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He hadn’t called me directly, but I could hear his voice through Chester’s phone.

Because he was shouting on the other end of it. I couldn’t make out the words at first, but I could still tell it was him.

“That was just what she was wearing as she was waiting for some repairs on the dress she was modeling, Mr. Castelo,” he was explaining in a formal tone. “She wasn’t modeling nude.”

“—telling me she just hangs around the set like that?” Calder’s voice got louder, enough so that I could make out some of his words. “She’s just walking around naked? How many people were in that room?”

Chester glanced at me.

I held up six fingers.

“Six,” Chester said into his phone. “And she wasn’t actually nude.” He was looking at me sternly. “She had a thong and pasties on.”

“Were you in that room with her dressed like that?” my husband shouted.

“No,” Chester answered. “I was waiting right outside for her. I stay away from the backstage once I know the area is secure. There tends to be a lot of scantily clad women running around at these things, and I prefer to give them some privacy.”

Calder said something I couldn’t make out, and Chester handed me the phone with a clenched jaw.

“Hello,” I said, and it came out more hesitant than I meant for it to.

He didn’t yell at me as he had Chester, but his tone was mean enough that it didn’t feel much better, “Why did you do that?” He bit each word of the question out with acute hostility.

“The-the picture earlier?” I asked. I knew that’s what he was asking about, but I was stalling for an answer. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Yes,” he snapped. “The picture you posted online a few hours ago. Why did you do that?”

I couldn’t figure out why he was reacting like this. Had it really been such a shocking picture? “I-I thought it was funny. Everything was covered up.”

“Funny?” he ground out. “Everything was covered up?” His deep voice was inching toward a shout. “I’m looking at a lot of bare fucking skin right now. My wife’s bare fucking skin. No one but me needs to see this much of you, Mrs. Castelo.”

“Okay,” I said woodenly. His mean tone was having an unexpected effect on me. I was shocked at myself, I rarely cried, but it was an effort for me not to burst into tears. “I’ll take it down.”

“I already took it down,” he shot back, voice calmer now, though nowhere near friendly, “but it’s out there forever now. I’m sure I’m not the only one with a screenshot of it.”

“I didn’t realize it would displease you,” I told him stiffly. “What can I do to make up for it?” I had to choke the words out.

My husband’s voice was biting and strident. “Here it is: No more naked pictures online.”

“I was not naked,” I couldn’t help but point out.

He ignored that. “No more changing in front of everyone. No more hanging out in your panties with six fucking other people in the room. Who were the six people, by the way?”

I had to think about it. “Hair dresser. Makeup artist. Lighting guy. Photographer. A designer and a tailor.” Yep, that was six.

“How many were men?” he growled.

My brows rose. “Three.”

I listened to him breathing through the phone for a solid minute. He was really going through something on the other end. A rage or a temper tantrum, I couldn’t decide which and I wasn’t sure what the difference was.

“Only one of them was straight,” I finally added.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he snapped. “I want you to start showing some decorum on the job. Some modesty. Change behind a curtain, wear a robe when you need to. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

I hung up and handed Chester’s phone back to him.