My Image of You

by Melanie Moreland

  “There’s a charity event I have to attend.”

  “Another command performance?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and failed.

  “Yes,” she answered in a whisper.

  “What else?”

  She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t look at me.

  “Ally, look at me. Now.”

  Slowly her gaze met mine. “What else?”

  “I have”—she cleared her throat—“a date.”

  My hands clenched, forming fists as I struggled to stay calm. “Cancel.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  There was that word again. I was beginning to hate it.

  “Then uncomplicate it,” I growled.

  “I, ah, sort of have a boyfriend.”

  I felt as though I’d been sucker punched. “What the fuck?” I hissed. “You didn’t think to mention that before now? Maybe when we were shopping for sheets together?”

  “It’s not what you think. If you want to calm down, we can talk about it somewhere private.”

  I inhaled and counted to ten. I pulled some money out of my wallet and flung it on the table. “Fine. Let’s go and talk at the loft.”

  I stood and held out my hand. “Now, Ally.”

  She got up and went in front of me, ignoring my hand. But she didn’t argue when I plucked the keys from her hand and opened the passenger door for her. Not a word about my head, not driving, or anything else.

  We remained silent the entire trip home.

  —

  She sat on the stool, watching me pace. Twice she opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand. Finally, I stood in front of her. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip, and she was paler than normal, the dark circles under her eyes standing out against the pallor. I cursed myself for dragging her out shopping when she should have been resting, and then I remembered why I took her shopping in the first place, and my anger burned a little hotter.

  “You sort of have a boyfriend, like someone is sort of pregnant? Is that it?”

  “No. It’s not like that. I shouldn’t have said boyfriend.”

  “Well, you did. After we spent the morning picking out sheets for you to sleep on when you’re here in my bed. You dropped that line.”

  She cupped my cheek, and with a groan I leaned into her tender touch. Her caress calmed me.

  “Explain it to me.”

  “I told you my parents were constantly pushing suitable men, ones they approve of, on me.”

  “He’s one of them?”

  “Bradley’s my friend. He’s a doctor—a surgeon. A good one.”

  I didn’t want to hear a list of this asshole’s attributes. “Well, bully for him.”

  “His dad and Ronald are business associates. They’ve been trying to match us up since Bradley moved back here after medical school. We were constantly thrown together and we went out on a few dates. He’s a great guy.”

  “This isn’t helping.”

  “Listen to me, Adam. He’s a wonderful man. But he isn’t the man for me. We’re good friends. That’s all.”

  “Then why did you call him your boyfriend?”

  “Bradley and I let them think we’re closer than we are. It gets them off our backs and we use each other for dates for these events, or any dinners we attend where our families are going to be.”

  I narrowed my eyes, finding it difficult to believe any man would want to be only friends with her.

  “It’s true. Bradley isn’t interested in settling down right now. He uses me as a cover, and he dates other women”—she chuckled mischievously—“lots of other women, he tells me. He just does it quietly.”

  I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact he didn’t want Ally. It didn’t seem possible. “He has no romantic interest in you?”

  “No.”

  “Or you him?”

  “I love him the way I loved Ollie. Like a brother. Nothing more.”

  “And you’re seeing him on Saturday?”

  “Yes. He’ll pick me up, we’ll make an appearance for a while, and once that’s done, he’ll drop me home.”

  “No one ever gets suspicious?”

  “We talk and text sometimes so we know what each other is doing. Then if we’re asked, it sounds like we’re seeing each other. Sometimes he’ll come up and we watch a movie or talk. A couple times he’s taken me to a bar or dinner and we purposely take our picture and he posts it on Facebook where he knows it’ll be seen.”

  “Have you kissed him?”

  She sighed. “Yes. I told you we dated.”

  “Did you like it?”

  She shook her head. “There was nothing there—no spark.” She took in a deep breath. “I didn’t feel the way I do when you kiss me.”

  “Which is?”

  “Like I never want you to stop.”

  “Good answer,” I huffed, still annoyed, yet finding my anger dissipating in the face of her explanation.

  “How long ago did you start going out?”

  “About seven months ago.”

  “So you’ve been fake dating him for seven months?”

  She shook her head, peering up at me with an impish grin. “No, I played hard to get, so we’ve only ‘fake dated’ for about four months.”

  My lips twitched. She wanted me to laugh with her and see how simple this was. Two friends helping each other.

  “Was this your idea?”

  “No, he suggested it. I thought it was a bad idea, which is why it took a while for me to agree. But he was right. My mother, Ronald, and his dad backed right off. It’s made things easier for me.”

  “Why him? Because he’s a doctor? The right kind of people?” I sneered.

  “He comes from old money, yes. Just like Ronald. His father is well known and respected.” She sighed. “It’s the sort of match he approves of.”

  “In other words, he gets something out of it, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like it. I get it…but I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why do they want you married off so badly?”

