by Lily Flowers
“1. I’m finally about to fulfill my long held dream of being a published author,” she mused. “2. For the first time in my life, I’m really, truly in love. 3. I finally got laid. Huzzah!”
Taking a moment to pose and preen in the mirror before her, Helena finally took leave of her hotel room and ventured next door to fetch Trey; starting a bit as she spotted a note posted on his door.
“Darling,” the missive read. “I’ve been called early onto the set—the big boss at Elmhurst, our owner Donald Bright, has called a teleconference with our photographer and myself. I’ve taken our car but am sending a cab to retrieve you, Blaine and Irving. Love, Trey.”
Helena paused a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she considered her single previous meeting with Donald Bright; a dour, sour-faced man who had regarded her with a barely audible “Harrumph,” before greeting the other new editor at Elmhurst Publishing—a busty blonde named Bianca Barnes—with a bright smile and a hearty, “Hello there, young lady!”
“Um yeah,” she gritted her teeth, “I’m rather glad that I was not included in this particular convo.”
“Helena.”
She froze as her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sound of a deep, silky voice; then turned to greet the gorgeous source of this warm, succulent sound.
Blaine Bennington stood before her as a man transformed; a vision of Victorian opulence defined through a brass-buttoned coat of sleek, silken azure and tight pantaloons of ebony leather. His luxurious blond hair fell in ebullient ringlets down the planes of his strong back; framing his carved, chiseled face and setting his glorious emerald eyes off to even more radiant effect.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, mirroring the sentiment voiced in her mind.
“Um, thanks,” Helena mumbled, adding with an awkward smile, “So are you.”
She froze in her place as, suddenly and impulsively, Blaine closed all distance between them; suddenly the beauty of his face, his sweet, citrus-tinged scent, his very essence threatened to overwhelm her.
And when he touched her lips in a soft, tender kiss, she found it difficult to resist.
“Blaine,” she breathed, forcing herself to step away from him as she held up a stiff, restraining hand. “Believe me, I am beyond flattered by your attentions. I’ve had a crush on you for so long…but you should know, though, that Trey and I were together last night and are getting very serious. So while I want us to have fun together on set today, I’m afraid we can’t go any further than that—I hope you understand.”
She cringed as Blaine met these words with a deep, sad frown—along with a halfhearted shrug that accompanied the words, “I understand.”
“Except he doesn’t,” Helena answered silently, adding aloud, “I’m sorry, Blaine. I really am.”
She sighed with relief moments later, as a sleepy eyed Irving emerged from his hotel suite; soon joining them at Trey’s door.
“Irving, thank God,” Helena mused silently, adding with eyebrows raised, “I never thought I’d hear myself even thinking those words. For any given reason. Ever.”
Aloud she said, “OK Gentlemen, so it seems that Trey was called on set pretty early this morning, for an unexpected business meeting with the big boss man at Elmhurst. He is sending a cab to pick us up, so we’d better get downstairs. Immediately, if not sooner.”
Chapter Twenty
Soon the unlikely trio found themselves in the back of a cab; speeding en route to Kew Gardens, the site of that day’s photo shoot.
Helena’s senses were immediately soothed by the vision of the gardens in radiant bloom; an ebullient menagerie of gold and lavender florals growing free and beautiful at the garden’s core—their display enhanced by the presence of statues that in themselves seemed wonders of beauty and grace.
“Beautiful,” she breathed, not resisting as Blaine took her hand and lead her into the garden.
For just a moment the two immersed themselves in the fragrant grasses and maze-like floral growths of the Royal Botanic Gardens; twirling like kids as a sour-faced Irving looked on in disbelief.
“Real professional display there, you two,” he scoffed, adding as he walked past them in a stiff, very officious march, “Let’s get to the set before we’re late.”
