Secrets Vol. 2 (Page 9)

My voice is soft, "You looked so young and afraid. And the ring, I guess there’s a heartbreaking story there?" His shoulders tense. Cole works his jaw and swallows hard as I finish speaking. I think he’s angry, but I can’t tell. I look at my hands and say, "I didn’t mean to look. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything."

He doesn’t glance at me anymore. His eyes take on a vacant stare like he’s remembering something he wants to forget. "It’s fine. I’d forgotten it was in there. The rest of those pictures were burned." He doesn’t acknowledge the Tiffany ring.

Burned? There’s a story there, a part of him that I want to know. I can’t not ask. Carefully, I say, "Why’d you enlist? I mean, most families would have disowned a kid over something like that."

Now he glances at me. His eyes are cold as stone and I visibly flinch. "What makes you think mine didn’t?" His words are filled with scorn for someone else, but some of it drips onto me.

I falter. My mouth hangs open. "But, you’re the only heir – " I sputter, shocked, not believing what he’s implying. A sole heir wouldn’t be disowned. That’s extraordinarily bad. I can’t even imagine what he’d done. Enlisting doesn’t seem big enough to warrant such a reaction, but as I look at him, I know I can’t ask. I seriously doubt my mother would have been disowned if there were no cousins, if there were no one else to claim my mother’s birthright.

Hedging, he says, "You seem to know some things, for a girl who hates rich people so much."

I laugh, but there’s no joy in it, "Yeah, well, let’s just say life wasn’t kind to my parents. I saw things from the wrong side and it took its toll on me." Suddenly I stop talking. That’s my darkest secret. It fills me with anger and shame to even bring it up – anger at my Grandmother for treating her daughter so cruelly, shame that I’m not more like my mom. She has backbone that I’ll never possess. I look out the window, but I still see Cole out of the corner of my eye, watching me.

"I understand," he says and glances at me again. "Things struck a little closer to home for me and it didn’t matter that I was the sole heir. I enlisted to prove a point. They disowned me prove a point." He’s staring out the windshield. His voice is cold. He doesn’t look at me. Gripping the steering wheel of the Porsche, his knuckles turn white. I feel like I’ve picked open old wounds for both of us and desperately wish I could take it back. The pain in his eyes floods me and I want to take it away. That distant look, the feeling that he’s not good enough – that he’ll never be good enough – is plastered across his face.

Turning, I stare at him with my jaw hanging open. There’s a word that’s lodged itself in my throat, something I was going to say – but I’ve forgotten what it was.

It can’t be true. He couldn’t have been disinherited. Cole Stevens didn’t have his family’s millions? But, he’s said it all along – he made Le Femme, it was his blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh my God. Staring, mouth still agape, I don’t know what to say. I want to tell him that I understand, but I don’t get it the way my mother does. I don’t know what it feels like to have everything one day and nothing the next. His parents blindsided him. They chose money over love. They rejected their only child.

I finally say, "I’m sorry. I didn’t know."

Shrugging, he says, "It’s not your fault, so there’s no reason to apologize. And no one knows. It was part of our agreement." He laughs and shakes his head like it’s some cruel joke. "I was allowed to keep my name – my f**king name – if I didn’t tell anyone that I’d lost my inheritance. Even that wasn’t mine. Anyway, it’s a long story, but the short version is that you should never piss off a Stevens’. They have long memories and will tear you apart when you least expect it."

The savageness in his voice startles me. "But," I say softly, "you’re a Stevens." You’re not like them. You can’t be, I think.

His eyes are on the road, staring into the inky night. "I know."

Chapter 10

When we arrive at the studio, I’m exhausted. I stumble out of the car and follow Cole inside. The other two people staying here are already asleep. Before Cole leaves me to find my room, he says, "That shoot will be first thing tomorrow. If you have body jewelry, wear it." He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. Instead, he walks over to the front desk and picks up a pile of mail, and sifts through it. My heart hammers. I nod and silently walk off to my room with my heart in my throat.

Sleep finally comes, but my dreams make me restless. I dream about Cole as a young man. I see the haunted expression in his eyes – the fact that he knows there is no such thing as forgiveness. He learned that lesson too well. There is no way he will ever forget.

