28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mialina
“Who do you want to be?” Rory calls out from behind a curtain partition near the back of the studio. I hear hangers rattling a second later.
Who do I want to be?
I frown. What does she mean?
“I’ve got a few outfits you can try. Different vibes depending on what you want,” she says when I join her.
Vibes.
There’s a new concept.
My fingers drift across a rack filled with lace, silk, and satin. A deep plum leather corset catches my eye. I stare at it.
Less than two days ago, I was in Sicily, confined by who I’d been raised to become.
Now I’m standing above a tattoo studio in Chicago after ditching my security team, riding through the city on the back of a motorcycle, and agreeing to take boudoir photographs with a girl I met yesterday.
Is this who I am when nobody is telling me who to be?
I want to discover it.
My eyes land on the leather corset again. Before this afternoon, I’d have picked this. It appeals to my rebellious side.
But now?
I pause in front of a delicate ivory slip dress that’s trimmed with lace. It’s undeniably feminine. Romantic even.
Pulling the hanger from the rack, I hold it out in front of me. The silk slips through my fingers like water when I lift the fabric.
“I want to be someone who would wear this.”
Rory peeks over my shoulder.
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
Half an hour later, I stand in front of a full-length mirror and wonder whether I’ve made a terrible mistake.
The ivory slip looked innocent enough on the hanger, but it feels considerably less innocent on me.
The silk skims my body before falling loosely to the floor, while a slit along one side exposes most of my thigh when I move. Delicate lace edges the neckline, and the thin straps leave my shoulders bare.
I turn slightly.
Okay.
I love it.
That might be the most surprising part.
Rory appears behind me in the mirror, camera already hanging from her neck.
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
I glance at her, lifting a brow.
“Everyone says no.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She laughs. “Come on. We’ll start easy.”
I follow her toward the bed she’s rearranged near the windows. The afternoon light spills across the rumpled covers, and she’s added a dark throw and a few pillows since I last looked.
Suddenly this feels very real.
I smooth my palms down the sides of the dress. Rory notices.
“Stop thinking.”
I drop my hands. How am I meant to do that?
“Stand by the window,” Rory instructs.
I do as she asks and she lifts the camera.
“Turn your shoulder toward me.”
Click.
“Chin up a little.”
Click.
“Now look outside.”
Click.
For the first few minutes, I have no idea what to do with myself.
Where am I supposed to put my hands? Am I smiling too much? Not enough?
Do people normally know what their face is doing? Because I don’t.
Rory lowers the camera.
“You’re trying too hard.”
“Am I not meant to pose?”
“You are. Just not like someone’s holding your family hostage until you get it right.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and the camera clicks.
I narrow my eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
“Guilty.”
She looks at the screen and grins. “There you are.”
I walk over to her. “Let me see.”
Rory turns the camera toward me. For a second, I just stare.
It’s me. Obviously. But I don’t look posed.
My head is tipped back from laughing, my hair falling over one shoulder and one hand still resting against the window frame.
I look happy. Light.
Not polished or composed.
“Oh.”
Rory glances at me. “Is that a good oh?”
“Yeah.”
She takes the camera back.
“Now stop worrying about what you look like.”
“That seems difficult when you’re literally photographing what I look like.”
“Trust me.”
I eye her. “Those are dangerous words.”
“You climbed out of a bathroom window and got on my motorcycle. We’re past sensible decision-making.”
After that, it gets easier.
Rory keeps talking while she shoots, never giving me enough silence to get self-conscious again. She tells me ridiculous stories about clients, gives increasingly dramatic instructions, and threatens to make me pose with a feather boa when I start taking myself too seriously.
At some point, I stop wondering where my hands should go.
I sit on the bed, tuck one leg beneath me, laugh when Rory backs into a lamp, and forget for several minutes that the camera is there at all.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Lie back,” she says eventually.
I lower myself onto the bed. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Now close your eyes.”
I do.
There’s a pause.
Then Rory says, “Think about someone who makes you feel beautiful.”
My eyes almost open again, because the answer comes far too quickly. It’s an answer I don’t like.
But the way he looks at me… like there could be a hundred women in the room and he’d still only see me.
My stomach gives a traitorous flip.
I really should think about something else. Instead, I remember his hand at my waist in the greenhouse. His mouth almost touching mine, and the heat in his eyes.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Whatever you’re remembering,” Rory murmurs, “keep doing it.”
My eyes snap open. She’s grinning behind the camera.
Absolutely not.
She laughs as if she knows exactly who filled my mind.
After that, the afternoon disappears quickly. We try a few different looks. Some I reject immediately. Others I never would have imagined myself wearing.
The lingerie makes me hesitate the longest. It’s not outrageous, but stepping out in it still sends heat rushing into my cheeks.
Rory barely reacts. She just lifts the camera and keeps talking to me exactly as she did before. Within minutes, I forget to be embarrassed.
By the time Rory lowers the camera, sunlight has shifted across the room and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“That was two hours,” she announces.
I stare at her. “No.”
She checks her phone.
“Two hours and twelve minutes, to be precise.”
It felt like twenty.
I pull the robe around myself and drop onto the edge of the bed.
“You were right.”
Rory looks smug. “I usually am.”
I elbow her ribs.
“You had fun,” she states.
I glance around the room at the clothes scattered across the chair.
Then I smile. “I really did.”
Staring at the camera in Rory’s hand, I ask, “Can I see?”
I move closer, but she angles it away. “Nope.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re not seeing them until I’ve gone through them properly.” She switches off the camera. “You can see them when they’re ready and not before.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That seems unfair.”
“You’ll survive.”
I laugh. “Fine. But I want you to show me as soon as you’re done.”
“Deal.”
I can’t wait.