  “Then I’m not their responsibility anymore. They know there’s a good chance Bradley will move to another city at some point. They can ignore me completely then, because I’ll be someone else’s problem.” She shrugged. “Out of sight, out of mind. Any embarrassment I cause they can blame on someone else. It’s all about image with them. If it wasn’t, Ronald would have turned his back a long time ago.”

  It was also about control and punishing her, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

  I crushed her to me, holding her tight. “You’re not a problem or something to be given away. Stop thinking like that!”

  She clung to my waist. “Not to you.”

  I held her for a long time. When I pulled back, I stroked her cheek. “Friday night then? Or better yet, would you come here after your lunch?”

  “I’ll probably sleep.”

  “That’s fine. I can watch you sleep.”

  “Pervert,” she mouthed with a grin.

  “When it comes to you, definitely.” I caressed the back of her neck, kneading the tense muscles. “But I don’t want to wait until Friday to see you again.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’m not sure I can wait until tomorrow.”

  “How will—”

  I shook my head interrupting her. “We’ll figure it out, as long as you want it.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t have to go, do you?”

  “I have things I need to do,” she murmured, not sounding convinced.

  “I know, but you could stay a little longer?” I asked quietly, running my finger along her jawline and down her neck, making her shiver. “Maybe go for a walk or have a little nap?”

  I helped her off the stool, surprised when she wrapped her arms around me, staring up at me beseechingly. “Bradley is just a friend, Adam. Please do
n’t be upset with me.”

  “Ally…I’m not.” I barked out a humorless laugh. “Even if he wasn’t, I have no right to tell you who you can or can’t see. We’ve only just met.” I ran my fingers through her long hair, feeling the softness of it on my skin. “As much as I want to have that right, I know it’s too soon. I acted like a jerk. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll cancel.”

  “No. You have to go and I assume he does, too. So you go together, the way you planned”—I pulled her flush to my chest—“as friends.” I dropped a kiss onto her head. “Do you have any other dates planned?”

  “There are a couple of events coming up.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll have to look. I’m sure there is something on the schedule. We’ll probably see each other for coffee or dinner at some point.”

  I didn’t want her seeing him at all.

  I rested my forehead to hers, trying to figure out when I had become this jealous caveman. I had never felt possessive about anything in my life until I met her.

  Still, I didn’t make any demands. I didn’t tell her she couldn’t help her friend. I resisted the urge to tell her she was mine now and the only person she could date—fake or otherwise—was me. She already had enough people in her life telling her what she should or shouldn’t do.

  “Can we discuss this again before then?”

  She tilted her head back. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t really feel like going for a walk.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “I’m kinda tired.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.”

  I drew her closer, my lips hovering over hers. “Maybe just the nap then?”

  “Yeah, that’d be good.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter 6

  I pulled my mouth away from hers with a groan. Kissing Ally was highly addictive. The way she whispered my name and tugged at my hair with her fingers drove me crazy. The smoothness of her skin as I slipped my hands under her shirt was a tease of something still forbidden. Having her body pressed into mine was fucking torture, because I wanted more—even if it was too soon. What was supposed to be a nap was now dangerously close to becoming me tearing her clothes off and fucking her hard into my mattress. I rolled off the bed, breathing hard. “Nap time is over,” I stated.

  She eyed my evident erection with a small grin. “Obviously.”

  I stomped over to the kitchen. “Keep looking at me like that and you’ll be sorry.”

  She shook her head as she passed by. “I doubt sorry is the right word.”

  I smirked, liking the fact I affected her, too. But we knew it was too fast.

  After I handed her a cup of coffee, she walked around the loft, spending a lot of time looking at my cameras and asking questions.

  “You don’t have any of your photos displayed.”

  “No, I keep it simple. I don’t want to look at my own work most of the time.”

  When she studied my display case, I sat at the desk behind her.

  “These are special to you.”

  “They belonged to my parents. After they died, my uncle Max saved them all for me.”

  “They were both photographers?”

  “My mother was a professional photographer. My dad was a historian and an author. The books are his. Ones he wrote, and his journals. They loved to travel the world. They took me with them as often as possible.” I scratched the back of my neck, feeling the nervousness of sharing personal information with someone. “I didn’t exactly have the usual upbringing. I was absent from school more than I was there.”

  “But what an education you must have had regardless!”

  “Yeah, my parents insisted I bring school books with me, and they taught me, too. I saw so much of the world, and experienced life differently than the classmates I would eventually be with. I never fit in.”

  “When did they die?”

  I swallowed around the emotion building in my throat. “I was thirteen and I broke my leg. There was a trip planned to Brazil, but I couldn’t go. I stayed with some friends of theirs and they went—it was only supposed to be a short trip, but there was an accident. The bus they were riding in crashed in the mountains.” I traced the edge of the desk, not looking at her. “There were no survivors.”

  I pointed to the top shelf, and the camera with the cracked lens and broken case. “That is the only camera my mom had with her, and somehow my uncle got it back. I keep it because I know she was touching it when she died. Morbid, I suppose.”

  Ally touched my shoulder, making me look up. “No, not morbid. It makes you feel close to her.”

