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Four
EVELYN
“You look tired, dear.” Mrs. Dennis places her prized winning Bichon Frise on the box in front of the backdrop and orders for him to sit.
“I had a busy weekend,” I admit, kneeling down, finding the best angle to capture her pooch. This isn’t exactly the career path I would have chosen, I prefer more artistic photography to headshots, but I like to have my own space and I enjoy my hobby. The studio isn’t really big enough to provide a home and workspace, so after searching for an affordable one-bedroom apartment in the city proved to be impossible, I gave in to Fabian and moved in with him.
Living with him is one thing, but I refuse to live off his family's money. Doing family portraits and shoots like this one, allows me to pay the rent on my studio at least.
“These are really beautiful.” Mrs. Dennis takes a look at some of the canvas prints I have placed around the studio. They are shots that I’ve taken around the city over the years. Whenever I’m out I like to keep a camera to hand, you never know when opportunity will present itself. I’m different from most people, I don’t look for beautiful things to photograph. My pictures are of derelict buildings, taken as the sun shines through the windows, or of a homeless person rooting through a dumpster and the appreciation on their face when a stranger hands them a warm coffee.
Finding moments like these around the city is my very own treasure hunt, and capturing the beauty in such broken things is my reward.
“You really have a talent, you should sell these,” she tells me, pulling out her brush and recombining Rufus’s soft frizz.
“I try, I have a website, but it doesn’t do all that well. I’m lucky to sell a few postcards a month.”
“If it’s money you're after, you should get yourself a show dog.” She laughs, patting her prized pooch on his head. “You wouldn't believe what I can charge for a stud fee for this beautiful boy.” She steps out of frame again and I get back to clicking, working my lens around him, and I have to admit he’s a pro, better than most humans I’ve worked with.
After they leave, I square the place back up and take out my phone. I have a missed call from Kendra, and a text from Fabian telling me he’s gonna be late home tonight. I can’t say I’m not relieved, since Saturday night I’ve found it hard to be in his company. I feel like I’ve betrayed him, and that I’m still betraying him every time I think about Raoul. Which, over the past 48 hours, has been a whole lot.
Since I have no more clients today, I decide to make the most of an empty apartment and head back home to run myself a bath. I intend to read the novel Kendra recommended and try to switch my head off for a few hours.
As soon as I step outside the building and see the black town car parked outside, my feet root to the sidewalk. The glass is tinted, but intuition tells me it’s him. The way my stomach flutters and my heart slams against my chest, makes me certain of it.
The door opens and he casually steps out of the car.
Why does he have to be so handsome? It’s really hard to keep hating someone who looks that good in a three-piece suit.
“Get in the car,” he commands harshly, his eyes checking our surroundings for any witnesses.
“I will not.” I find the strength to move past him and continue in the direction of Fabian’s apartment.
“Evelyn, I told you to get in the fucking car.” He repeats himself, already losing his calm. I don’t respond, I don’t turn around, I just keep on walking, until I feel his hand crush around my wrist and force me to stop. Instinct takes over, and I tense my fist before throwing it over my shoulder, directly into Raoul Burlusconi’s perfectly structured jaw.
He looks stunned for a second, then angry, really fucking angry. That grip he’s got on my wrist tightens and he uses it to draw me closer to his body, holding my arm so tight to his chest that I feel his heart pound. One of his heavies gets out of the car and starts to move toward us, but Raoul uses his free arm to stand him down.
“People have lost their lives for doing much less than that,” he warns, his mouth touching my ear as his other hand curls around my body to grip my other wrist. I struggle the best I can, but I’m weak against him, and his fingers dig into me so tight that my bones feel like they might break and my skin is on fire.
“I didn’t want to do this, but it seems you won’t come willingly,” he whispers, shifting both my wrists into one of his hands while he pulls a cable tie out of his pocket with the other one. He wraps it around where I’m joined and pulls it so tight against my skin that I feel my pulse throbbing.
“Now, get in the fucking car,” he growls, prowling around my body and then forcing me with his hips toward the big scary-looking man who’s holding open the back passenger door.
“You have no right to do this,” I protest, tumbling frontwards onto his leather seat and attempting to shuffle myself into a seated position. Raoul gets in beside me and slams the door closed, confining us in the small space together.
He’s trying hard to remain calm, but I know him too well. I remember how pent up he used to get over the simplest things when we were younger. He never could hide his emotions from me.
“You should know by now, that I do what I please.” He pulls a hand through his hair in another attempt to keep his cool, and despite the seriousness of my situation, I have to bite the smirk it causes off my lips.
“The least you can do is offer me an explanation.” I fidget, trying to find a comfortable position, which it turns out is impossible when your hands are cable-tied behind your back.
“You will get one,” he assures me, and I swear I’d land another punch on him if I could. Arrogant bastard. He was right, he really isn’t the fifteen-year-old boy who kissed me in my bedroom twelve years ago, that boy had some compassion.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of conversation as we travel further out of the city. But I make sure that every time he glances at me, he gets a scowl in return. Maybe he’s made the mistake of thinking I’m the girl he left behind. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that a broken heart only strengthens the spirit, and Raoul is about to learn that too.
The car turns onto a private road that’s lined with trees, and the huge electric gates in front of the luxury mansion ahead automatically open as we approach. I stare at the floor of the car in case my face gives away how impressed I am by the place.
“We’re here,” he announces once the car pulls to a stop, then getting out, he reaches his long arm back in to drag me out and onto my feet. My pussy tenses when his hand clasps a fist full of my hair and forces me to look up at the huge building. Then my stomach flips when I feel his nose slide against my cheek.
