I get to my feet, the bright lights unforgiving, my hands trembling as I tug on the tie and the robe comes undone. I let it fall off my pale shoulders, gathering at my feet in a pool of silk. I can feel Raphael's gaze on me as he drinks in my body, and shame threatens to burn me up from the inside.
But the photographer doesn't mention any of my imperfections. Not the fact that I'm painfully thin, emaciated. Not the tiny cuts covering my body, scars from years ago and some as fresh as a few days back. He doesn't talk about my visible rib cage, or the hip bones painfully protruding through my pale skin. Doesn't mention the scabbed scars on my thighs. And it's a welcome relief.
This is who I am. This is what I look like. If he doesn't like me, that's fine – I just hope he's quick and as painless as possible when he turns me down. But the words never come. Instead, I'm blinded by the flash of light as he snaps a photo.
"Hermosa," he mutters, admiring his own work on the screen. "Just fucking beautiful."
It's been a long time since I've been called beautiful.
For the next three hours, I work hard as Raphael's muse. He positions me in different ways, neither of us stopping for a second. I'm naked for the entire shoot, but it doesn't feel icky like I feared when Raphael first mentioned it. He doesn't look at me like a sex object. He looks at me almost impersonally, as though I'm a work of art he's been sent to capture. Like a true artist.
By the time he finally announces we've finished, I'm feeling exhausted.
"Do you want to see the photos?" he asks as he stares intently at the computer screen, scrutinizing our hard work. "I think they came out—"
"No, that's okay," I cut him off. I don't want to hear the ending of that sentence. "As long as we're done here, I'd like to head back home."
"Of course." He gives me a curious glance. This time, he doesn't look at me like I’m an object. He looks at me as a woman, and his gaze lingers on my puckered nipples, at the patch of hair on my neglected center. I flush, letting my hair fall over my face to hide the traitorous blush in my cheeks. Picking the black silk robe off the floor, I put it on as fast as I can. Once I'm covered by fabric again, I can finally breathe.
"Thank you for this opportunity," I say, my gaze meeting Raphael's. "I'm really grateful."
"Of course you are," he smirks. Cocky. But why wouldn't he be? "It was my pleasure, honestly, Dove. We have something amazing here. I'll be in touch in a few weeks with the final selection."
His eyes drink me in again as I head to the clothing rack where the clothes I came in are still hanging. I rummage through my purse first, seeing a couple of missed calls from my brother. He's probably anxious to know how everything went. I didn't expect for the shoot to take this long.
I smile to myself. Robin's way too protective, but I'm grateful for it. I can't trust my own judgement, never could. Robin makes sure I'm okay, and not getting into too much trouble.
"Unless..."
"What?" I turn back to face Raphael who is still staring at me intently. "Unless what?"
"Unless you'd like to see me before then." He smirks. The cockiness would be unbearable on any other man, but Raphael has a certain kind of charm that makes it impossible to hate him for being so forward. "I like you, Dove. You're... different."
Not special. Not beautiful. Different.
But it's a compliment, nonetheless. I stare back into the photographer's gaze, pondering his words. There's no way I can live up to the flock of picture-perfect, barely legal models that decorate his arms at public functions. I'm not as pretty, and I'm too broken. But maybe that's exactly why he likes me.
"Are you asking me out?" I wonder out loud, and he laughs.
"You're really straightforward, aren't you?" he asks, and I shrug in response.
"No point in pretending. I am what I am," I reply.
"I like that." He sets his camera down, grinning at me. "I am asking you out. Have dinner with me. Tonight."
"Tonight?" I shake my head. "No, I can't tonight."
"Got another hot date?"
I think of my plans. Dinner with Robin, then curling up in front of the TV, binging the same TV shows for the thousandth time. "You could say that."
"You're a popular girl, Dove Canterbury," Raphael smirks. "I'll settle for tomorrow then. And don't give me another excuse. I want to see you again, soon as I can."
I weigh the pros and cons. The negatives by far outweigh the positives, but despite that, I find myself nodding in response to Raphael's question. I grab a pen from his desk and scribble my address on a pink Post-It note, handing it to him.
