Love Out of Focus

by Rebecca Connolly

  Mal felt a little cheap, taking that slip of paper, demanding money from her family when they’d already taken care of her more than she’d admit to anyone. But opening that paper, seeing the astronomical number written there, and reading it twelve more times to make sure she hadn’t imagined the number of zeros, she suddenly didn’t feel that cheap.

  “Done,” she said, tucking the paper into the pocket of her shirt.

  Jenna grinned. “Thank you, Mal! I promise you will love it. We’ve got a spa and fashion designers coming to spruce us up and a schedule for the entire week. I have a copy here for you. That way you can plan out what you need to bring. Now, you ever been to Lake Lure in North Carolina? Course not; you’ve never even heard of it. You’ve been in Iowa and Denver, and didn’t you travel Europe after college? Someone said you had amazing shots of the Eiffel Tower in a snowstorm. Anyway, bring whoever you need; it’ll all be paid for. Just let me know, and we’ll get it.”

  Mal’s head started to swim the longer Jenna talked, and she wondered what in the world she’d gotten herself into. Her father’s side of the family was nuts, utterly and completely, but the kind of nuts you talk about with a smile.

  At least she thought they were.

  It had been a long time.

  She had no problem bringing Taryn and Dan with her, assuming they could keep their traps shut about whatever family secrets were unearthed. But if the muffled squeals and sounds of high fives behind the studio door were any indication, she’d need to figure out some very specific contracts for them.

  There was no telling what kind of crazy her family would unleash—particularly at a secluded resort with no one to witness any of it.

  Chapter 2

  Two months later

  “Right, so Kids’ Day is tomorrow. What kids are even going to be there? This isn’t the wedding; it’s the prewedding shindig!” Taryn laughed and shook her head. “But to be fair, tomorrow is also Designer Day. What does that even mean? Do you think Gucci is coming? Then makeup and hair tests the next day. That should be fun. And Wednesday there will be a live band and karaoke at the resort. Maybe I’ll get to sing Celine Dion—”

  “Holy crap, Taryn.” Dan chuckled from his seat, looking over at her from where he rode backward in the limo. “Did you memorize the entire itinerary?”

  “I did my research,” she retorted. “Jenna Hudson may have made her fame from that country star boyfriend thing, but she and her sister are the founders of a nonprofit organization that funds research for pediatric cancer, and is a passionate spokesperson for the cause. They do fundraisers and outreach, and rake in donations from all across the world. It’s crazy impressive, and apparently it’s all because they had a cousin die from cancer as a kid. It wouldn’t surprise me if they rename the place St. Jenna in a few decades.”

  “Sister?” Dan repeated as he sat up a little straighter. “There’s two of them? Score!”

  That earned him a dirty look. “Caroline Hudson is so far out of your league you can’t even see her. Plus she’s rumored to be dating some extreme hottie from Australia. Rugby player. Flanker, whatever that means. His name is Ryan, which I find so attractive.”

  Dan shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you know this crap.”

  Taryn glared at him and adjusted the vest over her burgundy peasant top. “Shut up, Dan. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “To take pictures of your idols?” he asked, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You always wanted to be a paparazzo, didn’t you?”

  Taryn actually snarled as she sneered. “Don’t be petty, Dan. If you’re nice, I’ll have the bridesmaids bring you some crackers and talk to you for a bit. That way you can have the most action you’ve had since fifth grade.”

  “It was a good year, fifth grade.”

  Mal smiled, watching her assistants, trying not to think about the week ahead of her. She’d debated the wisdom of her decision multiple times a day since Jenna had asked her to do this ridiculous thing—taking pictures of all these high-class people and snobs, most of them wanting her to shrink the size of their noses and trim their waists in editing. There was hardly anything artistic about this venture.

  But she was getting paid, and paid well, and there was simply no refusing Jenna. And if Mal were being honest, she did want to see the rest of the family. It had been too long since she had seen any of them—too long in Iowa, too long in Europe, too long in Colorado. She’d been avoiding them. She’d wanted to make her own name without them.

