by J. C. Grant
“Is that why we're whispering?” he teased.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment, and I whispered, “No, I don't know why... Fergus is standing in the room, though.”
“No nudity,” he said suddenly, his tone hard. “That's our deal. Remember?”
Just as I was about to confide in him, confess my fears and insecurities, I heard “David” in the background.
My stomach dropped. It was female voice with a heavy Italian accent. She sounded young and sexy and far too close in proximity to him.
His Vogue cover from last year flashed through my mind, disturbingly vivid and erotic. All my submissive, neediness evaporate as anger burned through me like acid. And those questions I’d been ignoring, came flooding in.
Was she the reason he hadn’t called all morning?
Had she been keeping him busy?
Was she naked?
Was she the only one?
I wanted to interrogate him. I wanted to bitch and yell and rip him a new one. I wanted to tell him he was mine, and he wasn’t allowed to look at anyone else.
But my pride wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t bear the thought of looking like the jealous, possessive, insecure wife I was.
My jaw clenched as I took deep, even breaths, forcing myself to play dumb, pretend like I hadn’t heard anything. “Between Elaine and Fergus, one of them would tell you.” I manged to keep my voice level as I spoke around the growing lump in my throat.
“I want to hear you tell me you won't,” he demanded harshly.
Why was he acting like I was the one with models waiting rub all over me?
I was about to tell him I could do whatever the fuck I wanted—just like him—but I caught myself. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” Then he added, “I'm gonna call and check in with Elaine, okay?”
“’Kay.” My voice was felt hollow, dead.
“You okay?” he checked, his words drawn out.
Something about his tone had me near tears.
I ducked my head down, letting my hair fall around my face like a curtain. “I gotta go.” I ended the call and muted my phone, shoving it to the bottom of my purse.
I struggled to take a deep breath. It felt like I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Remembering my surroundings, I schooled my expression and took inventory of my posture.
Now is not the time to have a breakdown.
When I finally looked up, I noticed Fergus watching me in the mirror. But before I could say anything, two people walked in, distractedly introducing themselves as they started in on my hair. I wouldn't say they were rude, just very efficient. They worked on my hair and makeup, ignoring me. And I was thankful for it. It gave me time to sort out my emotions, compartmentalize, focus on the anger, shove away the pain.
Less than forty-five minutes later, I was standing in front of the photographer, feeling more defiant than ever.
“Lose the robe,” the photographer stated simply.
Without hesitation, I abandoned my cocoon of comfort, handing it to Fergus, who was only feet away.
The photographer wasted no time directing me and shooting. Steeled by anger, I didn’t even flinch when I was sprayed down with cold water. Nor did I hesitate when he asked me to shed my top. Though I should have, because as soon as the wet fabric met the floor with a plop, the photographer called for a lighting adjustment; leaving me standing there in nothing but microscopic shorts and socks.
I should have cared, should’ve tried to cover up, but all I could think was, I hope this turns out sexier than David’s shoot.
It was a childish, vindictive instinct, wanting to get even.
Before any logical thoughts could break through my irrational need for revenge, the assistant approached—the same one that had sprayed me down with cold water.
“He wants oil for this one.” His voice was still as hesitant as before.
“Sure, go for it,” I chirped, my voice sounding too upbeat to my own ears. Holding my arms out to my sides, I tried for nonchalance as he kneeled before me.
Briefly, I wondered if it was intentional, having a man rub oil on my legs, stomach, arms and breasts. Couldn’t they have found a female? An image of David flashed through my mind... It was the first time I’d gone to one of his shoots. His entire body was oiled, muscles flexed. The lighting and body oil showcasing definition I hadn’t even known he possessed. Then I remembered the oil girl eagerly waiting nearby.
It was like I was recreating my own version of that day. Odds were, David was too.
I had been crazy jealous that day.
Jealousy wasn’t what I was feeling now. No, what I was feeling was much darker.
“I’ll touch up any areas as needed.” The oil boys’ voice brought me back to the present.
Feeling several eyes on me, I mustered up the sweetest smile I could. “Thanks.”
Elaine was in front of me in the next second, one of her eyebrows raised. “Now, I get it,” she muttered, leaning in close.“You and David. I totally get it now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“The way you just did that.” Between her tone, expression and the way she motioned toward my breasts, I couldn’t help but wonder if the oil boy had been a test. “No embarrassment. You're just as brazen as him. No shame. You two make perfect sense.” She paused then added, “But he's going to have an aneurysm when he hears about what you just did.”
Fergus.
When I glanced in his direction, he was staring steadfastly at the floor. I'd completely forgotten about him for a moment. Forgotten that every little detail of the shoot would be relayed to David.
Good.
A triumphant smirk formed on my face.
Hopefully, the oil boy would drive the point home, show David what it felt like.
But what if it didn’t.
Or worse, what if David didn’t care.
Because the truth was, being topless in a studio with eight onlookers was significantly less intimate than Fergus staying in our home. Alone. Just the two of us. All night. David seemed fine with that. I realized that was my biggest fear—David not caring. Because it was normal for him—being nude around strangers, having oil rubbed on him, naked models pressed up against him. It was expected.