"Pick me up here. Eight p.m. tomorrow."
"Do I get your number too?" He raises his brows, obviously amused. I hesitate, but then scribble that down, too. "And your social media? Instagram? Facebook? Do you have Twitter?"
"No," I reply firmly. "I'm not on social media."
I neglect to mention my Instagram account, but I don't want him to know about that. Not even Robin does.
"You're an enigma, Dove Canterbury," he reflects. I ignore his words and get dressed in the studio while his gaze swallows me up with curiosity. What's the point of hiding now? The guy's already seen me naked from every angle.
"Well, you got yourself a deal. I'll pick you up tomorrow. Say hi to your brother for me, alright?" Raphael says once I'm back in my baggy clothes that hide a multitude of sins.
"Sure." I smile awkwardly and grab my purse, hoisting it on my shoulder. "You have a good day."
I exit the studio into the office area. The hairstylist glares at me, but I ignore her, saying my goodbyes and heading out while ordering an Uber on my phone.
I wait. It's warmer here than it was in the air-conditioned studio, but still not enough to warm my cold bones. Nothing can stop the cold spreading from the inside.
As I wait for my driver, I scan the passersby for any sign of trouble. But no one pays me much attention. I'm invisible like this, in my all-black, baggy clothes, natural makeup, and my hair covering half my face – the ruined half.
But then a mother walks by, holding a little girl's hand, and my heart jumps. The girl is cute, wearing a pink tutu and light-up pink sneakers. She must be about four. Really freaking cute. I smile at her, and she gives me a curious look while her mother impatiently tugs on her hand.
Tucking my hair behind my ear absentmindedly, I push my tongue out and make a face at her.
Her eyes widen as she notices the scar on my cheek. I almost forgot about it. Almost.
But as the little girl's smile changes into a grimace, I know I can never forget.
I'm ruined. A monster. And nothing will ever change the fact that Parker Miller destroyed my life eight years ago. I hate the bastard.
Chapter 2
Nox
Little bird is not so little anymore.
I raise the cigarette to my lips, inhaling the smoke. It's hot out here. Outrageously fucking hot. I hate it. Hate being in this heat. It doesn't agree with my body, but Dove doesn't seem affected by it at all. My eyes follow her into the office building. I don't know what the fuck she's doing there, but once she disappears inside, I use the opportunity to scour the metal plates with business names on them.
Raphael Santino Photography.
Bright Idea Marketing.
Sweet Buns Bakery.
What the fuck is my little bird doing here? Not knowing is driving me fucking crazy. But I don't have a choice – there's no way for me to find out what's happening here, not unless I can get a hint somehow. All there's left for me to do is to wait for her to be done. And fuck me, it’s taking forever.
I linger in an alleyway close to the building, keeping an eye on the revolving door. People come and go. Some carry sticky buns in brown paper wrapping, from that bakery I saw mentioned on the plaque. Others carry briefcases, wearing smart business outfits. Nothing like the misshapen, baggy clothes little bird wears to hide her true beauty.
For the life of me, I can't figure out what the fuck she's doing in there. The
tension of not knowing bothers me, and my nails dig into the palms of my hands, forming red crescent moons of pain.
I wait. I loiter. No one notices me. I'm invisible in my all-black outfit, the hood of my sweatshirt pulled low over my face to hide it. It's not like anyone would recognize me here, anyway. LA is a long way from home. My past is in New York City. But Dove is my present and my future. She just doesn't know it yet.
Finally, what feels like hours later, Dove emerges from the building. She looks different than she did when she went in, and it pisses me off. Her hair's doing some weird curly shit. It looks as glossy as always though, and she's still wearing the same clothes. The light makeup on her face enhances her features but does nothing to hide the scar on her left cheek. I smirk at that. It pleases me.
I watch her interact with a little girl. I see the pain on little bird’s face when she sees the kid’s fear. I make a mental note of it. As she waits for her ride, I realize I'm being watched, too.
The girl's mother has left her outside, disappearing into the building Dove just came out of. What kind of fucking idiot leaves their kid on a busy street like this? My hands form fists. That woman needs to be punished.
