Closer

by Aria Hawthorne

  Leaving for Shanghai at the end of the week. That was a revelation. She hadn’t expected him to drop that bomb on her and it was a cold reality check—one that confirmed the whisper of relief inside her. Thank God, thank God, thank God, she hadn’t surrendered herself to his advances last night. The last thing she needed was to get her fragile rebound emotions wrapped up in another foreign playboy who was willing to fuck her in amazing ways before leaving the country without her. Only this time, through the intensity of his gaze and the plea in his voice, it almost seemed as though he wanted her to go with him.

  Slowly, as if something subliminal had provoked her, Inez forced herself to break the unity of the moment and shift her attention over Sven’s shoulder through the panes of glass encircling the courtyard.

  “Oh my God,” she heard herself whisper, barely registering the way Sven frowned in response.

  She rose from her seat, hoping with all her strength that she was wrong. Son-of-a-bitch, she had to be wrong—dead wrong. And yet, she knew with painful certainty that she was not.

  She approached the panes of glass and stared through them. Innocent museum patrons strolled down the interior corridors, but her eyes focused on the oversized black and white photograph, mounted on a nearby wall. It was a smeary artistic portrait of a naked young woman, peering out at the viewer with haunting brown eyes. The bottom edge of the portrait cut off just below her breasts, revealing more than it should while her lingering stare invoked an inescapable sensuality that turned the observer into both a perverse voyeur and the object of the woman’s affection.

  “Inez?” Sven called out to her with concern.

  She barely heard him. Hypnotized by dread, she drew open the glass doors, slipped out of the garden courtyard, and drifted into the open gallery, as if she was being drawn inside by a magnetic force.

  Unfazed by the anonymous faces and murmuring voices in the gallery, she pushed through the crowd to the center of the room and scanned the white walls. Dozens of oversized, overexposed black and white photographs stared back at her—all of them unmistakable images of her. She pivoted on her heel and surveyed each one. To the casual observer, they were a complex series of lyrical portraits—a mysterious, artistic commentary on the relationship between the woman and photographer. But for her, they were a nostalgic depiction of her entire relationship with Enzo. Memories of their days together as a romantic couple, moments of intimacy and vulnerability captured in frames of exposed celluloid for eternity.

  The blood drained out of her face. So many intimate moments. Moments at his loft, where they leisurely laid naked for hours on his mohair rug, planning for their future. Moments at his art studio, where she remembered a happier, more carefree version of herself—painting her toenails, showing off her bubble gum, or mimicking his pet goldfish through the concave glass of the fishbowl. Moments in his bed, where he inspired a sexier, racier version of herself—submitting to his seduction after he had set up the camera on a timer and promised only to shoot her face while he pleasured her with only his mouth from below the camera’s view. Private unguarded moments. But now, they were all slung onto the gallery wall like cold distasteful hunting prizes, proving a camera truly could raid its subject’s soul. Especially Enzo’s camera.

  “Ciao, bella. I am very happy to see you, too.”

  Inez turned towards his familiar gritty voice as Enzo approached her with his suave tiger gait. He nuzzled her for a kiss on the cheek. Instinctively, she shrugged off his affection and allowed her angry ice queen persona to kick in. Enzo greeted every woman with a “ciao” and a kiss on the cheek, and that was exactly his problem—he was a Ciao Cheating Bastard.

  Enzo mimicked her scowl on his playboy face. “You don’t look so happy to me.” He eyed her with devilish charm. He was the only person in the world who relished the moments when she was pissed off at him.

  “No, I’m not happy. I’m extremely unhappy, Enzo. What the hell do you think you’re doing, putting all of these photographs on public display like this? All of our…photographs?” Her voice trailed off as she forced herself into silence, trying to keep herself from causing a scene. Patrons ebbed and flowed through the public gallery, gazing at the photographs like they were worthy of serious contemplation.

  She turned away to quell her emotions. Those images represented some of the most private and sacred moments of her life, and now he was exploiting them for his own gain.

  “Because you are my muse, mi amor. You have always been my inspiration. Even our daughter is living proof of that.”

  “Which means what? You have the right to put up our pictures for everyone to see?”

  “You say that like you are ashamed of them.” Enzo reached out and ensnared her hand, drawing her into his personal space. “But I am not ashamed. I told you exactly what I wanted to do with them when I was taking them because they are a declaration of my love. You didn’t believe me then. And you still don’t believe me.”

  He pulled her against his smooth chest beneath the open neckline of his white painter’s shirt. His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, showing off his massive tattoo. The one he got for her. Two snakes entwined around an apple—a symbol of the Garden of Eden. His primal, eternal love for her. She closed her eyes and inhaled his seductive scent. Varnish and honeycomb candles. He often burned candles in his studio while working late at night—the same candles he burned whenever they made love in the dark. Her mind flashed to all the times she had lain in his bed, entangled within his strong possessive arms, wanting nothing more in life than her time with him never to end. She caught herself missing him more than she should and attempted to push away.

  “No, you’re wrong,” she whispered. “I did believe you then, but now I know that was a mistake. One I won’t make again.”

