“So, Anya,” her mother said, after the champagne had arrived and been poured into flute glasses for them all, “is Eric the thing you wanted to talk to us about?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, it is. I wanted you to meet him. Eric and I are together now.”
“How long has that been going on?” her father said, his tone short.
“Nothing’s going on, Dad,” she said, irritated that her father couldn’t be happy for her for once. She hadn’t even told him the bad news yet. “We’re both adults, who have the same interests, and who enjoy each other’s company.” She picked up her glass, as if to make her point, and took an angry swig of the cold bubbles.
“So how did you two meet?” asked Saara, trying to keep the conversation bright, while completely unaware she was leading the questions that would most likely break up the party.
“We met at work,” Anya said, trying to put things in the best light.
“You’re doing photography now, Anya?” her father asked, his blue eyes focused on her with his intense, bright gaze.
“It’s certainly something I’m interested in,” she said, not really answering the question.
The waiter arrived back, hovering to take their orders. Still feeling as though she’d struggle to stomach anything at all, Anya ordered the lightest thing she could find on the menu—a salad of chorizo, spinach, red onion, and new potatoes. Eric ordered the steak. She wondered if they’d get a chance to eat their meals.
“Actually,” Eric spoke up, surprising her. She’d told him to leave this to her. “Anya has been working for me on the other side of the camera.”
She wanted to hit him. She’d wanted to do this in her own time, and he was forcing the conversation his way.
Saara brightened once again. “Really? You’ve been modeling for some of Eric’s portrait work? How wonderful. You know, Anya, I always told you how beautiful you were, even though you would never believe me.” She turned to Eric. “Can you believe she’d never accept how beautiful she is?”
Eric smiled and looked over to make eye contact with Anya. “I’ve told her every day since we met.”
Her cheeks heated, and even her mother was beginning to look flustered. Her father, however, went completely unmoved.
All eyes were focused on her. She felt herself shrink beneath their gaze, her face growing hotter and hotter. She couldn’t bring her mouth to open and describe to her parents here in this fancy restaurant exactly what type of portrait photography she’d been posing for.
“Excuse me,” she said, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. “Bathroom.”
She hurried from the table, doing her best not to break into a run. Without looking back, she scanned the room for the signs for the bathroom and raced toward it, almost knocking a huge silver platter of food from a waiter’s hands.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, still rushing. She burst into the thankfully empty bathroom and stood at the bank of sinks, her heart racing.
I can’t do this.
She’d let them find out on their own, by attending the exhibition, or perhaps reading reports of it afterward. There was no way she could open her mouth and tell her parents she’d been posing for erotic photo shoots.
The bathroom door opened, making Anya jump. Her mother walked in, a concerned expression on her face.
“Anya, honey. What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
She pressed her lips together, sudden tears threatening once again. She couldn’t stand for her mother to be nice to her when she was about to let her down so badly. “Nothing,” she said. “Everything is fine.”
“Don’t give me that. I gave birth to you and raised you. Don’t you think I’d know right away when something was wrong with my little girl? I could tell on the phone. That’s why I arranged for us to come into town early. Is it something to do with Eric?” Something in Anya’s expression must have changed at the mention of his name, as she added, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No, Mom!” she burst out. “Of course not!”
“Well, you can’t blame me for asking. It was only because you were drinking the champagne that I didn’t ask sooner.” She paused then said, “So what is it, honey? Please, tell me. I’ll drive myself crazy with worry if you don’t.”
Finally, the tears came. “Oh, Mom. I’m so scared you’re going to hate me.”
“Anya, stop it! You’re scaring me now.”
So much for acting like a woman of the world, an adult who knew her own mind. Here she was blubbering in the bathroom like a child.
“It’s the photographs, Mom. The one’s Eric has been taking.”
Her face hardened. “Has he been making you do something you don’t want to do?”
“No, Mom. Not at all. I wanted to be his model. He hired me.”
“What are you telling me, Anya?”
“I’ve been modeling for Eric, but they’re not like his normal work. They’re erotic art.”
“Anya!”
“It’s tasteful, but yes, the images are explicit. The thing is, he’s going to have an exhibition at the Blanc Art Space in a week. I needed to tell you because you’d find out eventually.”
Now it was out, the tears dried up, and she wiped her face.
“Oh, Anya.” Her mother pressed her lips together, shaking her head. She lifted her hand to cover her face in dismay, and then turned away from her daughter.
Anya’s heart sank. This was it, the reaction she was expecting. But to her surprise, her mother dropped her hand, turned back to her, and met her gaze. “How are we going to tell your father?”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Oh, honey. I was young once, too. And I know Eric’s work. I’m sure whatever photographs he’s taken have been done in the best possible taste.” She smiled. “And he’s a very handsome man. I can understand why you’ve fallen for him.”
She gave a shy smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
“But the question still remains about how we’re going to tell your father. I can’t promise his reaction will be the same as mine.”
“No, I know it won’t. I’ve barely been able to eat these last few days worrying about it.”