The set, as it turned out, was just as beautiful and transfixing as the gardens that surrounded it. A Victorian masterwork of iron and glass that shone resplendent in the rays of the sun above, the Palm House shone as the rich, historically significant centerpiece of Kew Gardens; a national landmark that, or so Trey had told Helena, had stood since the 1800s.
Stepping through the sprawling front entrance of this monumental structure, she was greeted immediately by the vision of a myriad of tall, statuesque palm trees; emerald-leaved trees of numerous nature borne varieties, from the peach to the queen to the coconut.
Even Irving managed a faint smile as he stared upward at the canopy of trees that kissed the roof of the aptly named Palm House; and Helena’s own broad beam widened even farther the moment she set eyes on the man of her heart.
Appearing every inch a European gentleman in a fresh cut ebony suit, Trey looked nothing short of absolutely gorgeous as he turned to face his lady; yet she nonetheless frowned as she saw the sad eyes and drawn lips that met her arrival.
“Everything OK, babe?” she asked him, walking forward to join hands with him at the center of the Palm House.
For just a moment Trey smiled; his appreciative gaze taking a long walk down the length of Helena’s adorned form.
“You’re stunning my darling,” he breathed, adding as his grin dissolved, “a fact that makes the news I have for you all the more difficult to deliver.”
Helena shook her head.
“Don’t tell me that, after coming all this way and putting forth all this effort, the shoot has been cancelled,” she mused, voice barely above a whisper, “Or that, even worse, the publication of my book has been cancelled.”
It was Trey’s turn to shake his head, and vigorously.
“No and definitely not,” he assured her, adding as he bit his lip, “We are going to shoot the cover of a book today that will bear your name as its author—but not, I daresay, your image. Apparently, Helena, Donald Bright just found out this morning that we planned to use your photo on the cover. He has nixed the idea—ordering us instead to contract a model from an agency here in London.”
Helena froze.
“That makes no sense,” she uttered, gulping hard. “My heroine, Lady Helen, was created in my image. She is in all ways my mirror. So why should someone else play her role?”
Trey nodded.
“I know dear,” he told her.
“Did you tell him that?” Helena shot back immediately, pinning him with an assessing stare.
Trey looked at her a long moment, then shook his head.
“Helena, I’m nothing but a cog in a very big wheel,” he released on a sigh. “I have to follow the instruction of my supervisor. And we have to go with what sells.”
“What sells?” Helena echoed. “This book, Trey, is intended for a female audience. With Blaine on the cover, you might as well replace me with a friggin’ wooden chair! And if the woman who buys the book does happen to glance over at me, she will see a heroine who looks like her. For once.” She said these last words on a hard, pronounced note.
Trey cleared his throat.
“That’s what I thought as well, which is why I approved the idea,” he reminded her, adding with an awkward shrug, “But I guess according to previous sales records…”
“What previous sales records?” Helena shot back, her voice rising as she planted her hands on her ever controversial hips. “When has a major publishing company even tried to release a mainstream romance with a plus-sized woman on the cover? Sure there are some great indie titles—but when I go book shopping, Trey, I almost never see a cover model who looks like my friends—who looks like me. We could have been trailblazers, Trey.”
&nbs
p; Trey nodded.
“And you still will be, my dear,” he said with a smile. “We invite you to remain on set and help us determine the look of the cover. And when all is said and done, you’ll still be releasing a fantastic book that features a very real, relatable heroine.”
Helena nodded.
“A book with a cover that lies to the reader,” she told him, holding her chin up high. “A book that tells women that they’re not good enough—if not so much in words, then in images.”
Trey sighed.
“Personally, of course I agree with you,” he insisted, adding as he placed two affirming hands on the surface of her sturdy shoulders, “I would gladly buy a book that bore your image, as you are my fantasy woman. In general, though, the bottom line has to be sales.”
He cringed as Helena jerked away from him; fixing him with a cold, hard stare as she said, “OK then, so what if Adele, Aretha Franklin or Susan Boyle had decided never to cut a record, or if Melissa McCarthy or Kathy Bates had opted against making a single movie, because they were afraid of not ‘selling?’”
