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I think about what beautiful subjects the three of them would make. They each have such strong features. Klaus’ intense blue eyes, Kris’s staggering height and broad shoulders, and Nick’s beautiful regal face. They look striking in their richly colored suits and the clean lines of the restaurant behind them.
“I am,” I say with a smile. “Well, kind of. Mostly for myself.”
“Can we see?” Kris inquires.
“Well,” my thoughts race. “I’ve never shown my photos to anyone before.”
“You’re 26 years old and not posting on social media?” Nick cocks an eyebrow.
I shrug. “I traveled with the attitude that it might be my only chance. I didn’t want to spend time on anything other than experiencing it and capturing it in pictures.”
“That’s a real Fuck It Life Is Short attitude. I like it.” Nick nods in approval.
“But true FILIS would be showing us.” Klaus amends. And he’s right, of course. I didn’t take all of these pictures to never have them see the light of day.
I dig in my backpack for my iPad. I didn’t want to spend the money on a laptop, but the iPad at least allowed me to watch photography tutorials and do some light photo editing.
I lay it down in the middle of the table for us all to see. I feel vulnerable showing them the photos. They’re not just some half-assed attempts. I’ve put my all into them, which makes me feel vulnerable. But even the older photos seem so much less professional to me now as I’ve learned more, so I start the slideshow feeling tense.
I expect them to silently judge, but that’s not what they do at all. With every photo, at least one of them comments or asks a question. They tell me which ones they really like and which ones don’t do much for them. It’s honest and perfect.
They are raving about one picture of an older couple in Thailand hand in hand on the beach and my ego is feeling pretty inflated when I swipe to the next photo.
“Oh, crap,” I remark. I got so caught up in the moment I forgot about the next batch of photos. One evening, I found myself alone on the beach at sunset. It was the perfect romantic evening, except I had no one to share it with. So I made lemonade out of lemons and decided to be romantic with myself. I gave myself a full boudoir photoshoot. The photo on the screen is the curve of my naked body, my back arched and my head thrown back with the sunset light pouring out from behind me.
“Fuck, Holly Holiday. This is a nice photo.” Klaus’ voice is thick next to me.
Fuck it. Life is short. I let the photo stay on the screen.
“I was lonely this night,” I say, as if that’s enough explanation.
“I wish we had been there to keep you company,” Nick runs his hand down his jaw, scraping his stubble.
I flick the screen and bring up the next picture. While the last picture was a silhouette, this picture is a full frontal. I’m crouching in the sand completely naked. My arms are between my spread legs barely covering my lady parts and my bare breasts are sandwiched between my arms. I remember thinking that in 50 years I would be grateful I took these pictures. What I did not think was that I would show them to three men I just met who aren’t so far away from 50 themselves.
But somehow it feels safe showing them. They’re not the horny drunk guys from hostels I’ve been swatting away. They’re mature and thoughtful men.
I dare to break my eyes away from the screen and look at them.
“You’re incredible,” Kris says in a low timber. There’s something dark in his kind words and it makes my insides melt.
“I meant these for my eyes only. My travels were a little lonely.” I squint through one eye, not looking at any of them head-on. “I guess this is the sinful part of my Christmas tradition checked off.”
“Nothing sinful about this. Just a drop-dead-gorgeous woman feeling comfortable in her body.” Klaus says as he shifts his weight and our legs brush under our table. My breath hitches at the slight contact. I love the feel of his thigh against mine just as much as I love his words. It’s such different thinking than the mindset I was raised with.
“But,” Klaus clicks my iPad off, so the screen is black. “We don’t need to show everyone these photos of our wifey.” I see him glaring at the server coming over to our table.
There’s that word again. Wifey. Hell, I can be their wifey until my flight.
I lock that train of thought away and shove another canape in my mouth. The salty pops of caviar on my tongue are still exciting, even after about a thousand of them since we sat down.
“I suddenly get why rich people like caviar so much,” I announce after I finish chewing, feeling like I need to change the subject.
The three of them have their eyes locked on me. At first, the attention made me self-conscious, but I’ve quickly gotten used to it. In fact, I’m so used to it that the thought of leaving it soon feels terribly bleak and wrong.
“I like seeing you enjoy yourself.” Nick’s eyes crest in amusement. “Tell us, what else have you never tried that you’ve always wanted to?”
Something about the way Nick’s plush lips move when he asks the question makes my mind go to very filthy places. But that’s not what he’s asking, and he might not even think of me that way.