I allow myself to sink into a dark place where I can take out my anger on the girl's mother. I imagine carving her, putting welts into her body as she screams. It doesn't matter what she looks like or if I'm attracted to her. All that matters is taking out my fucking rage on something.
A moment too late, I realize the girl is watching me. When I do, she's already coming toward me. I can't risk Dove noticing me, but I see her Uber's just pulled up, and she's getting into it right when the little girl comes to a stop before me.
"Hello," she says softly, and I groan as I watch Dove's ride drive down the street. Fuck.
"Move it, kid," I hiss at the little girl.
"What's your name?" She stares up at me expectantly. The dumb little thing feared my little bird because of her scar, but she doesn't even flinch in my presence. She doesn't know a monster when it's staring her in the fucking face. "I like your jacket."
I decide to humor the kid. I kneel next to her, waving my hand in front of her and producing a red lollipop out of thin air. The girl gasps as I hand it to her.
"How did you do that?" she asks with wonder in her young voice.
"Magic. You like cherry flavor?"
She nods. "My favorite."
"Enjoy it, kid." I pull away from the shadows of the alley, ready to follow Dove. I'm guessing she went back home. She rarely leaves the apartment, so her little outing today is fucking inexplicable to me.
"Where are you going?"
I turn to face the little girl again, glancing at the building her mother disappeared into. "Where's your mom, kid?"
She smiles. "She's getting us some sticky buns. She says I have to wait here."
"Why wouldn't she take you with her?"
The kid shrugs, rubbing the hem of her pink tutu between her fingers and drawing lines on the asphalt with her toe. She's kind of cute, and I feel bad for leaving her alone on the street. The desire to keep following Dove is strong, but I do my best to fight it. My conscience may be nearly non-existent, but at least it's strong enough so I don't abandon this girl in the middle of the city, unlike her fuck-up mom.
"She likes a boy that works there," the girl mutters. "She says I'll spoil it for her if I come along."
My blood boils with rage. This poor kid. I have a soft spot for children with fucked up situations at home, obviously. And now I can't leave. I'll think about the kid all fucking day if I do.
With a groan, I lean against the wall. I'm fighting the urge to pull out another cig, but I don't want to be a bad influence on the girl. Talk about being a fucking hypocrite.
"I'll wait with you," I mutter carelessly. "But don't tell your mom about me. She'd probably be pissed, right?"
The girl nods with a conspiratorial smile. Knew I fucking liked her.
"Mommy says not to speak to strangers."
"Mommy's damn right," I grunt. "You don't know what's hiding in people's heads, kid. Humans are unpredictable. Dangerous."
"I like you."
I laugh out loud, fighting the urge to tell her off. She's not my goddamn kid and I sure as fuck won't be the one to discipline her. But then I see her mother exiting the building, holding a greasy paper bag. This is my last chance to give the kid some life tips. I kneel next to her once again.
"Don't trust a soul, kid," I tell her. "People suck."
"I know," she smiles widely.
"Good girl." I smirk and pick myself back up, leaning against the wall so I'm hidden by the shadows again. "Your mom's back, you better run along."
She nods and smiles up at me before walking back to the office building. She doesn't say goodbye, and I like that. Goodbyes are too fucking final. Maybe I'll see her again someday.
I watch her get scolded for wandering off by her mother, who doesn't even notice me. Stupid goddamn bitch. She should be thanking me, but she doesn't even know I exist, which is better for her, really. If I get too close to people, I end up hurting them. Physically.
As they pass the alleyway, her mother is oblivious to my presence, but the kid finds me in the shadows and waves. I wave back.
***
Hours later, I'm lingering in the street where Dove lives. I know she's home – the lights are on in her modest Spanish-style home. She's alone for now, but I figure her brother will be dropping by soon. He always does on Fridays.
I kind of like Robin, as jealous as I am of the guy. He's a year older than Dove and has an insufferable girlfriend called Elise. She's some kind of Instagram influencer, obsessed with perfection. I hate girls like her.
