The Photoshoot
1066 Words
The studio was filled with the bright, blinding flash of cameras and the loud chatter of stylists. Mia felt like a doll being dressed up for a show. They had put her in a silk dress the color of cream, and the fabric felt heavy and expensive against her skin. Her hair was curled perfectly, and makeup covered the pale shadows under her eyes.
"Closer, Mr. Cross! Look like you actually like her!" the photographer shouted, waving his hand.
Damien let out a frustrated sigh. He stepped toward Mia and wrapped a firm arm around her waist. The moment his hand touched her, Mia felt a jolt of heat. She tried to stand still, but her heart was hammering so loudly she was sure he could feel it through her ribs.
"Relax," Damien whispered harshly into her ear. "You’re as stiff as a board."
"I'm trying," Mia whispered back, her voice trembling. "I’ve never done this before."
"Just look at me," he commanded.
Mia turned her head and looked up at him. For a second, the rest of the room disappeared. His gray eyes were intense, searching hers. He looked at her with such focus that she felt breathless. For the camera, it looked like a gaze of pure love. To Mia, it felt like being caught in a storm.
Damien stared down at her. Up close, he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes. He could feel the warmth of her body against his. His heart started that annoying, fast drumming again. He hated how much he wanted to pull her even closer, to kiss her annoying little lips, to hide her from the flashing lights and the prying eyes of the crew.
"Perfect! That's it! Hold that!" the photographer yelled, clicking away.
For an hour, they posed. Damien held her hand; he kissed her temple; he leaned his forehead against hers. Every touch was a lie for the public, but for Mia, every touch was a spark of hope she knew she shouldn't have. She was falling for a man who had bought her, and she was carrying a secret that would make him hate her.
Finally, it was over.
"We're done here," Damien said, dropping his arm the second the lights went off. The warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a cold breeze.
He didn't wait for her. He walked straight to the dressing room to change back into his suit. Mia stood alone in the center of the studio, feeling cold and used. She changed quickly, her hands shaking as she zipped up her old, cheap coat.
They walked out of the studio toward the parking garage. The evening air was chilly, and the sun was beginning to set behind the tall buildings.
As they reached the car, Mia felt a sudden, sharp wave of dizziness. The bright lights from the shoot and the smell of the heavy hairspray were suddenly too much. The world tilted to the left, and the grey concrete of the garage floor seemed to rush up to meet her.
"Mia?"
Damien’s voice sounded far away. He saw her sway and immediately reached out, catching her by the shoulders before she could fall.
"What is wrong with you?" he asked. His voice was sharp, but his hands were steady and strong.
Mia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight the nausea. "I... I just need a minute. I'm a bit lightheaded."
Damien looked at her pale face. His suspicion from the night before came rushing back. He didn't think she was tired. He thought she was hiding a sickness that would ruin his plans.
"You've been like this for days," he said, his grip tightening slightly. "You aren't eating. You’re fainting. If you’re ill, Mia, you are a liability to this contract. I can’t have a wife who drops dead at a gala."
"I'm not going to drop dead," Mia snapped, finding a tiny spark of anger. She pushed his hands away and leaned against the car door. "I just didn't have breakfast. I'll be fine."
"Don't lie to me," Damien stepped closer, pinning her against the car with his shadow. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. "I don't like secrets, Mia. I don't like surprises. If there is something I should know, tell me now."
Mia looked up at him. His jaw was set, and his eyes were like cold glass. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to say, I’m pregnant, and I’m terrified. But then she remembered his words from the office: It’s a business deal. She remembered how he looked at her like she was just a tool. If he knew she was carrying another man’s child, he would see her as "damaged goods." He would take back the money from the hospital. He would let her father die.
"There is nothing to tell," she said, her voice small but firm.
Damien stared at her for a long time. He didn't believe her. Not for a second. He could see the fear in her eyes, and it made him angry. Why didn't she trust him?
"Get in the car," he said coldly.
The drive back to the mansion was silent and suffocating. Damien gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He was frustrated because he wanted to help her, but he was too proud to ask again. And he was frustrated because, despite his anger, he still wanted to reach over and hold her hand.
When they arrived, Mia hurried out of the car before he could even turn off the engine. She ran inside, heading straight for her room.
Damien sat in the dark car for a long time. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Marcus?" Damien said when his friend picked up. "I need you to do something for me. I need a private doctor. Someone who doesn't talk. I want a full medical check-up on Mia tomorrow morning. No excuses."
He hung up the phone and looked up at the window of Mia's room.
"One way or another, Mia," he whispered to the shadows. "I’m going to find out what you’re hiding."
- Writer