  “Yes.” I was remarkably okay sharing such personal things with her, It was a change, as I was not one to talk about my feelings to anyone, yet I liked it.

  “I keep an old book of Ollie’s. No one knows I have it. It was his favorite and sometimes I hold it, just remembering how he used to read it constantly.”

  “Which book is it?

  “Peter Pan. He loved that story.”

  I pulled her to my lap, kissing the top of her hair. “Then you understand.”

  “Yes.”

  I fingered the metal around my wrist. “This was my dad’s. My mom gave it to him. One of the links had broken, so he hadn’t taken it with him. My uncle had it fixed for me. I never take it off.”

  She traced her finger over the silver, the heavy links scarred from years of wear and abuse.

  “And these, ah, leather bands?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  I chuckled, remembering her teasing in the hospital. “Those are because I like them. I’m cool that way.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  I squeezed her close, and we sat silently for a moment, lost in memories.

  “What happened to you after your parents died?”

  “I went to live with my uncle and his family.”

  “Were they good to you?”

  My head fell back with a long exhale of air. “They tried. My Uncle Max was my father’s brother. They were as different as night and day. Their life was different. I was so out of my element. I had to stay in one place, attend school—I had a schedule like their other kids. I didn’t cope well and I was angry. I was angry at my parents for dying. For leaving me alone. I was angry at my uncle for not being like my father. I hated everything and everyone.”

  “What happened?”

  “My uncle gave me my mother’s equipment and enrolled me in some photography classes. It was the lifeline I needed. I started working in a photography shop part time, and it helped settle me down. As long as I kept up my grades, my uncle gave me a lot of freedom. He knew I didn’t fit in, and he tried to make my life as easy as he could. I owe him a lot.”

  “Do you still see them?”

  “I left when I was seventeen. But I went on good terms. I visit on occasion, attend family weddings, that sort of thing. Every year I send the entire family on a two-week vacation to their choice of destination.” I grinned. “They like Florida. They go there a lot.”

  “Not what your first choice would be?”

  “Not in my top ten. But they love it, and they enjoy resorts. If it makes them happy, then I’m fine with it. They’re good people. Quiet, steady. They have their life, and I have mine. But I’m fond of them, and they did the best they could with me.”

  “I guess you don’t use your mother’s cameras anymore?”

  “I do on occasion. I like the old-school way at times. I have a place I can still get film, and I use the closet over there”—I indicated the door with a tilt of my head—“as a darkroom and develop the images myself, but I don’t do it a lot.”

  “You have a lot of equipment.” She ran a finger over one of the large monitors on the desk.

  “I do all my own work. I don’t trust others with my images, unless I have to send the files back in a hurry.”

  “Smart and talented. The more I get to know
you, the more you amaze me.”

  “You amaze me, Nightingale. I just told you more about myself than I have ever told anyone. I never talk about my past.”

  “You never sit around after a day of chasing storms and spill your guts?”

  I snickered at her words. “No, we’re usually too tired after braiding each other’s hair.”

  She giggled, then became serious. “I’m glad you feel you can. You can talk to me about anything.”

  I kissed her hard. I hated to see her leave, even though I knew she had to.

  —

  Over the next few days, we talked, texted, and I dropped by the hospital to see her. I liked being able to stay around and see Ally.

  There were moments she was so busy all I could do was observe from a spot close to the nurse’s station, but I enjoyed watching her in action. There was no shyness, or hesitation when she was at work, in her element. She was Alex—the nurse I met who was in charge, confident, with no sign of the girl so plagued by guilt she couldn’t break free of her chains.

  When the ER wasn’t as busy, I could steal her away to the cafeteria for coffee. A few times we snuck into the staff room, where I was free to kiss and hold her. I had to hide my smirk when she would walk away from me, patting her hair back into place, attempting to look professional, and failing. Her lips were swollen, her eyes bright, and her smile too wide.

  It was a great look on her.

  I was tense the entire evening while she was on her “fake date” with Bradley. I paced the loft, drank too much scotch, and practically attacked her when she showed up at my door. I was grateful it was early, and I used the excuse of how tired she seemed again to lure her into my bed and hold her.

  Sunday I watched her leave to have brunch with her parents, hating the hold they had over her. She had another event to attend with her mother that afternoon, and it wasn’t until Monday I was able to see her again, and even then, it was too brief. I looked forward to spending more time with her, until the real world interrupted. Sean called, and the life I had before Ally came crashing back, taking me back to reality, and away from home—and her.

  —

  Days later, I walked around the room at a charity auction, gazing at the overdone opulence, which included heavy, expensive linens and delicate china on the tables. The scent of the hothouse flowers that adorned the center of each of them hung heavy in the air. Trays of lavish delicacies were being carried around by waiters in tuxedos, then scanned and refused by too-thin women and men far more interested in the contents of their drink glasses. I examined the huge auction table laden with overpriced decadent items not needed by a single person in this room, yet knowing each one would be bid on zealously, only to be forgotten once it was acquired.