Bound by Vows, Torn by Secrets

Chapter 7: The press shoot

The next morning, we had a scheduled press shoot—a carefully curated display of our picture-perfect marriage.

Nathaniel stood behind me, his hand resting lightly on my waist. His touch was firm, steady, grounding, but impersonal.

The photographer's voice drifted through the air, instructing us to lean in, to look natural.

His breath brushed against my temple as he murmured, "Smile."

A command, not a request.

I obeyed.

Click. Flash.

Another flawless image for the world to consume.

The moment the camera lowered, I stepped away, shaking off the warmth of his touch. "You're very good at this," I muttered.

Nathaniel didn't miss a beat. "I told you, I don't pretend. I perform."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist, an uncomfortable tangle of thoughts I didn't want to unpack.

He leaned in then, the way he had done a hundred times before, as if preparing to murmur something for the cameras.

But this time, his breath hitched, just barely.

His head tilted slightly, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

"You smell different."

The words were low, just for me.

I had barely noticed it at first.

The accident had happened earlier, in the dressing room, minutes before we were set to leave for the gala.

I had been reaching for my earrings when my elbow knocked against a small glass bottle.

It tipped over, hitting the vanity table with a soft clink before rolling onto the floor, the cap coming loose.

A warm, resinous scent bloomed into the air, amber, rich and deep, curling around me like a second skin.

I cursed under my breath, kneeling to retrieve it. My fingers trembled slightly as I checked the damage.

The bottle wasn't entirely empty, but enough had spilled to sink into the fabric of my dress, my hair, my skin.

There was no time to change.

I stiffened. "It's nothing."

But he didn't let go.

For a fraction of a second, his fingers curled around mine, his gaze lingering, unreadable. Then, as if recalling himself, he pulled away, smoothing the invisible crease in his sleeve.

His expression was as polished as ever.

"Let's go," he said, voice clipped, as if the moment had never happened.