Epilogue
epilogue
. . .
Cora
Is there anything sexier than watching a man performing at something he loves? No, not working his tongue or dick between my thighs, although he’s really good at that.
The beat of the drums reverberates through my chest just as hard and loud as it fills the stadium. Without a second thought I raise the camera to my eye and focus on him, snapping picture after picture.
I’m supposed to be photographing the band as they perform to this record-breaking crowd in Vancouver. Sue me, my man is fucking hot.
Yeah, that happened. Like a fucking bolt out of the blue, a feeling I tried, and failed spectacularly to ignore.
Ronan and I fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.
I may have played hard to get, but we circled one another’s orbit for a mere few weeks before I admitted to myself this was more than the scorching hot sex we kept having.
It was the lingering looks, the need to be near one another. The music we put together on ‘Cora’s Mixtape’ and the growing stockpile of polaroid photographs he proudly put on the wall beside the Bonham portrait.
Well, the ones that could be in places where people may see.
I’ve done plenty of boudoir shoots in my time but nothing like the pictures Ronan keeps locked up in a box under his bed. I taught him how to use my cameras, and he was an avid and studious pupil.
He’s possessive, but not in a stifling way.
He likes having me nearby. Especially now they’re touring.
I hated to think the only reason I got this gig, official photographer for the tour, was because of our relationship.
Even though I’d shot all the images for their new album, both the cover and promo images.
Perry’s wife soon put those thoughts to bed.
She works at the record label Velvet Echo are signed too. She’d been through it all with people accusing her of things that weren’t true. Using him to get ahead.
“Your work speaks volumes,” Dru told me one night after a small party at their place.
The guys were in the basement, jamming with another rock band that blew my mind when I was introduced to them .
“Nobody believed they could make it work without Christopher.”
“That isn’t down to me.”
“Not directly, but all the small things add up. You make him happy. That, in turn, affects the people around him. Ronan kept them together, his positivity steered Caden into the place he was always meant to be.”
Apparently, Caden used to be the singer of the group, way back when it formed. He didn’t believe he had the presence to be a front man so slipped into the position of guitarist.
Ronan said it happened slowly without anyone really questioning it.
He didn’t take away from what they achieved with Christopher, but they’d gone from strength to strength since his firing.
The fans never stopped believing, and the album released to critical acclaim and accolades.
Despite Christopher being a prick that never shut up about it.
Maybe Dru was right, I’d started to believe. And when no one but me questioned the legitimacy of me being a part of the inner circle, Ronan gloated he told me so. Right before he thoroughly proved that point to me up against the counter in the kitchen of my new apartment.
Which I still haven’t cooked a meal in.
Of course, Emma was smug when I finally admitted my feelings. She and Ronan get on like a house on fire. The same can’t be said for me and his family. Well, not his parents, they’re great. And Brandon isn’t that bad either, when Franny isn’t around.
That is a work in progress. I mean, I couldn’t give two shits what she thinks of me but for the sake of Ronan and his peace, I set aside my grudge. Although it doesn’t stop me wearing something purple when we do meet up.
Petty, sure. Passive aggressive, definitely. Okay so maybe I didn’t set aside the grudge, but I can be subtle. The purple isn’t always obvious.
“Do you have pictures of the other band members tonight?”
I glance at Marissa and a slow grin creeps over my face. She rolls her eyes, pops a bubble with her gum, and watches the rest of the set.
When Caden slows things down, talking to the crowd, he causes a frenzy when he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. I roll my eyes and look at Ronan.
He lifts his shirt, and his brow. I take a step forward but stop myself. He laughs, but he holds my eyes.
Maybe I’m possessive too. And I’m perfectly fine with that. When Ronan drops his shirt, I nod at him, making him grin. I’m not sure how I ended up here, dating one of the hottest, most famous guys on the planet.
A thought pops into my head, and I search around for a pen and paper.
I scrawl out the title of another song and give it to a roadie, asking him to pass it to Ronan.
I watch as he hands it over. Ronan lifts the paper, and I lift the camera.
He holds it up with a wide smile and blows me a kiss as I take the shot .
We need one more song for the mixtape.
I look at the picture in the viewfinder, staring at the man who stole my heart, and everything feels right. Perfect.
This is the song choice to end the mixtape with. It says everything. And if the way he is looking at me is anything to go by, Ronan agrees.
‘I’m Yours’, by Jason Mraz.