“I think we’re just going to have to tell him.”
“Would it be better to tell him in private?”
“He might rein himself in if we tell him in public, give him time to compose himself, perhaps even come to terms with the idea of his daughter modeling for erotic photography.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you think?”
“Well, maybe not. But whether we tell him here or back at the hotel, he’s still going to need to find out.”
She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay, let’s do it now. Get it over with.” It was like having a Band-Aid removed, better to get it over with than drag things out any longer. Besides, her mother had reacted far better than she’d ever hoped for. Perhaps her father would be the same and surprise her?
Anya quickly repaired her makeup in the mirror, and then she and her mother exited the bathroom together.
Eric and her father were deep in conversation, but they fell silent as the two women approached. Eric looked up at her, his eyes saying more than his mouth. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.”
Her mother placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Anya’s got something she wants to tell you, Trent.”
The nerves reappeared in Anya’s stomach. She had to do this, get it out there, and deal with the fallout afterward.
“The photographs Eric has been taking are going to be part of an exhibition of his work in a little over a week,” said Anya.
Her father smiled. “That sounds interesting.”
“It is. But I just wanted to prepare you that some of the photographs are of a ... Err ...” She could barely bring herself to say the word. Even as she stalled, she could see the expression in her father’s face begin to change. “They’re of an erotic nature.”
A cloud filled his features, his blue eyes seeming to turn gray. “What are you telling me, Anya? That you’ve been posing for explicit photographs?”
“Well, yes, but they’re tasteful!”
He wasn’t listening. He turned to Eric. “And you’ve been taking them? You manipulated my little girl into taking her clothes off?”
Her stomach lurched. “Dad! It wasn’t like that! I’m an adult. I do what I want.”
“That’s bullshit, Anya. You’re only twenty-two. You barely know your own mind.”
“Trent, no,” her mother interjected. “She’s an adult. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”
He wasn’t listening. He shoved back his chair with a clatter and rose to his feet, pointing a finger at Eric. “And you, taking a young girl and using her in such a way. She’s a good girl, and you’ve made a whore out of her!”
“Dad!” Even she was shocked at his choice of words. People were starting to look, glancing over to stare at the performance.
Eric got to his feet, his face stone. “Mr. Bergman, please don’t ever refer to your daughter as a whore again.”
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t call my own child. Who the hell do you think you are? Perverting an innocent girl. And you’re going to display these photographs to the public? Over my dead body!”
“Trent,” said Saara, getting to her feet to try to pull him back down. “Calm down.”
“I’ll do no such thing!”
“Please, Dad.” Anya was too shocked to cry.
“Mr. Bergman,” said Eric, keeping his voice calm. “If you’d like to come and view the photographs at my studio, you’re more than welcome.”
Trent’s face was puce with anger, the red making his white hair appear even whiter. “I’m not going into some kind of den for pornography! You’ve turned my daughter into a little whore. I’ll set no foot in that place.”
A muscle in Eric’s jaw twitched. “I told you not to call her that again.”
“Don’t even speak to me!” And her father swung his fist, connecting with Eric’s jaw. His head snapped back, and he staggered from the table.
“Dad!” Anya screamed, jumping from her seat to run to Eric. His nose was bloodied, but he didn’t attempt to retaliate. She was terrified they’d have another episode like with Gavin, but Eric restrained himself.
Her father opened his wallet and threw money on the table. “Pay for the meal with this,” he spat at Anya. “And then keep the change like the little whore you are. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He stormed from the restaurant. Her mother looked between Anya and the direction Trent had gone, before picking up her jacket and purse. “I’ll call you,” she said, before hurrying after him.
Anya burst into tears.
Eric’s arms found their way around her, but she pushed him away. “Leave me alone. I did this for you. If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t have just lost my father. I can’t be around you right now. Just leave me alone.” And with tears streaming down her face, she ran from the restaurant, all eyes on her, leaving Eric alone.
Chapter Seventeen
Eric
Eric stood in the middle of the restaurant, frozen in the fallout of the fight between Anya and her father. He gaped after them. Even though she’d told him her father was a strict Christian, he’d never imagined it would be so bad. His nose still hurt. How many times would he get punched in the face over Anya?
A waiter arrived with a silver tray with all of their meals balanced on the shiny surface. Everyone in the room had restarted their conversations, trying to pretend they hadn’t all enjoyed the drama over dinner.
“I think you’d better take those back to the kitchen,” he told the waiter.
The young man hesitated, but a stare from Eric sent him spinning on his heels, taking the meals with him.
Eric picked up his glass of champagne and drank it in one, the bubbles burning the back of his nose. He placed the empty glass down on the table, hard enough to risk it breaking.
He needed to go after Anya.
Briefly, he considered switching Anya’s father’s money for his own credit card, and returning the cash to the older man later, but anyone who upset Anya that much deserved to waste a few hundred dollars.
Leaving her father’s money on the table, he picked up his jacket and walked from the restaurant, trying to ignore all the prying eyes. He hoped no paparazzi had been present for the fight, or at least none who recognized him, or he’d find the argument displayed all over the local papers the next day.