But Robin's a good fucking guy. He cares about Dove, really cares about her. He visits her almost every day, bringing food, because he knows she doesn't eat, and little, thoughtful gifts because he knows she needs a distraction from her shitty life.
Glancing at Dove's window, I make sure the lights are still on as I light another cigarette. I raise it to my lips, my eyes still on the house until I see a red car pulling up in front of it. Like I suspected, Robin is back again tonight.
The guy gets out of his Mustang with his hands full. He's got a bag of takeout that I know Dove won't touch, but he's as hopeful about his sister eating something as I am. In his other hand, he has a potted plant. It's not elegant like an orchid. It's barely even green anymore, all dried up and kind of rotten at the same time.
I watch him ring the doorbell, getting myself ready for the moment my little bird appears on the doorstep. A second later and there she is. She looks tired today. Her little venture into the outside world must've taken its toll on her. Still, Dove's face lights up as she sees her brother and invites him inside.
The door closes, pissing me off. I want to be privy to their conversation, but I can't fucking hear it from here. I need to figure out a better way of keeping an eye on Dove. Maybe I can bug her space. Then she really wouldn't have secrets from me.
I watch brother and sister unload things in the kitchen, Dove shaking her head when her brother offers her some Thai food – her once favorite. She keeps shaking her pretty head and Robin keeps telling her off, until he finally gives up. He should know better than that. My little bird doesn't eat in front of other people. In fact, she barely eats at all.
I watch them head into the living room next and settle in front of the TV. They put on some shitty sitcom I've seen them watch a thousand times and settle into a comfortable silence. The potted, half-dead plant is on the windowsill in the bathroom. I have no doubt it'll be thriving in no time. Dove has green fingers.
They spend hours together just like they always do. From my vantage point, I can see Robin glancing at his phone every few minutes. No doubt his vain wannabe model girlfriend is blowing it up with notifications. She's so fucking jealous of Dove. I can't stand her. And it amuses me that Dove hates the girl, too. Little bird doesn't hate a lot of people, but she can'
t stand Elise.
Finally, Robin makes an excuse to leave Dove for a moment. He heads outside to take a phone call in the street, and I smirk. He's so weak. That Elise woman needs putting in her place and some bruises to go along with it. I watch him argue on the phone with her before he heads back inside and feeds Dove some bullshit lie neither of them believes.
It's interesting how I can imagine their conversations going without ever hearing them. My resolve to bug Dove's house strengthens. I want more of her voice. I want more of her.
An hour later, a shiny, custom-color bubblegum pink Porsche pulls into the street, and I smirk to myself, halfway through my sixth cigarette since I got here. This'll be fucking good.
Elise gets out of the car, her yapping Yorkshire terrier barking from the safety of her Louis Vuitton handbag at every-fucking-thing they pass. Robin bought the dog for her a few weeks ago, and she complained because it wasn't a more expensive breed. Fucking bitch.
It's weird, knowing so much about people who don't even know I exist. Well, I suppose they do, they just think I'm long-fucking-gone.
Dove relishes in the belief that I died years ago. I bet she's shed some tears over my supposed death, though. After all, she was fucking obsessed with me back then, up until I carved her pretty face.
Sometimes I regret doing it. Not because of the scar, but because I frightened her off. It took me fucking years to realize Dove was it for me. Years after being blind-fucking-sided by my bastard twin brother and his slut bride. June Miller, née Wildfox, was never the one for me. But her former mini me is.
I watch Elise press the doorbell down for so long she nearly breaks one of her talons. I lean back against the wall of the alley and smirk. This ought to be fucking good.
Chapter 3
Dove
"Hey, kid."
"Robin!" I let him kiss my cheek and step aside so he can follow me into the apartment. "You're late. What happened?"
"Elise happened," he says. "I had to walk Pepper for her."
I groan. That freaking yappy little dog is the bane of my existence, but I choose not to mention it, focusing on something else instead of picking a fight the first few minutes my brother is here. I ignore the bag of takeout he brought and focus on the half-dead plant in his hand. "This for me?"
Tyrant Stalker: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Tyrant Dynasty Book 2) Page 2