“Hey, I’m Josie,” she says when she shakes my hand. “Welcome to my studio. Come on in.”
She takes my coat and purse and hangs them in the coat closet. She motions for me to sit down in one of the two arm chairs. She prepared tea and pours us both a cup.
“How do you know Emily?”
I add honey to my tea and blow on it to cool it down. “We were college roommates. You?”
“We run in similar circles. I was in Paris working, and Em was at a few wrap parties. That woman knows everyone.”
Josie offers me a plate of cookies and crackers, but I’m too nervous to eat. “She sure does. Thank you for squeezing me in.”
“I’m not much into holidays, so this really is perfect timing for me. Tell me, what are we doing today?”
Deep breath. “My boyfriend and I had a bet that I lost. Loser is supposed to get a tattoo of the winner’s flag on their ass. I was drunk; it was a stupid, stupid bet. There is no way I’m actually going to get a tattoo of the British flag on my ass, so I thought maybe we could take some photos of me in these.” I hold up a pair of Union Jack boy shorts. “I thought it might make one hell of a Christmas present.”
A wide grin spreads across her face and she starts bouncing on the balls of her feet like a kid in a toy store. “Oh, darling, we’re going to have so much fun. I’m glad you came without makeup. I’ll touch you up a little, but I think this will be better au natural. Go get changed.”
While she sets up the lighting, I get into my skimpy boy shorts.
When I get out of the restroom, Josie holds a bottle of tequila. “Em said this may help.”
“It’s always time for tequila!”
I take three shots before moving over to the vanity. I offer one to Josie, but she politely declines. “I’m not the one in my skivvies, dearie.”
Josie puts a little bit of powder, mascara, and gloss on me. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
She walks me down the hall into one of her shooting rooms. There is a white drop cloth coming down from the ceiling and tons of lights. She puts on her “sexy playlist”, starting with Pony by Ginuwine. It’s hard not to feel sexy with that song playing. She turns on a fan to give me that windblown look, but all I feel are goose bumps spreading across my skin. “Don’t worry,” she tells me. “Those won’t show up. Except the nips. I’ll keep those all pebbly. Taunting Gavin. Too bad I can’t make the photo paper lickable.”
I swallow hard, feeling exposed and rethinking my plan. Maybe a gift certificate to IKEA would make a good Christmas gift for Gavin?
She puts her arm around my shoulder. “Just kidding. All your bits will be covered up. I find that creating an image that sparks the imagination is far more seductive than one that just lets it all hang out there.” Once I start breathing again, she says, “Come on. Let’s get started.”
She tells me to center myself in the middle of the white drop cloth. “Look sexy,” she orders, which makes me burst out in giggles. She pulls the camera down from her face. “We’re going for sexy, not silly,” which only makes me laugh harder.
“Ass up! Tighten those abs! Chin down! Pout those lips!” Josie barks at me like a drill sergeant. She poses me in awkward positions that show off my body without exposing my breasts. “Put this arm here. Keep that arm there. Twist this leg to the right and hold it,” she tells me. Like holding it is the easiest thing to do. This is why models do yoga. Not so they can stay toned and whatnot (clearly that is what Photoshop is for), but so they can stay in these seemingly natural positions that’re anything but natural. More than a few times, I fall on my ass.
“Sultry. Steamy. Sexy. This is the look we want. You want him to see these pictures and have the urge to mount you, not pick you up and kiss your boo-boo. Find your inner sex kitten and let her out!” All of this encouragement was meant to get me in the mood, but it just made me laugh harder. Which made her laugh harder. More than once we had to stop and pull ourselves together.
After falling on my ass again, she says “Let’s mix it up a little. Do you trust me?”
“Well, you’ve taken pictures of me in my underwear for an hour now. I’d say I trust you.”
She pours another round of shots. “Good. Now strip.”
“Totally nude?” I gasp. “I’m going to need a few more shots then.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be covered up in the pictures. No nip slips or beaver shots. It’ll be clear you’re naked, but it will be tasteful.”