“That would have been awful. They are all talented, beautiful women who have graced us all with their talents,” Trey agreed immediately, adding in a lower tone, “But what we’re selling here, darling, is not a music CD or a chick flick movie, but a sensual fantasy.” He paused here, adding with an awkward shrug, “As I’m sure you understand, that makes things a little different. A book cover is a fantasy representation of what we all might like to look like, how we all might like to live—it’s little more of an ideal of perfection that bears little connection to real life.”
Helena snorted.
“Well I was certainly sensual, perfect, and real enough for you last night, wasn’t I Trey?” she sniffed, folding her arms before her. “This morning, though, you don’t even seem willing to fight for me—to at least try to defend the project that we’ve worked so hard on together. Tell me the truth, Trey. You didn’t try to even politely disagree with Bright, did you—to make a case for my cover?”
Trey said nothing, just lowered his head in apparent shame as he shuffled his feet beneath him.
“You’re a stronger person than I am, Helena,” he said finally.
Helena nodded.
“Could be,” she allowed, adding as she turned away from him, “but I’m not a fantasy girl—at least not in the eyes of Elmhurst Publishing. And if I’m not good enough to pose for my own book cover, then I really want no part of this photo shoot.”
“I second that.”
Helena froze as her senses were eased by the sound of a deep, sonorous voice; turning with a flourish she graced Blaine Bennington with a shocked, wide-eyed stare.
“You’re quitting the job?” she asked him.
Blaine nodded.
“If you go,” he told her, affirming his words with a supportive smile, “I go.”
Trey had heard enough.
“Bennington, don’t be mad,” he snarled, pointing an accusing finger in Blaine’s direction. “Do you know how much money Elmhurst has spent to fly you overseas to London, put you up in a hotel, provide your wardrobe? If you cut out on us now, Man, you might very well be facing a breach of contract suit.”
Helena shook her head.
“Blaine, you don’t have to do this for me,” she told her friend.
Blaine sighed.
“I am doing this for you, Helena, but not just for you,” he told her, adding with a broad gesture, “I’m doing this for all the women that get royally screwed over by the industry that is supposed to cater to and appeal to them. Romance novels are geared toward women, and many of them feature female cover models who have unrealistic body types.”
Trey rolled his eyes.
“Is your body type so very realistic, Bennington?” he asked, adding as he made his own broad gesture down the length of Blaine’s immaculate perfection, “Do you think that it would ring so true to photograph you with a woman who…”
“A woman who looks like me?” Helena interrupted, planting her hands on her hips. “Well if we can see movie posters that pair up Seth Rogan with Katherine Heigl, then—yeah—I do believe I could envision a romantic book cover featuring me with Blaine Bennington.”
Blaine grinned.
“So are you asking if it would be so very true to life for me to be interested in a woman like Helena?” he asked Trey, adding as he walked with smooth strides in the direction of a frowning Helena, “Well Lawrence, here’s your answer.”
Helena frowned just a little bit less moments later, as Blaine swept her up in two strong arms and leaned her body backward in a thrilling dip; gracing her lips with a warm, tender kiss before holding her close in a tight embrace.
Trey had seen enough.
“So Bennington,” he snarled, closing all distance between him and the couple that openly caressed and canoodled before them. “It seems that you’re not only interested in ruining my photo shoot today, but in ruining my relationship as well.”
Helena shook her head.
“Should you really try to pin that on Blaine—or on yourself?” she arched her eyebrows. “You were the one that didn’t stand up for your lady—and, deep down, I’m not sure if you can picture me on your—on our—book cover, any more than your boss man does. And to think that last night I…” she paused here, defiantly choking back some unbidden tears as she stiffened in Blaine’s arms. “It doesn’t matter right now. All I know is that I’m not going to stand here and watch another woman stand in my place, on my book cover. And while I will help to promote and market the book that I wrote and am so greatly proud of, I have no intentions of staying on this set one moment longer.”