  Which was ironic, since she might make her name because of them. Jenna’s popularity and strict media contracts pretty much ensured that Mal’s work would be in high demand. Yes, by companies and people who wouldn’t treat the work with the appreciation that Mal would like, but it might be what got her name out. She would give Jenna her best work despite what she felt about it. She could never take a project and do it half-heartedly, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to spend her time and effort on.

  Taking pictures at Rambling Ridge Resort on Lake Lure might give her some notoriety as well, and in the areas of work in which she wished to thrive. Resorts could be great venues for majestic photos, and people who would see the photos could have ties to larger projects out in the world. Her mind raced with the possibilities of a safari in Africa, of climbing the tallest peaks for breathtaking once-in-a-lifetime shots, or projects more like her thesis, Rustic Americana, but perhaps with better funding.

  The potential was endless.

  She’d analyzed the same itinerary that Taryn had memorized, and she found several gaps where she could take the time she needed to explore. The contract with the resort was straightforward: she was to take pictures they could use in brochures, on websites, for artwork. She had absolute freedom, free run of the place, and any additional help she needed would be provided upon request. She’d had to deal with lawyers, who really couldn’t answer her questions about the artistic details, but they’d known enough about her contract and requirements that she didn’t mind that much.

  She just wanted to work now.

  “Taryn,” she said as the two continued bickering, “you do realize that we’re not actually part of the group, right?”

  That shut the two of them up. Taryn gawked, and Dan’s eyes were wide.

  “We’re … ,” Taryn started, clearly unable to fathom the thought.

  “We are the photographers, Taryn,” Mal reminded her, reminded them both.

  “You’re her cousin,” Dan said, which made her want to laugh. He’d been so blasé about the whole thing, seeming not to care one way or the other, but right now he looked as devastated as Taryn, and it was hilarious.

  Mal shrugged. “I’m her cousin, but I’m the photographer. The only one, remember? And this week I’m the photographer, not her cousin. I’m not her cousin until Saturday, at the family breakfast before the wedding. We might get some bits and pieces of what everybody else gets, but if you think we’re going to be decked out in designer clothes and have our pictures taken, I think you’d better check that now.”

  Taryn and Dan looked at each other and frowned.

  Mal snorted. “Wanna get out? We’re not there yet; if being only a photographer isn’t good enough for you …”

  The limo stopped then, and Jerry, the cheerful driver who had joked with them all the way from the airport, turned to face them with a grin. “Too late now, folks. We’re here.”

  For a second, all three of them looked at each other in bewildered horror.

  Mal swallowed. “Remember, guys, we’re professionals.”

  “Right,” they said together as they clambered from the limo. Taryn said it with determination, but Dan sounded a bit sarcastic.

  Mal could relate to both.

  The first steps out of the limo told her everything she needed to know about this place. The trees were tall and stately, the pavement beneath her feet worn and dusty, and the air was so fresh she might have been at the top of a mountain in Colorado—ex
cept there was something earthy about this place, a flowery pine scent that bore a hint of fresh water. And yet it was the most unearthly place she had ever been. She inhaled a few times, then found herself smiling.

  “Mal!” a familiar voice called.

  She looked up the road to see Jenna coming toward her with six other girls. Jenna was grinning and waving and skipping to hurry up. She was wearing pristine white capris and a sleeveless yellow top, and her hair was down and flowing in the wind. She was a picture all by herself.

  To her right was another perfectly blonde girl, shorter than her, but just as unnervingly gorgeous, with a brilliant grin. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she was more causally dressed in denim cutoffs, revealing muscular legs, and an oversize boatneck shirt. She was waving too.

  Most people knew Jenna had a sister. Not many knew they were twins.

  “Hi, Jenna,” Mal said, adjusting her black denim skinny jeans and her too-expensive white blazer. Impressions were important, and she was here as a professional. “Hi, Caroline.”