“Ah, tasteful porn.” I laugh. “These had better not show up on the internet. I’m supposed to be pregnant.”
She walks over to adjust the lighting. “What are you talking about? Nude pics when you’re pregnant are all the rage.” She stops in her tracks. “OMG, that’s you? I thought you looked familiar. You’re not really pregnant, are you?”
“Nope,” I say, downing another shot. “But the tabloids love to weave their tales.”
She holds up the bottle of tequila. “Phew. I was worried there for a second.”
“Are you drinking with me this time?” I ask.
She pours two shots. “Why the hell not? I’ve been staring at your ass all afternoon, I think we are old friends by now. “Here’s to the paparazzi and your fake pregnancy.”
We take another hour of photos before she pulls out a real British flag and hands it to me.
I look at her skeptically. “I hope it isn’t disrespectful for me to be rolling around naked in the flag.”
“He’ll love it, I promise,” she says.
After shooting a million more shots, she says, “Okay, I’ve got more than enough to sell to the tabloids. I’m going to make a fortune.”
My heart drops, and all the oxygen sucks out of my body.
She holds her hands up. “Kidding,” she says. “Just kidding. You’ve got to lighten up! I don’t care if I’m homeless and destitute, I wouldn’t sell a thing to them.”
My heart starts to beat again. “That was cold, Josie. Cold and cruel.”
“I’m a bint, what can I say? Go get dressed. I think your cab will be here any minute.”
I look at the clock for the first time since we got here. Damn that went fast! I rush to the rest room to change.
Once I’m dressed, I find Josie on her computer downloading the images. When she notices me behind her she turns off her monitor. “No peeking! I’ll go through these tonight and email you the proofs. Once you pick, I’ll get them printed and put them in a portfolio. It will look smashing. My mum and dad live out by where you’re staying, so I can drop it off to you tomorrow.”
“That’s so fast! How is that possible?”
“I own a print shop. We’re closed for the holiday, so I have total access without having to worry about all those pesky customers.” She winks.
“Thank you so much, Josie. Gavin is going to love them. I hope!”
She hands me my coat and purse. “If he doesn’t love these, he’s either gay or dead.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“I can’t take your money. This was too much fun. Promise you’ll come visit me when you’re back in town. You bring the tequila next time.”
“You’re on!” I say as I walk out the door. Closing the door, I pray I didn’t just make a colossal mistake. If these pictures come out terrible, I’m without a gift. If she sells them to someone, I’ll forever be humiliated.
I make it back to the flat just before Gavin, giving me time to throw a few things into a bag to fulfill my cover story. Gavin spends the whole drive to the country house on the phone, addressing problems with his project. I love how much he cares about bringing soldiers home to see their families for the holidays. Tomorrow is a big day for the project;—hundreds of soldiers are flying home for a forty-eight-hour leave funded by Gavin’s company. With so many moving parts to the project, each one seems to have a hiccup.
While he works, I get emails from Josie. The pictures are amazing. Despite the giggle fits and uncomfortabl
e poses, she made me look sexy. It looks so natural even though it was anything but. They’re tasteful, artistic. I don’t feel like I’m looking at tawdry porn, but it sure is naughty. If they make him say “naughty” over and over, I’ll be in heaven. On the pictures with the green back drop, she superimposed the Union Jack in the background. I’m amazed. It’s not a tattoo, but I think he will like these better.
When we pull in the driveway, I have a chance to take in the estate. The decorations make it look spectacular. Even though this place is something out of a movie, the decorations make it look homey and festive.
“Mason did a great job, but it feels naked,” I tease. “It really needs a mechanical Santa and reindeer sleigh covered in blinking neon lights. Without that, it doesn’t say ‘Merry Christmas’ to me.”
“That’s because it’s ‘Happy Christmas.’ There will be nothing with neon on my house,” he insists.