Eric stepped out into the evening air and ignored the valet. He’d have to come back for his car later. Anya would be on foot. Her petite stature compared to his long legs meant he shouldn’t struggle to catch her.
He headed in the direction of her college campus, assuming she’d go back to her room. Farther down the street ahead, he spotted her slight figure, her shoulders stooped, her head hung down. His heart clenched at the sight of her, so forlorn, and then sparked with anger at her father. How could a man cause such sorrow in his own daughter?
“Anya!” he called. “Wait.”
But she didn’t stop, only hurried her pace.
Eric broke into a run, his long stride carrying him swiftly along the street, quickly closing the gap between them.
He reached her, caught her by the shoulder, and pulled her back around. “Anya, please wait.”
Her eyes were rimmed red, her skin blotchy. But no fresh tears ran from her eyes. “Please, Eric. Just give me some space, okay? I’ve got a lot to think about.”
“Can’t you think about it at my place?” He didn’t like the pleading tone to his voice.
She shook her head. “You’re too involved in all of this. You’re a huge distraction.” She gave a little smile. “A great distraction, but one nonetheless. This isn’t against you, Eric. I don’t blame you for my father. I knew how he was going to react. I just kidded myself for a while that things might go differently.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry he hit you.”
Eric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I seem to be getting you into trouble more than you deserve.”
He didn’t tell her that he’d thought the same thing only a few minutes ago. “You’re worth it.”
She looked at him. “Am I, Eric? Am I really?”
“Yes, of course you are. At least come back to the restaurant and let me drive you home.”
A shiver ran through her; he noted her shoulders trembling. “I don’t want to go back to that restaurant. Ever.”
“Okay. I understand.” He spotted the familiar yellow light in the distance, and he stepped out into the road with his arm held out. “I’m paying for your cab, then.”
“Eric, I can get my own cab.”
“Please, Anya. Just do as I ask this once.”
Her shoulders slumped. The cab pulled up alongside the curb and Eric opened the back door for her. Without further argument, she climbed into the back seat. Eric handed the driver a couple of twenties and gave him the address.
She slid down her window. “Thank you.”
“Call me, okay?” he said, suddenly panicked. What if this was the last time he saw her? What if she decided enough was enough, and never wanted to see him again?
She gave a sad smile. “Sure, Eric.” And slid her window back up.
He stood on the sidewalk and watched the cab pull away and grow smaller as it merged with the evening’s traffic. Eric sighed and pulled his jacket closer to his body for comfort. The cab vanished from sight and he turned around and made his way back to the restaurant.
The valet stood, looking awkward and unsure until he spotted Eric returning. He obviously wasn’t used to having vehicles abandoned not long after arriving.
Eric collected his car and drove home, his head a jumble of thoughts. What was going to happen now? After her father’s reaction, he struggled to imagine Anya still wanting to go through wi
th the exhibition. They were back to square one. Perhaps he should never have persuaded her to tell her parents about what she’d been doing. If she’d kept it secret for as long as possible, they’d at least have had the gift of a few more days doing what they loved.
His apartment felt cold and empty without Anya in it. It was strange to notice that now. He’d never had a problem with his place before—in fact, he’d always enjoyed spending time here alone, appreciated what his hard work and talent had bought him—yet now his surroundings felt sterile.
He removed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped a tea-towel around them before pressing them to the socket where the start of a black eye was blooming. His nose also throbbed, but he didn’t think it was broken. He hoped the bruising would fade before the exhibition. But then he realized he probably shouldn’t waste his time worrying. Anya was sure to want to cancel now.
His stomach twisted with anxiety. Logan had already started sending out personal invitations to everyone influential and important in the New York art scene. What the hell was he supposed to do if he had to turn around and tell everyone the exhibition had been canceled? He’d be a laughing-stock, and no one would ever take his exhibitions seriously again. Logan was an old friend, but he was also a professional. Eric hated that he might have wasted his friend’s time.
The first flames of anger started in his stomach. If only Anya had been honest with him from the start, none of this would be happening now. But even as the flames emerged, his common sense extinguished them. If Anya had told him right from the start and he’d sent her away, he’d never have experienced this last week. He’d never have sunk his cock into her tight, soft heat. He’d never have felt her slim fingers touch his cheek with such intimacy. He’d never have witnessed her expression of delight when a huge dish of tiramisu had been placed in front of her. He was torn. Though his work meant everything to him, his feelings for Anya were starting to overshadow them.
Once again, he hadn’t eaten, and he couldn’t bring himself to stomach anything. Instead, he went to his computer and began to run through his favorite images of Anya. He scrolled through them, pausing on each one to study the composition, the use of lighting, but most of all, to study Anya. Having her image imprinted upon his brain was the closest thing he could get to being with her. He didn’t want anyone else, he realized. He didn’t want to photograph anyone else, or have anyone else in his bed. She’d become his whole world.
Dirty Shots Page 14