“That goes for me as well,” Blaine declared immediately, planting a second warm kiss on Helena’s cheek.
Trey sighed.
“Helena, I understand totally if you want to leave. Just go back to the hotel and wait for me there—I swear I’ll make all of this up to you tonight,” he promised, tone low and tender.
His expression hardened, and his voice elevated, as he turned to face a now scowling Blaine Bennington.
“As for you, Bennington,” he barked, adding as he glared outright in the direction of his cover model, “You can either face me now, like a man, and we can get this rather unpleasant job done as quickly as possible, or face me later in small claims court. Your choice.”
He cringed as Blaine met these words with a round of loud, robust laughter; one he accented with yet another kiss, this one planted straight on Helena’s lips.
“Anyone who has seen my covers, dude, knows damned well that there is nothing ‘small’ about what I bring to my shoots,” he insisted, flexing his muscles in an impromptu pose that—much to his delight—seemed to cause endless annoyance and consternation in the mind of its intended target.
“Cut the BS, Bennington,” he snapped, adding as he planted his hands firmly on his hips, “Are you staying on set today to do the job that you’ve already been paid to do? Or are you cutting out and risking what little you have in the way of a professional reputation?”
“Again I emphasize,” Blaine interrupted him, gyrating his trim hips and jutting his groin forward, “Ain’t nothing bout this body, Lawrence, that is remotely small.”
Helena had heard—and seen—enough.
“OK you two,” she released on a long, hard sigh. “If the two of you attempt anything more in the way of macho posturing, then the whole lot of us are going to be swept away by a rampant and uncontrollable tidal wave of decidedly misplaced testosterone—a natural phenomenon that, between royally messing up Blaine Bennington’s hair and drowning all of us outright, will render this here photo shoot null and void anyway. So here is what I propose.”
She paused here, turning to grace Blaine Bennington with a soft, sweet smile.
“Blaine, I’m so sorry that you had to be placed in such an uncomfortable position,” she told him, adding as she bit her lip, “And by ‘uncomfortable position,’ by the way, I am
in no way, shape or form referencing this delightful clench that you have me entombed in at this particular moment—far from being uncomfortable, this specific position is doing much to lift my spirits and preserve and protect my outlook on life right now. I’m referencing the fact that, by being the only man in this room that currently has the kajones—and if ya don’t know what that is, Google it post haste—to stand up for me, and women like me, you have put your job in danger.”
“As it stands, though,” she continued, bracing two tender hands on his hard, massive chest, “It’s not going to benefit either one of us if we both leave the set today. If you split now, then they’ll just bring in a replacement stud—probably one from the same agency that is currently shellacking, airbrushing and criminally underdressing the babe being sent to replace me. And when the finished book comes out, I’ll be looking at a tome that bears my name—along with a photo of two complete and total strangers. I’d far rather see the photo of a man that I know—and that I’m really, really beginning to like.” She paused here, adding with a shrug, “And as far as the photo of the gal—well, I can always apply it to my dart board whenever I need to practice my aim, or just emblazon her sure to be flawless face with an oh so mature rendering of a full moustache and a goatee—plus a hearty helping of acne and cellulite, if it is indeed possible to depict a realistic rendering of those particular traits.”
Trey shook his head.
“So what I can cull and comprehend from all that is,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, his blue eyes wide and somewhat dazed, “You want Blaine to stay in the shoot?”
Helena nodded.
“I do indeed,” she affirmed, adding in a harder tone, “I also plan to take your advice to go back to the hotel post haste—but not, mind you, to wait silently and submissively while you shoot the cover of my book, without me.” She paused here, raising her chin to proud effect as she turned once again for the door. “In fact, I’m going to be there just long enough to pack my bags and call a cab for the airport.”
