Chapter 19 Constantine #2
I shouldn’t be so enthralled by her work, but there was something about it that interested me. Or maybe it was just her enthusiasm for the job. She had a lot of passion for it. I could see it in her face every time she talked about it.
She pulled out her phone, then looked through her photos.
“Here are some I took in Taormina. I took most of them before we met.” She slid through the images, a close-up of the sign outside of Bam Bar, a few photos that were taken in the caverns of Isola Bella.
And then there was one of me standing on the rock from the day we went to the beach.
With my arms by my sides, I stared down at one of my buddies in the water, grinning from ear to ear at something someone said. “I love this one.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“Of course.” She took the phone back and texted it.
“I don’t know shit about photography, but I know you’re good at it.”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“I feel something when I look at it, so yes.”
Her eyes found mine again, and I swore they melted like butter over warm bread. I’d told her she was beautiful, told her she was tough, but she never reacted this way when I did. Her photography was her heart.
“Have you ever done boudoir photos? You know, get nearly naked and take a bunch of sexy pictures.”
She smirked at the suggestion. “Not really my thing. And even if it was, I would never show you their photos without consent.”
“No. Have you done a boudoir session? As in, been the subject.”
Realization came into her eyes, followed by a blush to her cheeks. “No . . .”
“Something you’d consider?”
She shook her head slightly, like she couldn’t believe I asked. “I prefer to be behind the lens rather than in front of it.”
“What a shame. Might learn something.”
“About photography?”
“Why not?”
“Well, Maximillian Cattaneo has dominated that space. It pays his bills so he can pursue his art. He’s really, really good.”
“Better than you?” I asked incredulously.
“Uh, yeah,” she said with a laugh. “He’s won the Elite Photographer Award four out of the last five years.
He’s always doing something different, sometimes capturing a shot in the studio and other times spontaneously in the field.
My favorite photograph of his is the one he captured of Princess McKenzie.
She was being surrounded by photographers while she signed an autograph, and he just perfectly captured how overwhelmed she was.
I have no idea how he got the shot. Someone must have tipped him off where she’d be so he could be in the perfect spot. ”
I had no idea the world of photography could be so competitive. “Is he gay?”
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Are these women getting naked for a straight man or a gay one?”
“Oh . . . yes.”
“Good to know,” I said with a nod.
She smirked when she caught on to my thinking. “Not gonna happen. And even if I did consider it, he is very particular about who he photographs. I wouldn’t make the cut.”
I released a chuckle I couldn’t suppress.
“I’m serious.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
The waiter came over and took our order, and after we made our selections, it was just the two of us again and a bottle of wine. “I talked to my mom today.”
“How is she?”
“Other than being a little fake, she’s good.”
“Fake?”
“She called to catch up, but all she wanted to talk about was you.”
The smile that was in her eyes slowly started to fade, like I’d said the wrong thing.
“She asked if you were going to be around for a while. I said yes.”
Now she looked visibly uncomfortable, eyes dropping down to her wineglass like she was having a conversation with it instead of me. “I’ve been thinking . . . and maybe we should just keep this casual.” Her eyes remained down like she didn’t want to see my reaction.
My blood turned cold, but I didn’t let my face change. “What’s casual?”
“You know . . .” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “We just hook up whenever, no strings attached.”
I would be more upset about this if she hadn’t already shown her hand. Now, she was trying to redraw the deck, but I wouldn’t let that fly. “And what does that solve?”
Her eyes finally lifted to mine.
“No.”
“No?”
“You aren’t the kind of woman you wear a condom with.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I don’t want to fuck other people, and you don’t want me to either.”
“But it could—”
“How about we just give this relationship a chance instead of finding ways to end it?” I asked. “You already said you’re falling for me, so you’re stuck. Don’t pretend you want to take a step back when you don’t. Don’t pretend you’re fine with me fucking other people when you aren’t.”
Her fingers rested under her chin, and her eyes searched the faces of other people in the restaurant. When she opened her heart to me, it was fucking beautiful. And then when she withdrew, all I felt was darkness. “When I said that, you were supposed to freak out.”
The smirk that moved on to my lips was uncontrollable. “You thought that would scare me off?”
“I didn’t say it to scare you off. But afterward, I thought it might.”
“You can’t scare me off, sweetheart.” But any little thing I did spooked her.
“Look, this is already a serious relationship, whether you like it or not. You know why? Because all we do is talk about how it’s going to work.
If this were just two people fucking for a couple of weeks, there would be no talking.
I understand you’re scared of everything my life entails, but you’ve forgotten just how tough you are. ”
I knew I struck a chord when her eyes flicked away for just a nanosecond, like my words cut her deep, reminded her of the mess she’d been in Taormina. She’d been afraid to jump off that rock, but once she felt the high, she wanted to chase it forever.
My hand tightened into a fist and moved over my chest, just the way it had on top of that rock. “Tougher than my fist. Tougher than my mother. Tougher than the Roman Empire.”
She shifted her eyes away again as her fingers remained under her chin, looking like a Roman queen without even trying, her hair dark like winter soil, her eyes bright like the emeralds that should hang from her neck. “Doesn’t it bother you that I just got out of a relationship?”
“No.”
“Even though it’s been three weeks?”
“Could have ended yesterday, wouldn’t make a difference.”
