by H. M. Ward
But it’s going to become very obvious, very soon. I clutch my face and don’t look up. My gaze is fixated on the floor. “Go look at the calendar. My close-rate got cut in half after the ass-hat moved in. Clients walk out of here with my packet in hand, and I swear to God that he looks it over, offers them the same coverage for less money, and then gives them an extra album. I don’t even have a chance.”
Amy continues to encourage me. “Sky, you’re better than him. You’re the one who comes up with the newest ideas.”
“But, Amy, a week later, he has them, too!”
“Do you remember that Trash-the-Dress session in the city? It was so much fun. And you have another client thinking about booking a similar session. Don’t let him get you down. There will always be people trying to get a piece of what you have, Sky, because you’re the best. They want to be you.”
Her words calm me down enough to look up. She smiles and hands me one of the fancy mirrors we use in pin-up shoots. “It looks like a dog licked your face.”
My mascara is running down my cheeks and a big smear of eye shadow looks like dirt on my temple. The corner of my mouth twitches.
“Sky,” Amy begins, “you have a new idea, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I stare into the glass, my imagination running wild. The picture hasn’t fully formed in my mind yet, but I can see the client in the water, make-up darkened and smeared. Something unusual and tragic. It’s like nothing I’ve ever shot before and very un-bride-like, but amazing all the same.
Amy waves a hand in front of my face to catch my attention. “Hello? Are you going to try it this weekend with Sophie?”
“If she lets me.” My eyes flick up over the top of the mirror. “It would be so cool, and Shelter Island is the perfect place to do it.” I bite my bottom lip, thinking about the logistics, and hand the mirror back to Amy to be put away.
“I wish I was coming with you. Five days out there sounds awesome—especially at this time of year. I bet it’s beautiful.” Amy stands and brushes herself off. She usually comes with me to carry gear and help out, but this wedding is small and I’m doing it at cost as a favor to a childhood friend. The only money I’ll make is from print sales after the wedding.
I say her new name out loud. “Sophie Stevens. I can’t believe she’s getting married.”
“Yeah, but Stevens is a lot easier to say, am I right?”
“Yeah, Poloiscitiano doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Amy resumes her duties at the front desk, preparing paperwork. “Go home, Sky. Pack and take an earlier ferry out. Sit on the beach until Sophie gets there. God knows you could use a break. Just be sure to make fun of her new husband for me. ‘Steven Stevens’ is too funny.” It’s a name that sounds like it belongs to a cartoon dog carrying a briefcase.
“Are you sure? There’s so much work to do and I feel bad—”
“You always feel bad and you never stop working. You’re always here. Go, I’m fine. I can blast sixties music and walk around barefoot.” She winks at me, teasing. Amy would dress like a flower child every day of the year. She taps a stack of papers on her desk and staples the corner. “Seriously, go. Have fun. Relax for a few days. Drink champagne and sleep with a stranger. You know, typical wedding stuff.”
I laugh. “Typical for you, maybe.”
Amy tips her head to the side, like she feels sorry for me. “You’re twenty-two, Sky. You bust your ass every day and never stop to see what you’re missing.”
“Because I’m not missing a thing.” I grab my purse from the desk drawer and push it shut. “Are you sure you’re good here if I take off?” I never leave work early. If I haul ass, I can make the two o’clock ferry and get there with enough time to spend a few hours walking the beach or looking in the little shops.
Amy smirks, “Only if you promise to nail the best man for me.” She waggles her eyebrows and clicks her tongue at me.
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” I say sarcastically, grabbing a shipping label and a marker from the desk drawer. Quickly, I scrawl, AMY WAS HERE across the envelope. “There ya go. I’ll leave it on his forehead.”
She laughs. “Bitch.”
“No, crazy. I thought we established that.”
As I push out the door, Amy yells, “Bring me some cake!”
“Will do!”
Chapter 3
By the time I get to the North Ferry at Orient Point, it’s the middle of the afternoon. I change out of the suit I wear at the studio and trade it for a pair of faded jeans with a hole in the knee and a stretchy black tee shirt. I sit on the hood of my crappy old car, Big Red, and pull my dark hair into a ponytail. The wind is whipping it around, making it difficult to see. The truth is, I love the smell of the salt water and I love Shelter Island even more. Sophie’s family maintains a summer home there, and since her parents were friends with my parents, we came out here with Sophie a lot. Sophie and I have been best friends since we were little. I don’t really want to work her wedding, but she insisted that I do it.