  The sisters hugged her tightly and asked whether the trip had been all right, whether she was exhausted, and told her how cute she looked. Normally she hated this stuff, but from her cousins it was tolerable, and she couldn’t help but smile. They got the tendency for small talk from their mom, so it was second nature.

  Mal introduced Taryn and Dan, who had come around from the back of the limo, where they’d been helping Jerry with their bags. Taryn was starstruck but managed to not look like an idiot. Dan couldn’t stop grinning like a fool.

  Men.

  Jenna turned and waved the other girls over. “I want you to meet my girls. Ladies! Come meet our photographer!”

  The other five girls came over, and Mal finally got a good look at them.

  “I feel like I’ve stepped into The Real Housewives of Nashville,” Dan muttered behind her.

  Mal nearly burst out laughing. It was a perfect description for them. Two were multihighlighted blondes and had used so much hairspray that their mountainous curls didn’t even twitch in the breeze, and they wore sunglasses so large they reminded her of ’40s starlets. They wore heels and had bags that screamed money, not that the additional advertisement was needed. Their noses were so high in the air that the trees had competition.

  Two were brunettes, one with a clearly unnatural shade of hair, equally stiff, their clothing too fancy for this natural setting. One had bangles that jingled loudly as she walked and heels so tall that it seemed like all she was missing was a stripper pole. The other was surprisingly natural in complexion and makeup and had pushed her normal-size sunglasses up on her head, which only made her hair look more perfect.

  The last one had a sharp, bold pixie cut that highlighted what had to be the most perfect bone structure on the planet. If she didn’t have modeling contracts, someone was missing something. And the platinum blonde of her hair seemed nearly white in the sunshine, though a bold liner on her thin lips offset it. She wore all white, as if she were the bride, and Mal could have sworn she was wearing her jacket draped over her shoulders so it could double as a cape.

  Only two of them smiled as they approached; the other three analyzed her. Fair enough. She’d just done the same thing and made snap judgments about them. She was so glad she was the help this week and not one of them. That might have killed her.

  “Girls, this is Mal. She is absolutely the best photographer ever, and we are so blessed to have her.” Jenna gave her a brilliant smile, and Mal returned a small one of her own. “Mal, these are my best girlfriends.”

  She gestured to the two highlighted blondes. “Brittany and Bethany.”

  Mal had no idea who was who, and it didn’t matter; they weren’t looking at her either.

  Jenna indicated the brunettes. “Alexis and Grace.”

  The normal-looking one, Grace, smiled and waved. The other was staring at her nail as if it had sprouted fangs.

  Jenna pointed at the platinum bob. “And Sophie.”

  Sophie sniffed.

  “Charmed,” Taryn muttered behind Mal with a cough.

  Mal bit back a grin. “These are my assistants, Taryn Chase and Daniel Brogada.”

  No one except her cousins cared, but the polite thing was done. Jenna turned back to Mal with a smile. “Well, let’s get your things and let y’all get settled. Dinner’s at six thirty, and we’re havin’ barbecue. Totally casual, just relaxed so we can all get introduced and stuff.”

  Mal nodded once, then turned to collect their equipment when a sharp, suggestive whistle hit the air. Everyone turned to see three golf carts racing toward the group, each bearing men, and from the looks of them, they were all young. And attractive.

  Intrigued, Mal migrated with the rest of the group toward them, and she heard, and felt, Taryn and Dan behind her. Catching herself in the act, she stopped suddenly, and both slammed into her back. They snickered and tried not to topple over, and Mal finally felt more comfortable. It didn’t matter whether everyone around her was fancy; she was always going to be her awkward self, and that worked for her.

  One of the guys got out of the golf cart and went over to Jenna, kissing her cheek. Based on tabloids and Google searches, Mal surmised that he was Jenna’s fiancé, Tom, and she could safely say that no photo did him justice. The man was tall, dark, and just the right mixture of heaven and earth to make toes tingle and mouths water.

  As the rest of the men got out of the carts and came over, the wave of tingles intensified into a monsoon. Attractive was an understatement.