“When you got out of your relationship, could you picture being serious with someone this quickly?”
She asked me the tough questions. Put me on the spot.
Made me consider a situation that had never crossed my mind.
She was smart, really thought things through, and while that held her back sometimes, considering the gravity of her decisions was a good way to be.
It made me respect her. And it made me realize what I meant to her, because she had every reason to leave, but she continued to stay.
“Now I think you understand.”
I’d planned on marrying Isabella. Was about to buy a ring, about to tell my mom about it, but then it all came burning down.
To jump into another relationship within a few weeks of that, even if she was in the wrong, was impossible to imagine.
She’d really broken my heart. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.
” It took me a while to sleep with someone new.
At least a couple months. I broke things off between us with no intention of ever going back, but a part of me still felt like I was in that relationship.
Until one day, I wasn’t. “But there’s a difference between us.
You said your relationship had fallen apart a long time ago and you were still holding on.
Mine was great until the moment it wasn’t—and then it was just done.
I needed time to recover from that, while you’d been preparing for the end for months.
You jumped into bed with me right away because you were ready. ”
“Jumped into bed . . . thanks.”
“Trust me, I don’t say that judgmentally.
He stuffed your heart in a garbage bag when it should have been in a safe.
When you were free, you were ready to be free.
You were ready for me. So, no, it doesn’t bother me at all.
This feels right.” It’d been nine long years since someone had made me look twice.
Since someone made me feel anything at all.
After a while, I wondered if Isabella had destroyed my ability to ever love again.
And then I met Aurelia.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” There was only one subject off limits.
“You could have literally anyone you want. I mean, Jesus Christ, look at you . . .”
I didn’t smile. I was too focused on the upcoming question.
“Smart, sexy, funny, easygoing . . . protective. Why me?”
“Why you?” I asked, almost not understanding the question.
“Yes. I’m not saying I’m unattractive. But I’m not, you know, bombshell-on-the-runway, front-cover-of-Vogue type of attractive.
And I’m not successful, I don’t come from a nice family, I don’t come from wealth.
It’s just me and my camera. I put up with some asshole’s bullshit for far too long and lost all self-respect.
I hate myself for not just getting up and leaving.
I judge myself every day for being so . . . pathetic.”
I fought the urge to smile. Everything she said was ridiculous, but I reminded myself that it felt very real to her.
That she actually believed all this nonsense.
“Let me tell you what I thought when I first saw you, all right? God fucking damn. That’s what I thought.
I’ve seen and been with a lot of beautiful women, but none of them have ever captured my attention the way you have.
If you wanted that fine ass on the cover of Vogue, we could absolutely make that happen.
Why do you think I want some boudoir photos of you?
I want to put them on the walls of my office.
Add them to the collection. And the fact that you’re on your own, standing entirely on your own merits and talent, is exactly why I like you.
Everyone has someone to lean on, but all you’ve ever had is yourself.
I like that—a lot. And in regard to what’s-his-fucking-face, you would have made very different decisions if he’d had the balls to be honest with you.
But he deceived you, gaslighted you, and then you didn’t know what was true and what was false.
You didn’t know what was wrong, so you naturally assumed that you were the problem.
So you stayed because you continued to search for the problem in the hope you could fix it.
And the last thing I want to say is, Jesus fucking Christ, you’re way too hard on yourself. ”
There was a blast of emotion in her eyes before she quickly looked away, like she didn’t want me to know how deeply my words hit her.
“Would you ever say those things to a friend? To any other human being?”
Her eyes stayed elsewhere.
“It’s one thing to take responsibility for your actions. Learn and grow. But you treat yourself like a punching bag, sweetheart.” I pointed my finger and pressed it into the surface of the table. “Starting today, you don’t do that anymore.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“All right?” I hated seeing a man rip apart a woman. I hated seeing a woman forget that she was infinitely more powerful than he was. But for centuries, women were oppressed by misogyny and sexism and just plain bullshit.
She let the words sink in for a while before she finally gave a nod. “All right.”
Now, I smiled. “Attagirl.”
“I think I’m going to head home . . . if that’s okay with you.” She sat beside me in the passenger seat, her dress up to the very top of her thighs because she didn’t adjust herself when it was just the two of us. “I want to meet Medusa. I just . . . it feels a little heavy right now.”
I was a bit disappointed, but in my book, no meant no. Simple as that. “Of course, sweetheart.” My hand moved to her thigh, pushing her dress up even higher, touching the silky material of her thong. She looked so sexy in the material that it got me every time, even just a glimpse.
I drove back to her apartment, left my Range Rover on the street, and walked her to her front door.
I didn’t want the night to end there. If she came by my place and fell in love with it and didn’t want to leave, it wouldn’t even bother me.
“Good night, sweetheart.” My hand moved to her ass under the dress and gripped it right there in the middle of the hallway.
I kissed her with her back pressed to the door, feeling her hand squeezing my arm through the sleeve of my collared shirt.
I could easily change her mind about the end of this night, get her to beg me to come inside, but that wasn’t my style. Not just with her, but any woman.
I ended the kiss before it could burn into an inferno.
“Good night,” she said, a look of longing in her gaze that she couldn’t hide. It took her a moment to let me go, to fish her keys out of the tiny little purse that hung over her shoulder.