Maybe this was just something I’d have to get use to.
Was this is our new normal?
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I knew I couldn’t handle that. I was far too fucked up to be in a so called ‘healthy relationship’. I needed his possessive jealousy like I needed air.
Maybe I can’t handle being married to a man like David after all.
“Austin.” The photographers voice broke me from my morbid thoughts.
What felt like hours later, the photographer informed the room, “We have what we need.”
Standing up from the floor, my knees and elbows throbbing from holding impossible poses, I headed over to Fergus. As he held the robe out to me, I noticed his eyes darted to my chest and away again. I couldn't help but smile at that. I made him nervous.
Correction.
My boobs made him nervous.
I slipped into the robe and tied it tight.
“Austin, come over here?” Elaine called as she stood by the photographer.
When I did, I was stunned. They were looking at the photos. They were far too erotic for a local magazine. The images were more appropriate for Maxim. Possibly Playboy.
It was sobering.
“These are going to work perfectly in changing the way people perceive you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they use the sexiest ones,” Elaine assure me, misreading me completely.
In most of the shots my nipples were covered by my arms or hands, but... I wasn’t sure I wanted the public to see them.
What the hell did I know? This was her job and I said I’d trust her, so I said nothing. Excusing myself, I headed to the dressing room to shower and change.
Just as I was slipping on my flip-flops, the dre
ssing room door opened.
“He's about to board the plane now,” Elaine said from behind me. “She's fine. Hang on, let me put you on speaker.”
“What, why?” I turned, looking at her. David wasn’t scheduled to leave Italy for another twenty hours. Yes, I was counting. And I was planning on using that time to decide how to confront him about the models, or if I should at all.
“I wanna be with you.” David’s voice filled the small dressing room. He sounded annoyed, as if the answer was obvious.
“You'll be exhausted,” I countered, sitting down on the small stool. I wasn’t ready to see David, much less talk to him.
“I need to be with you a helluva lot more than I need sleep.” His voice was gruff with anger, as if he thought I was rebuffing him, telling him not to come home.
Was I?
Maybe...
“I’ve been calling you. While I was packing. On my way to the airport. You never answered,” he accused quietly.
“She was doing the shoot, David,” Elaine answered for me.
“Wait, what?”
“There was a mix-up with scheduling,” Elaine calmly explained.
“I wanted to see, Elaine. We agreed.”
“I forgot. We were bumped up by three hours. It was hectic.” Listening as Elaine easily lied to David, I realized there had never been any mix-up at all; she'd lied to David from the start. “Just remember, this is to get attention. It's meant to be shocking, so don't freak out.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded harshly.
David wasn't stupid. He knew there was a reason Elaine hadn't wanted to speak to him before the shoot.
She had not only declined David’s call earlier, she had convinced Fergus to turn his phone off—if he wanted to stay and watch me and do the job he was getting paid for. I’d heard her tell him something about “temperamental artists and their neuroses” as the reason.
I’d thought she was avoiding David because of the skimpy wardrobe, but I’d started to suspect she had planned the topless photos well ahead of time.
“It means that it's sexy and showy. Think... sexy baseball player meets... wet T-shirt contest.” She winked at me.
“What the fuck? No! Austin—Did they use models? Men?” David didn’t even try to hide his jealousy.
Elaine spoke up. “They have a couple here, but we didn't need them. They decided to go with the sexy baseball player look. The models were scheduled already for the person who was originally doing the shoot.”
That was news to me. I hadn't seen any male models.
“They shouldn’t be there in the first place. Why didn’t you cancel them?” he demanded.
While his possessive jealousy was a cool balm to my damaged soul, my annoyance flared at his hypocrisy. Sure, I wanted his possessive dominance, but I wouldn’t put up with a double standard.
“I don’t know why you’d get a say in mine, when I didn’t in yours,” I snapped. “I assume yours was similar to last years?”
His silence was deafening.
“I heard her, David,” I admitted. His lack of response, pissed me off and spurred me on. “I don’t know why you’d want to come home. Just stay and hang out with your Italian models, I’m sure I can find someone to keep me entertained.”
The look Elaine gave me stopped me from continuing. I must’ve looked as crazed as I felt.
“Austin.” His voice was gentle, apologetic, making my stomach turn. “That was the photographer. We canceled the models a month ago—ask Elaine.”
At my questioning gaze, she nodded.
Everything inside me uncoiled, my resentment melting into relief. Then guilt.
Why hadn't he told me that when I spoke to him earlier? It would’ve changed what I’d done during mine.
Well... maybe.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, despite loving the fact he had.
“Yeah, I did. I don't want to pose like that with other women, and I don't want you posing like that with men—so yeah, I had to.”
My insides warmed at his harsh words. I loved that he felt like that. I loved it far too much to be healthy and didn’t seem realistic in the least. But...
Most of his ads are solo...
