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12
VIOLET
The photographer’s studio is located in a fashionable Chelsea loft. She’s a thin white woman with short, spiky hair and a lip ring.
She gives a friendly smile when we arrive. “Hi. I’m Natasha.”
I shake her hand. “I’m Violet. And this is Gage, my boy—I mean, my fiancé.”
“Smooth,” Gage mutters in my ear.
But if Natasha notices my flub, she doesn’t say anything.
Natasha takes our coats, then does a double take when she sees my simple blouse and jeans. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
I look down, checking to see if there’s a paint stain I missed. But no, this outfit is entirely free of paint.
I feel Gage’s warm hand at the base of my back.
“I like it,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m sure you do, but the camera won’t. Not for something like this. Do you mind if I put you in something else? I’ve got a few pieces left over from a recent photoshoot.”
“Oh...um. Okay.” I shrug and let Natasha lead me into a small walk-in closet. She holds a series of flowy, flashy, expensive dresses up in front of me, eyes narrowed. Then she nods decisively and hands me a red chiffon gown. The skirt flows to the floor in a series of tiny pleats, and the bodice is a sort of elevated halter dress, topped off by a gold chain that will loop around my neck. The front is elegant and fairly modest.
But my entire back will be exposed.
“Wear your hair down, yes?” Natasha says. “And put on more mascara if you have it. I like the natural look, but we really want those big eyes of yours to pop.”
Then she leaves me alone in the walk-in closet to get changed.
I put the dress on and examine myself in front of the mirror. The dress is about half a foot too long for me, but otherwise, it fits me perfectly.
I twist and turn in front of the mirror. It’s the kind of dress anyone would look sexy in.
I can’t wait for Gage to see me in this, I think.
Then I grimace and press my fist against my forehead. I need to stop thinking like that. It’s a good thing that Gage fell asleep the other night before either of us could do something we’d regret. It’s a really good thing that Gage doesn’t seem to remember any of the nice things he said to me that night.
It’s a really, really good thing that Gage and I will never have more than a fake relationship.
I point my finger at my reflection. “Don’t fall for him just because we’re doing all this pretend couple-shit. You’re smarter than that.”
Then I take a deep breath, hike up the skirt so I can walk, and leave the safety of the walk-in closet.
I follow the sounds of Gage and Natasha’s voices until I find them in a large, dark room with polished concrete walls and a floor that’s been painted black. The only light comes from the large lights Natasha has set up for the photoshoot. They’re aimed at an old-fashioned gray velvet couch, where Gage is already sitting, chatting with Natasha while he waits for me.
Then he spots me and his words dry up.
“Violet,” he swallows. “You look...”
“Don’t be shy on my account!” Natasha says. “This is an engagement shoot! Tell her she looks beautiful.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Yeah, Gage. Tell me I look beautiful.” I strike a dramatic pose like an old-fashioned movie heroine.
Gage tries and fails to hide a smile.
“Ha! I knew Violet could get you to smile,” Natasha says. “I can always spot the people who can get everyone else to smile. Okay, Violet, go sit on the couch next to Gage. And I want you to each shift a little, so you’re angled toward each other but still facing me.”