The dream fades to Edward. His eyes are a void of black. Bleeding twin trails of ink spill down his pale cheeks. He says, "You destroyed me." He reaches for my throat, his fingers moving toward my eye with a black nail in his fist. I know that will make my eyes bleed black like his, that my heart will never heal. I know I’m dreaming, but I scream anyway.

I wake, frightened, and trembling. The sun is barely over the horizon. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and rub my eyes. I breathe deeply trying to push away the nightmare.

There’s a knock on my door. "Come in," I say. When I look up, Cole is standing in the doorway. I’m wearing cotton shorts and a thin cami. They’re dorm pajamas, which means they’re guy safe. At least that’s what Emma and I used to say.

Stubble lines his cheeks. A white tee shirt clings to his torso. Dark jeans hug his narrow hips, and he’s barefoot. Cole seems to have something against shoes. His eyes are red like he hasn’t slept. "You all right? I heard you scream."

"Yeah. Fine." I don’t elaborate. I look up at him and push the rat’s nest that is my hair out of my face. "What time are we shooting? Tell me it’s not in fifteen minutes." I’m only half joking. Cole’s a morning person. Apparently that’s still true even though he’s only had a few hours of sleep.

He smiles, "No, not in fifteen." He looks at his watch and back up at me. "Why don’t we try for nine? You can get a few more hours rest."

I laugh and push off the bed, shaking my head. "It’ll take me that long to get ready. And I have to tell you that I didn’t bring anything with me that might be even a little suitable for this shoot. Do you have props or something I could look at?"

"No nudes, Miss Lamore?" he asks leaning against the door frame, and folds his arms over his chest. A dark brow rises on his face. His eyes lock on mine.

My stomach flutters. A soft smile lines my lips and I shake my head, "I thought I should see what my options are. I hear lace photographs well," I tease, knowing it will annoy him. Anything about wedding photography seems to get under his skin.

"Damn wedding photographers and their lace," he laughs softly. The sound is stunning. I wish he were like this all the time, but it’s the Cole that vanishes like smoke. I think that’s the real Cole, the one he hides from everyone at all cost. He pushes off the door frame, and shakes his head, "Come on. I’ll show you where the wardrobe is located. Use whatever you want. They literally finished the sets last night and installed the lights. We’ll christen the new studio and then get back to work."

_____

An hour later Cole is gone and I’m still looking through boxes. I find some jeweled dangling earrings that I can use. They have a hook, but I grab some wire and wire cutters. I plan on modifying their intended use, slightly, if I have to. Other than that, I don’t see anything else.

Regina walks in and flips on the lights, "Hey boss. Can I help you find something?"

Quickly, I decide to tell her what we’re doing. It makes it seem less risque, even though telling her about the shoot makes me blush.

Regina is very professional. She doesn’t react. Instead she helps. She digs through a few boxes, showing me more necklaces and outfits from Le Femme.

She hands me a panty and I press the thin lace between my fingers, "This is beautiful, but I wanted something different."

"How different?" she asks.

I shrug at her and put the panties back. I laugh nervously and look at her. "I have no idea what I’m looking for. Or what I want. I just need it to be sultry, cover me a little bit, and be something that screams, Anna." I shake my head. "None of this stuff seems to do all that."

Regina nods, listening. Grinning at me, she says, "I have something." She looks over her shoulder like she’s doing something that she shouldn’t and reaches for a box on the top shelf. I look inside when she pulls it down. It’s filled with tiny crystals. Many are clear, like tiny diamonds, but some are vibrant colors. She pulls a paper from the plastic sleeve on the top of the box. "I got these thinking we could use them – to do this."

"What is it?" I ask and unfold the paper. My cheeks flush when I see it, but I can’t look away. My jaw drops.

"Vajazzling. At least that’s what the article calls it." She shrugs. "I guess you can do anything from pouring the crystals over your body, to applying them in a pattern." She points at the paper to a woman bared from the waist down. The patch of hair between her legs is gone and in its place there is an intricate design of a butterfly. The sparkles disappear between her legs. "That one is really pretty," she says pointing to the butterfly. "Of course, that only works if you already have a Brazilian."

I scan the paper, reading it. A smile creeps slowly across my face. As a matter of fact, I do. "This is perfect. Thanks Regina."