Then I heard him sigh dejectedly. “I'll see you soon.”
“’Kay.” I managed one small syllable, matching how I felt.
When the call disconnected, I was struck with the reality of our situation. I had just shot the cover for a local lifestyle magazine, which was only published in major cities. While David had been flown halfway across the world in a private jet to shoot the cover for Men's Italian Vogue.
That was the perfect example of us.
David was Men's Vogue. I was a local magazine.
“There were male models here?” I asked Elaine, distracting myself from my depressing thoughts.
“No, I told him that so when the pictures come out, it will be in the back of his mind: she could've had men with her. Trust me, it will soften the blow.”
Admittedly, I was a little shocked at her open admission. But she was right, David would rather have me on a cover half naked and alone, then fully dressed with other men.
And David was right. Even with how jaded I was, I was still naïve. I believed Elaine, right up until I heard her lying to him. At the same time, I’d assumed the worst about David—that he wouldn’t give the irrational, emotional mess that was me, a second thought.
I felt a twinge of regret.
Thousands of people were going to see far too sexual photos of me because I wanted to get back a David for something he didn’t even do?
I needed to learn how to be vulnerable with him.
I needed to stop assuming he’d hurt me.
I needed to fucking talk to him.
And most importantly, I needed to get control over my insecurities before my destructive coping mechanism really kicked in, and I did something much worse.
David
What the fuck had I done?
“Idiot,” I breathed, grabbing my bag and climbing out of the car.
Quickly boarding the private jet, I claimed a window seat, tossing my bag in the chair across from me, and stared out the window trying to figure out how I’d fucked up so badly in only twenty-four hours.
It was my job to take care of her. And I failed. I was too caught up in my own shit to pay attention to what she was feeling.
I was a selfish asshole.
When I popped that Xanax, I’d only been focused on one thing, getting a reaction. I never even considered what it would do to her. But I got the answer I wanted. And I loved her reaction far too much to apologize. That sexy, possessive, jealous, demanding, Where have you been?
It was so goddamn hot.
It made me so fucking hard.
Like I said, selfish asshole, but I needed the reassurance, and actions speak louder than words.
And that’s why you’re in this fucking mess, idiot.
Because my actions spoke volumes. Giving her space, not calling...
“Mr. Taylor, I'm Alessandra,” the flight attendant interrupted my thoughts, leaning forward, making sure I could see down her shirt. “Can I get you anything?”
Her tone made it clear she was on the menu.
That was the type of behavior I’d been dealing with since I left—unabashedly aggressive women. The attention had always bothered me, knowing it was motivated by my fame. Now, it felt like an insult, the assumption that I would cheat on my wife.
I never wanted Austin to second guess my commitment, but I knew she heard the photographer, I knew what she thought, I could hear it in her voice, and I hadn’t done anything to reassure her. Why? Because being able to control Austin’s emotions was a rush, and I’d just gotten my first real taste of it. Her jealousy, her anger, turned me on. I fucking loved it. And I wanted more.
I wanted her to be possessive. Claim me. Tell me I was hers, that she owned me. Because she fucking did.
Ins
tead, she went cold on me, just shut off. Detached. If I’d heard a man with her... No way would I have kept my mouth shut. I wanted her to argue, fight, be pissed. Because I fucking was. I wanted her to be as miserable as I was that we were apart. But when she answered, she sounded fine, happy even, and that infuriated me more.
Meeting the flight attendants eyes, I conveyed my disinterest. “Bottled flat water.”
I hadn't eaten all day, but I wasn't hungry. I'd felt sick since I left. Giving Austin what she wanted, instead of what she needed—what we needed—was pure torture. And I was a fucking idiot for doing it.
That had been confirmed when I tried calling Elaine and Fergus only to find their phones were off. I knew she’d convinced Austin to do something she shouldn’t, something more than what they told me.
She probably didn’t have to convince her at all.
Sexy baseball player meets wet T-shirt contest…
Fuck me.
Just the thought of other people seeing her like that... I wanted to lock her up and hide her far away from any pervy eyes that weren't mine.
It was unrealistic. I knew that. It wasn't possible to let her have a career and keep her to myself.
But she was mine, and I didn't want to share.
Not with anyone.
Not even her own mother.
My phone chimed, alerting me to a text. Fergus was finally checking in. That was another good thing that came out of this mess, Austin hadn’t pressed me on why Fergus was watching her; preventing us from having a Dawn conversation that would probably fuck up my marriage for days.
Reclining my seat, I got comfortable, readying myself to find out what really happened throughout Austin’s day.
Fergus: Austin was topless for the shoot.
Everything was professional. There was
no flirting.
11:25 PM
Disbelieving, I read it again. And again. And again.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Then heat flashed through me.
That Scottish fucker saw her tits.
It gutted me leaving her with Fergus, letting him take care of her, letting him take my place. Now, this?
A dozen scenarios played out in my mind: Austin taking off her top in front of him, at the studio, at home, while Fergus cooked for her, eating dinner together, watching TV...