I know he’s pretty sure I’m kidding, but a part of him wonders if I’m not. He doesn’t say “our house,” which makes me take pause. He always calls the flat “our house.” Maybe it’s because this is his family estate, or maybe he just doesn’t want me to think I have free rein to put pink flamingos in his flower beds. There’s always the third possibility. That he meant nothing by it at all and I’m blowing it out of proportion. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
We spend the rest of the night decorating the tree. I love all the ornaments we bought, especially the red double decker buses, red phone booths, and Big Ben. We have a violent screaming match over tinsel. I’ve never had a tree without it, and he’s adamantly opposed to finding it everywhere in the house for years to come. Fortunately, our screaming match turns into passion. Lamps are knocked over, furniture is pushed around, and curtains are pulled out of the wall. You know sex is hot when you end up with rug burn and you need to call a handyman.
After we’re wiped out from our tour of sexual destruction, we go back to the solarium for another night under the stars. It’s cold and the floor is hard, but the view is to die for.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gavin is called back to London to deal with some last minute problems. I’d like to go with him to meet some of the soldiers and their families, but Josie is on her way over with the pictures. I’m anxious to see them without worrying about Gavin walking in.
“What the hell, woman! You didn’t tell me you live in a castle,” Josie says when I greet her at the door.
“This isn’t my house; it’s my boyfriend’s. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m still getting used to it myself.”
“Well, show me around, then I’ll show you what I brought.”
I now understand why people have staff in houses like this. Twice, Hazel had to come find us because I got lost and kept walking in circles. Yes, this place is that big. Gavin needs to install “You are Here” directories. Or perhaps hand out maps at the door like at Disney World.
After my horribly guided tour, I put together a platter of munchies while she goes to her car to get the prints “Close your eyes,” she instructs when she returns. “No peeking until I tell you.” I hear her moving about, and she finally says, “Okay, open them.”
The album is leather bound with a cover designed like the British flag. As I flip through the pages, the pictures blow my mind. She did a blend of black-and-white and color. The shots range from playful to sexy and seductive. I’m never seen fully naked, but there’s enough shown to spark the imagination. This is way better than a tattoo.
“Oh my god, Josie. These are unbelievable. It’s hard to believe that’s me!”
She pats my arm. “Believe it. You’re one sexy wench.”
I feel a blush cross my cheeks. “Please. I’ve seen your work. You shoot supermodels. You’ve seen my ass. I have dimples, and not the good kind.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
I reach over and give her a hug. “Thank you. This is really so much better than I could have imagined.”
“I’m so glad you like it. I stayed up all night putting it together.”
“Josie! You didn’t have to do that. Please, let me pay you for this!” I say.
She waves me off. “Not a chance. I had too much fun. I’ve been doing so much commercial work lately, it was therapeutic to do something real. I have one more thing to show you. Don’t freak out until you’ve thought about it.”
With a warning like that, I’m already freaking out. She walks behind the sofa and brings out a 4’x4’ package. She unwraps the brown paper to reveal a blow up of one of the black and whites. The flag has fallen out of the shot, so all I can see is me. Between the angle of the shot and the way my body is arched, all that can be seen is the lens traveling down my abs and thighs. No one would know it’s me, but I’m not sure I’d want this put up on a wall. Where would he even hang something like this?
She takes a sip of her tea. “Just think about it,” she begs. “If you don’t want to keep it, give it back, and I’ll put it up. I could sell it and make a killing.”
“You will do no such thing! Just let me think about it, okay?”
“Please. If I wanted to make some serious cash, I’d sell the story about how your twins are in danger because of your reckless tequila drinking.”
I shake my head. “I should introduce you to my friend James. I swear he’s conspiring with the tabloids to perpetuate this silly farce.”
Josie picks up a cookie. “Is he fit?” she asks before taking a bite.
“Um, I’m not sure if he works out.”
She wipes the crumbs from her lips. “Silly American. Fit means sexy. Like your boyfriend’s fit.”