  There were six of them, all told, and they looked like a spread for GQ, except they all wore jeans—expensive, perfectly fitting jeans. They were old-money southern royalty in every respect. Her cousin Lucas was among them, and where his sisters were blonde, his hair was dark, but he bore the same tan, the same twinkling eyes, and the same dimple, which, when combined with his crooked grin, made him dangerous. He saw Mal and grinned, winking and shoving his hands into his pockets.

  One of the men was hanging back by the golf cart, leaning on it and surveying the group with a hint of amusement in the curve of his perfect lips. Stonewashed jeans, pale-green button-down that was open at the throat and with sleeves rolled, dark tousled hair, the ideal amount of scruff, and intense eyes that were of indeterminate color from this distance … Mal knew she was openly gaping at him, but she didn’t care. Every breath felt like a hiccup in her chest, and she was afraid to blink.

  The other three men came over to the group and might have been models with their perfect features, perfect clothing, perfect bodies. One looked too much like Tom to be anything other than his brother, and the other two had something of an aw-shucks air about them that made any sentient, red-blooded female smile and sigh at the same time. Something about the group of men looked posed, but perfectly so. And the combination of all of them together made one feel somehow both insignificant and on fire.

  “Ooh,” Taryn whispered in a guttural tone. “Pretty.”

  Mal gave a breathy uh-huh of assent, then murmured, “You know the … the thing about unrealistic expectations in men? This is … this is what they mean.”

  Dan cleared his throat. “I’m feeling a bit insecure about my masculinity right now.”

  “Me too,” Taryn echoed, starting to fan herself with a hand.

  They gawked together for a long moment, and Mal, feeling like a kid at Disney World for the first time, had no idea what to do next.

  So she did what came naturally to her.

  She laughed.

  And not delicately, of course. She snorted and wheezed, covering her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. Taryn ducked her head against Mal, giggling softly. Dan chuckled and put a hand on Mal’s shoulder.

  “Easy, boss. Breathe … ,” he teased.

  “It’s not real,” Mal gasped between laughs. “This is so not real.”

  She opened her eyes again and tried to calm herself, but it was impossible. How could she be serious when ther
e was a display of eye candy that had to be the envy of the earth right in front of her? She wasn’t normally the giggly type, but something about this whole situation was downright hilarious.

  “Mal, Mal,” Taryn tried, still giggling. “Who are they?”

  “That’s Tom, he’s the groom,” Mal said, indicating with her head. “And that’s my cousin Lucas, Jenna and Caroline’s little brother.”

  Dan scoffed. “Little brother? The guy is big, and with perfect proportions—”

  “I’d like a portion,” Taryn interrupted.

  Mal snickered and covered her mouth again. “That’s my cousin,” she reminded her.

  Taryn gave her a sharp look. “Mal, you have got to invite me to a family reunion. I will pay you. A lot.”

  “We’re already here, Taryn,” Dan pointed out wryly. “Need a drop cloth?”

  “Among other things,” Taryn replied as she looked back at the men. “What does your hunk of man meat cousin do again, Mal?”

  “Investment banking.”

  Taryn sighed like a fangirl. “I’ll invest in that.”

  “Real people don’t look like that,” Mal said as she took in the group as a whole. Really, it was eerie how many beautiful people were standing in front of them. Lightning was going to strike them, or the earth would open up and swallow them whole or something. Things like this didn’t happen.

  “Those are real people,” Dan quipped, his voice hitching as one of the girls tossed her hair, smiling at one of the guys.

  Mal felt herself sigh when Mr. Stonewashed Jeans looked at her, and she had to clamp down on her lip to keep from making it audible.

  “Really, really real,” Taryn said.

  Mal and Taryn burst out laughing and stifled it as quickly as they could, as some of the group finally looked at them in confusion, which only made them laugh more. Breathing was suddenly too hard. Mal gripped her assistants for balance, though it was hard to do with Taryn leaning on her for support, gasping and wheezing for air. Dan was the only one moderately composed, but even he had to keep his lips squeezed shut.