Taking a deep breath, I look around. There are a few cars parked next to me, but since it’s not summer anymore, the boat isn’t full. Big Red is a rust-colored Bonneville that’s older than I am. It sat in my grandpa’s garage until he died last year. It’s too big for the compact, modern parking spaces and was constructed back when gas was cheap and cars were huge. Grandpa used to complain about it being too small, which seems funny now. Both tires straddle the parking space. I used to have a motorcycle, but I had to sell it to make ends meet last month. Now it’s just me and Big Red.
When we make it to the island, I follow the trail of cars off the boat and hit the road. I want to get checked in and make it to the other side of the island before Sophie arrives. I find the little inn that everyone is staying at and manage to parallel park. Who’s awesome? Me! Maybe today won’t suck after all. Horrible morning means a pleasant evening. I think I read that on a fortune cookie once.
Grabbing my purse, I head inside and go to the check-in counter. A woman with bright red hair and a black blazer is standing there with a phony smile on her clashing red lips.
“Welcome to the Chaucer Inn,” she says. “How may I help you?”
God, she looks crazy. Her big green eyes don’t blink and that creepy smile remains tightly in place. After glancing quickly around, I decide her boss must be nearby because something is making her uncomfortable and unnaturally still.
Placing my hands on the counter, I say, “Yes, I’m the photographer for the Stevens Wedding. I was told a room was reserved for me.”
“Check in time isn’t until 4pm.”
“I know, but I hoped the room would be ready early. It was a long drive. Do you think you could help me out?”
She rolls her eyes and the smile fades. She breathes deeply, flaring her nostrils like a bull. “I am happy to help you find a seat at our restaurant until 4pm.”
Did she not hear me? I tap my finger on the counter and lean in a little bit. “Is there any chance that I can have my room now? I’m really tired and—?”
“No! You can’t have it now! It’s not ready now! It’ll be ready at 4pm! Are you hard of hearing or something?” The woman grips her side of the counter for a second and practically snarls.
Holy snails. That is the face of crazy. I smile with too many teeth and back away slowly. “I’ll come back at 4pm.”
The woman goes back to her unblinking, pleasantly possessed status. “That’s a wonderful idea. Thank you so much. Enjoy your afternoon on Shelter Island.”
OMG. What a nutter. I get out of the lobby before she sprouts claws and rips me to shreds. When I’m back out on the street, I decide to walk and grab a late lunch to kill the time. I’m sitting at a little bistro before I finally relax a little. My eye stops twitching, all thoughts of Nick and his assy ways long gone, and I’m content for once, sipping iced tea and nibbling on my sandwich. The little restaurant has all its seating outdoors on the sidewalk. The sky is blue and a slight breeze
rustles through the branches. It’s perfect.
Until my phone rings. It plays the Imperial March, aka Darth Vader’s theme song, signaling that it’s my mother calling. The guy next to me snorts his soda and looks over. I give a weak smile and slump back in my chair, letting it play the song again. Glancing at him, I explain, “It’s my Mom.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “She sounds amazing.” The beautiful man returns to his meal with a smile on his face.
I swipe my finger across the screen and hold the evil little device to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“Are you already out there? What happened at work today? You can’t skip out just because you have somewhere fun to be.” My mother thinks my job is a joke even though it more than paid the bills until Nick showed up. No one knows just how bad it’s gotten and I sure as hell don’t want to hear her lectures now.
“Mom, I didn’t skip out. Amy is there.”
“Amy won’t do the same job you would do.”
“Amy is stapling papers. I don’t think she’ll staple her hand too often, so we’re okay. Have you and Daddy left yet?”
“Don’t change the subject, Missy! I told you that you should have gone to college like Sophie did, but did you listen? No. Now, you run off in the middle of the day and leave Amy there alone. What if someone wants something?”
“Then they call me on my cell phone.” Oh, God. Someone shoot me. I lean my cheek into my hand and lean sideways as Mom chews me out.
“That’s no way to run a business, Sweetheart. Have you thought about what Daddy and I offered?”
“I’m not going to close my studio, Ma.” My tilted body is off balance, as I perch on the side of my chair, ready to topple over. We’ve had this conversation too many times to count. They think I threw my life away because I didn’t get a college degree. The thing is, all my friends who did are now jobless and flipping burgers. I don’t have their debt and things were pretty good until Nick started screwing with me.