“You Brits and your damn slang. Would it kill you to have just said sexy? Yes, James is totally hot. He’s crazy smart and a total prankster.”
“Well, well, well. I’m going away on holiday. But when I return I think you will have to introduce me,” she says. “Speaking of holiday, I have to dash.”
I show her out and kiss her goodbye.
Gavin’s bogged down in London and may not get back until late. It isn’t the Christmas Eve I was dreaming about, but the cause is worth it. Hazel and I run into town for some last minute shopping. When we return, she and Mason leave to visit their family, leaving me in this big, creepy house completely alone.
This is my thirteenth Christmas without my parents. It never gets easier. Even though my memories of them dim a little bit each year, I still ache for them. Growing up, my house was the neighborhood party house, celebrating everything from the Fourth of July to Valentine’s Day. Mom was an outstanding cook, and all it took to pack our house with people was a rumor she was making a feast. Every Christmas Eve, I swear half the town showed up. As a child, I thought people were desperate for my mom’s apple pie, but the adult in me thinks they were probably just trying to get tipsy before midnight mass.
Feeling nostalgic, I decide to cook. I don’t do that very often, at least not without a visit from the fire department. I need to feel closer to my family so I make my mother’s beef stew. It’s heaven in a bowl and next to impossible to screw up. The longer it cooks, the better it gets. With Gavin’s ETA up in the air, it’s ideal for tonight.
After wrapping the rest of the presents, I build a fire and curl up with my Kindle. Next thing I know, I’m woken up by my phone.
“I’m so sorry, luv,” Gavin says. “There was an accident on the motorway. I’m in dead stopped traffic.”
“Too bad. I’ve been reading steamy romance novels all night. I’m all revved up with nowhere to go,” I tease.
“You minx. I could be hours from home!”
“Want to guess what I’m wearing?” I look down at Gavin’s beat-up Oxford sweatshirt and a pair his sweatpants from high school that I found in a closet. They’re huge on me, so I had to roll the top over a few times. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s very sexy.”
“You realize this is torture, don’t you?”
“Yo
u know what’s torture? Sitting here in this red, lace nightie all by myself. The lace is so sheer, anyone could walk right in and see every, single part of me.”
“Lil,” he says with a husky voice.
“I should go put a robe on and cover myself up, but I’m so hot. I’ve got the fire roaring. How is it where you are? Is your fire roaring?”
“Oh, God Lily.
“You have to stop or I’m going to smash up my car.” I can hear the hunger in his voice. When he gets like that, he’s insatiable. If I want him to make it back in one piece, I’d better cool it.
Since it’s going to be a long night, I get up and throw another log on the fire. “Okay. I’ll stop. I need you to get home safe.”
He audibly exhales. “Working on it, luv. Working on it,” he grumbles. “Hey, I’ve never asked you. Do you open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?”
Nice subject change, Oxford. “Christmas morning. Doesn’t everyone?” I desperately want to say something about him opening me as his present, but I refrain.
“We always did on Christmas Eve,” he answers.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t realize Santa made a priority delivery run for the obscenely wealthy.”
“My parents never did the whole Father Christmas thing.”
I’m gobsmacked. “What? You never believed in Santa Claus?”
“I think it was far too whimsical for my parents. Plus, it takes some commitment to keep up the myth and mystery. They never had that in them. Mason and Hazel did the shopping for presents.”
I walk to the bar and pour a glass of wine. “Gavin, that’s just heartbreaking. I believed in Santa till I was almost eleven. The only reason I stopped was because my parents sat me down to tell me the truth after I got teased by all my classmates. I was devastated and wouldn’t leave my room for a week. At one point, I tried to get on a bus to Canada. I was going to hitchhike to the North Pole to prove them wrong.”
He laughs. “This coming from the ‘I’ll believe it when I see it’ girl? Luv, that may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
When Fate Isn't Enough Page 25