Chapter 18 JADE
JADE
Water. Everywhere, water.
The Tegenungan waterfall thunders forty feet above us, a relentless cascade of white fury crashing into the emerald pool below. Mist rises, catching sunlight and fracturing it into rainbow fragments. It's breathtaking. Stunning. Paradise.
And I can't breathe.
"Jade, darling, just a little closer to the edge," calls Julian, the photographer, gesturing with elaborate impatience. "We need to capture that gorgeous contrast between the swimsuit and the natural elements."
I force my lips into a smile that feels like a grimace. "Working on it," I call back, trying to sound breezy and professional.
But my feet won't move. They're anchored to the rock where I stand, a safe fifteen feet from the water's edge.
The white string bikini I'm wearing feels suddenly exposing in a way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin on display.
I've spent years being comfortable nearly naked in front of cameras.
This isn't about modesty. God knows I've modeled less fabric in more public places. It's about vulnerability of a different kind.
"Sometime today would be fabulous," Julian calls again, lowering his camera with visible frustration.
I catch Gloria's worried gaze from behind the small crowd of assistants and stylists. She knows. Of course she does. She's been with me long enough to recognize when I'm struggling.
Where is he?
My eyes scan the perimeter, searching for the familiar broad shoulders and easy smile that have become a strange sort of anchor over the past days. He's been a constant presence. Professional but warm, vigilant but unobtrusive.
There. Mateo. Standing near the equipment tent, talking to one of the security guards hired by the magazine. His attention appears focused on the conversation, but I know better. He's been watching me all morning, those amber eyes missing nothing.
You can do this, Jade. I take a small step forward, then another. The sound of the waterfall seems to grow louder with each inch I gain toward the water's edge. It's just water. Just a photo. You've done thousands of these.
But as I approach, memories surge without warning:
Darkness. Chlorine burning my nose and throat. The weight pressing me down. My lungs screaming for air that isn't there.
My heart thunders in my chest, suddenly racing so fast I feel lightheaded. The tropical heat becomes suffocating. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
I know this. I've been here before. The edge of a panic attack is sharp. Familiar. And I cannot fall apart in front of this crew.
"Jade?" Julian's voice comes from far away now. "Are you alright? You've gone rather pale."
I open my mouth to answer, but no sound emerges. Just keep smiling. Just keep breathing. Just do your job.
"Fabulous location you've chosen," I say instead, forcing my attention to the camera, to technique, to anything but the panic clawing at my throat. "How are you handling the backlighting from the falls? The mist must play havoc with your exposure."
Photography. Safe ground. My secret passion. Focus on that.
Julian brightens, professional vanity momentarily distracting him from my stalling.
"I'm using a polarizing filter to cut some of the glare," he explains, gesturing to his setup.
"And we've positioned reflectors on your left to balance the shadows.
The trick is capturing that ethereal quality without washing you out completely. "
I nod, grateful for the technical conversation giving me breathing room. "What about the constant movement of the water? Are you using a slower shutter speed to smooth it out, or keeping it faster to freeze the droplets?"
Julian blinks in surprise. "Both, actually. We're shooting a variety for the editorial team." He tilts his head, studying me with new interest. "You know your way around a camera."
I shrug, mentally kicking myself for revealing too much. "I've worked with photographers for fifteen years. You pick things up."
"Ms. Sinclair," interrupts a clipped voice. Melissa Chen, the magazine's art director, approaches with barely contained impatience. "We're losing the light. The scouts spent weeks finding this location specifically for the golden hour effect through the mist. We need to start shooting now."
"Right, of course," I say, pasting on my professional smile again. "Sorry for the delay."
She gestures toward the rounded rocks at the water’s edge. "We need you in position. In the water, if possible, at least ankle-deep."
In the water.
The words hit me like a physical blow. The world narrows, tunnel vision setting in as the sounds around me distort, the waterfall's roar becoming the rushing in my ears.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
But my body isn't listening to my mind anymore. My lungs constrict. Sweat breaks out across my skin despite the cool mist. The ground beneath my feet seems to tilt and sway.
"Excuse me, Ms. Sinclair?" A familiar voice cuts through the chaos, and suddenly Mateo is there, phone in hand, casual yet somehow commanding.
"Sorry to interrupt, but there's an urgent call from your lawyer that you need to take immediately.
Something about the contract terms." He says loudly to everyone hear. “Trust me.” he whispers just to me.
Before anyone can protest, he's guiding me away from the water's edge, his hand a steady pressure against the small of my back, his body a wall between me and the chaos behind us. "This way. I've set up a private area in the equipment tent."
I let him lead me, legs moving automatically, grateful beyond words for the rescue I didn't even need to request. Behind us, I hear Julian and Melissa's frustrated voices, but they fade as Mateo ushers me into the relative privacy of the large equipment tent.
Once inside, away from prying eyes, my legs finally give out. I sink onto a folding chair, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Easy, mi reina." Mateo crouches before me, his voice low and steady. "Look at me. Right here." He taps his chest. "Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, four counts."