“Sophie is going to talk to you and I think you should listen to her.”
My feet are crossed at the ankle. When she says that, I push too hard on my right foot and try to sit up quickly, but I must be standing on my shoelaces because my foot doesn’t move. So, instead of going up, I fall down.
Picture a penguin at the zoo that suddenly falls sideways. Boop. It’s really funny, except when I fall, my hands dart out and grab the closest thing to me—the guy at the next table. I manage to clutch a fist full of crotch and grope him thoroughly before hitting the cement. If he hadn’t been facing me with his legs splayed like that, it wouldn’t have happened. I was trying to grab the chair and totally missed.
The guy’s eyes go wide and he jumps up, bumping the table with his hip. His pasta dish and tea start to slide as gravity pulls everything downward. By this time, I’m on the ground and I turn just in time to get a plate of spaghetti in the face, followed by a full glass of tea to wash it off.
I can hear my mother shrieking from somewhere on the sidewalk, still scolding me. For a moment, no one says anything. They just watch in horrified silence. I wipe the sauce and tea from my face and glance down. It looks like I was the victim of an assassination attempt by a clown. There’s a huge red stain over my boobs with limp noodles in my hair, and a few hanging from the neckline of my shirt. One noodle is actually caught in my necklace. The tea diluted the sauce, which then ran into every crevice of my body, so I’m saucy and sticky. Not to mention, I groped a random stranger and knocked his table over.
I sit there way too long, trying to blink the stinging sensation out of my eyes. When I look up, the guy has his hand out. I take it and he helps me up.
“I am so sorry,” he says. He isn’t laughing at me, which comes as a shock.
“No, it was my fault,” I say. Someone hands me my phone and I hit END CALL without telling my mom goodbye. She calls back two seconds later.
Handsome guy chuckles at the Imperial March as it plays again. “I suggest not answering that.”
I laugh, otherwise I’d cry. “Not planning on it.”
The wait staff bustles around us, righting his table and cleaning up my mess, leaving the two of us standing awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant. “My name’s Deegan, by the way. Deegan Greene. I’m a Sci-Fi nerd and I’m pretty sure you’re a goddess.”
A shy smile passes over my face, as I look at the ground and then back up at him. I hold out my sticky hand. “Sky Thompson.”
“Can I walk you back to your hotel, Sky?”
“That depends. Is it four o’clock, yet?”
His jaw drops slightly. “Are you here for the Steve Stevens wedding, too?” The way he says it makes me laugh even though his lunch is stuck to my body.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I’m guessing we had the same receptionist. I’m Steve’s best friend.”
I nod and pull a piece of spaghetti from my shirt. “I’m the photographer.”
“Really?” I don’t know why he says it like that. Apparently, I made a really bad impression, as if I’m too clumsy to photograph people.
“Yeah. I’ve known Sophie since we were kids.”
“Ah, well then. We have a lot of catching up to do. I’m pretty sure if we put our heads together, we can thoroughly embarrass them.” He winks at me and takes my elbow, before dropping enough cash for both of us on the table. “Steven had an unnatural love of glue. I’d hoped he’d have aspirations to take over the company that makes sticky-notes when he grew up.”
I laugh a little. “It must have been a disappointment to see him become a pediatrician.”
“Indeed. Come on. Let’s see if we can get Satan’s Spawn to let us check in. If she refuses, you should go sit on that big white chaise in the center of the lobby. I bet they’ll change their mind about that four o’clock policy.”
THE WEDDING CONTRACT IS AVAILABLE NOW
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Coming Soon
BROKEN PROMISES
A Trystan Scott Novel
More Ferro Family Books
NICK FERRO
~THE WEDDING CONTRACT~
*****
BRYAN FERRO
~THE PROPOSITION~
*****
SEAN FERRO
~THE ARRANGEMENT~
******
PETER FERRO GRANZ
~DAMAGED~
******
JONATHAN FERRO
~STRIPPED~
******
TRYSTAN SCOTT
~COLLIDE~
******
More Romance Books by H.M. Ward
DAMAGED
DAMAGED 2
STRIPPED
SCANDALOUS
SCANDALOUS 2
SECRETS
THE SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT
And more.
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