw them, she cried.”

Something in my chest tightens. “Good crying?”

“Yeah. She said it was the first time she’d ever seen herself as beautiful.” Rory smiles. “I got obsessed with boudoir photography after that.”

Her gaze wanders to the display book in my hands.

“Women arrive terrified half the time. Then something shifts during the shoot, and they start seeing themselves in a different light. I love watching that happen.”

I turn a page in the book and study the woman lying on the bed in a lace corset, completely at ease in her own femininity.

Do I have that in me?

Could I look that comfortable in my own skin?

None of the women seem embarrassed or as if they’re posing for someone else’s approval. They’re… free.

“What?” Rory asks, noticing my expression.

I glance at her before looking back at the photographs.

“Could you take pictures of me like that?”

The question escapes before I can overthink it. Honestly, I’m not even sure where it came from.

Maybe escaping my bodyguards and spending an afternoon pretending I’m a normal nineteen-year-old has given me a boost.

Or it’s because every woman in these photographs looks so unapologetically herself.

For as long as I can remember, people have told me who I’m supposed to be.

An Accardi. A future wife and mother. A young woman who should know her place and behave accordingly.

But beyond my name and the bloodline running through my veins, who am I?

It’s a question I’ve never taken the time to ask.

I doubt I’ll ever come across another boudoir photographer. This is probably my only chance.

A grin spreads across Rory’s face.

“Sure can. I think you’d make a great model.”