I try to follow his instructions, but my lungs won't cooperate. "I can't…"
But Mateo's rhythm is hypnotic. Intentional. And most importantly, he is here!
"You can," he says firmly, taking my hands in his. "Watch me. In..." He demonstrates a slow inhale. "And out..." A measured exhale. "Again. In..."
I focus on his face, on his even breathing, trying to match it. Gradually, the vise around my chest loosens. The roaring in my ears subsides. The tent stops spinning.
"That's it," he encourages. "You're doing great."
After several minutes of guided breathing, I manage a shaky laugh. "Some professional I am. Can't even handle a little water."
"Hey." His voice sharpens slightly. "Don't do that. What happened to you wasn't 'a little water.' Someone tried to hurt you. Your body remembers that, even if your mind is telling you to push through. It's your brain doing exactly what it's supposed to do, trying to keep you safe."
The simple understanding in his words breaks something loose in my chest. "I thought I could handle it," I whisper.
"I've been pushing through difficult shoots my entire career.
Freezing temperatures, ridiculous poses, uncomfortable situations.
.. but this... I keep feeling the pressure on my chest, the burning in my lungs. .."
Mateo's thumbs trace gentle circles on the backs of my hands. "You don't have to push through this. Not today. Not ever, if you don't want to. You call the shots here. Say the word, and we're on the next plane home."
I blink in surprise. "Just... cancel? The entire shoot? Do you know how much money is at stake? How many people are counting on these images?"
He shrugs, unconcerned. "Don't care. Not my problem. My only concern is you. If this is too much, we walk away. Simple as that."
The casual way he dismisses what would be a catastrophic professional setback gives me pause. In all these years, I've never walked away from a shoot. Never put my own wellbeing above contractual obligations and others' expectations. It's not even an option I've allowed myself to consider.
"I can't just leave," I say finally. "But I don't know if I can get in that water either."
Mateo studies me for a long moment, then nods decisively. "Okay. Then we negotiate. You're Jade Sinclair. They'll accommodate."
"Accommodate what? My irrational fear?"
"It's not irrational." His voice is gentle but firm. "And we don't need to explain. We just need to offer alternatives." He glances around the tent, then grins as his gaze lands on something behind me. "I have an idea."
Before I can ask what he's thinking, he reaches past me and plucks something from a styling rack. When he turns back, he's holding a delicate crown of tropical flowers, frangipani and orchids woven into a circle of green vines.
"What are you doing?" I ask as he approaches.
With unexpected gentleness, he places the crown atop my head, adjusting it carefully. "There," he says, satisfaction in his voice. "Mi reina."
"What does that mean?"
His smile softens. "My queen." He steps back, studying the effect with appreciative eyes.
"Every queen deserves a crown. And every queen gets to set her own boundaries.
They want photos with the waterfall? Fine.
But you don't have to be in the water. You can be on that large flat rock at the edge, the one that's completely dry.
The waterfall will still be your backdrop, but you'll be safe. "
The simple solution, offered without judgment or frustration, renders me momentarily speechless. It seems so obvious now, yet I'd been too caught in the spiral of panic to see it.
"And if they argue?" I ask, though I'm already feeling steadier at the prospect of a compromise.
Mateo's smile turns mischievous. "Then I'll remind them that handling the safety and wellbeing of Jade Sinclair is my only job. And I take my job very seriously."
Something about the way he says it, protective without being possessive, concerned without being controlling, sends a rush of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the tropical heat.
"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for the relief he's given me. "For noticing. For stepping in."
"Always." He offers his hand to help me up. "Ready to go tell them how this shoot is actually going to happen?"
I take his hand, drawing strength from his steady presence. "Almost." I hesitate, then add, "Will you stay close? While we're shooting, I mean. I think... I think it would help to be able to see you."
His expression softens in a way I've never seen before, something unguarded and genuine breaking through his usual charming facade.
"Mi reina," he says, the back of his hand caressing my cheek, "Wild horses couldn't drag me away.
Anytime you feel yourself starting to spiral, you find my eyes. I'll be right there."
The promise in his voice wraps around me like a shield. For the first time since arriving at the waterfall, I take a full, deep breath.
"Mi reina," he says again, softer this time.
I meet his eyes and offer a real smile, small but unguarded. "Better than Ice Queen."
"It fits," he says quietly. "You are not cold. You are pure fire!"
The words sink deep, touching something I didn't realize was aching to be seen. Not my face or my body, but something essential underneath it all. Some core of resilience I'd forgotten I possessed.
As we prepare to return to the shoot, Mateo adjusts the flower crown one last time, his fingers brushing my temple with unexpected tenderness.
I straighten my shoulders, feeling strangely armored by both the delicate flowers and his steady presence.
If I can see him, I can breathe.
"Ready."
And for the first time since walking onto this set, I actually mean it.