  Her mind traveled back to those days. He had promised her that he would showcase the photographs in the most prestigious art galleries around the world. But that was when he was still a fledgling art student at the School of the Art Institute, and back then, the possibility of viewing his work on display in the museum’s temporary exhibits seemed like a romantic compliment, not a voyeuristic peep show.

  “Now, I realize you’re a bigger whore than I thought.”

  “I love it when you say these things to me.” He swept his lips against her ear. “And Sarah told me that you said you don’t care about me anymore. But I knew she was wrong. You still care about me—about us—and your anger proves it.”

  “No—” She pressed back on him, but he secured his forearm around the back of her waist.

  “I still remember what made me take every photograph because I remember every single moment that I have spent with you.”

  She shut her eyes, pained by the familiarity of his touch and the tenderness of his confession.

  “Let me go, Enzo.” She whispered her plea, and he dismissed it.

  “I cannot forget everything you mean to me, just because you have decided not to forgive me. Nothing has changed for me and these photographs prove it.”

  Without warning, Sven cut between them, flinging Enzo’s arm away from her waist with a violent jolt.

  “She asked to be let go,” he asserted, shoving the full force of his palm against Enzo’s torso, driving him backwards.

  Enzo recovered and closed the gap again. Sven squared off with him, eye-to-eye—both men equal in height, prowess, and pride. Inez bit her fake fingernail. Her ex-boyfriend and her faux boyfriend wanted to murder each other while surrounded by half-naked photos of her. God, how did her love life suddenly become an epic telenovela?

  She stared at Sven’s threatening stance, realizing he intended to start a fight. He tossed down his cane, confirming her fear that he was more than capable of throwing the first punch than she thought.

  “Please don’t, Sven. Not here. Not now.” She reined him in by the arm.

  “So this is the new rich boyfriend?” Enzo said it like an accusation, as if he had already heard all about him. Then, he s
canned Sven’s business shirt and formal dress pants and sneered at Inez. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Why?” she countered.

  “Because you would never date someone who looks like a…dentist.”

  “Architect, asshole.” Inez spat back. “Which means he’s a true artist who actually knows how to build something useful rather than a fake artist like you who exploits smutty photographs of his ex-girlfriend without her permission.”

  “Without your permission?” He scoffed and pointed at the most seductive portrait in the room—a close-up of Inez’s face, eyes closed, head resting on a pillow, chin tilted upward as her mouth slackened with arousal.

  “Look at your face.” Enzo’s fierce black eyes flashed as he edged closer to her. “Do you remember how much you begged for me never to stop?”

  He drew closer and touched her cheek. In a brief moment of weakness, she acquiesced before brushing him off.

  “Claro, mi amor. I had much more than your permission. I had your cooperation. You just don’t want to admit it in front of your new boyfriend.”

  “How much do you want for them?” Sven challenged him.

  “How much?” Enzo cocked a glance of interest at Sven.

  “I’ll pay you for them. All of them. Name your price.”

  Enzo laughed, his belittling amusement ending in a dry smoker’s cough. “They’re not for sale and neither is she.”

  Like his possession, Enzo seized Inez by the wrist and pulled her across the invisible line dividing the two men.

  “No—” She fought against him and quickly reclaimed her position next to Sven.

  “How much?” Sven insisted, sliding his arm around Inez. “How much for that one?”

  Sven pointed at the portrait of Inez’s full arousal, as if he sensed it was the photograph she wanted taken down the most.

  Enzo ignored him and settled his dark, brooding glare onto Inez. “You are upset at me for what I did while I was in Buenos Aires, but that is unfair because I could have told you nothing. Instead, I told you everything.”

  Inez rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Enzo. I get that celibacy isn’t the coolest thing when you’re Rico Suave out tangoing every night, but I didn’t expect you to become the Champion of Whoredom either.”

  “Inez,” Enzo warned her, his accent turning sharper and more aggressive. “My life in Argentina has always been separate from my life here. You have always known that. But now, I am back and I want you back with me.”

  He held out his hand for her—his final attempt to bid her away from Sven.

  Their eyes locked. She could feel Sven’s possessive grasp, persuading her not to leave his side and she drew strength from it.

  “You didn’t name a price, so I will name one for you,” Sven said, slipping out the handkerchief from his pocket and peeling off endless one hundred dollar bills like disposable tissues. He flicked them onto the gallery floor like he was dumping garbage at Enzo’s feet.

  Enzo’s jawline flinched as he gazed down at the cash. He was counting the bills, just like Inez. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…Fifteen hundred dollars.

  “Here, even more.” Sven tore off five more bills and tossed them into the air like worthless confetti.

  Inez locked eyes with Enzo. Had he meant what he said? This was the test. Were the photographs an expression of his love for her? Or were they something he would easily sell off to another man for the right price?

  Enzo glared back at her. When he seemed certain that she had made her choice, he turned to the seductive portrait of Inez and unhinged it from the wall.

  “We were lovers every night of every day.” He raised his voice, intentionally loud and brash, garnering attention from every spectator in the gallery before tossing the canvas at Sven who caught it by its rim. “And still, I could never make her come. Maybe you will be luckier with that than me.”

  Bastard. She swept up Sven’s cane and charged at him until Sven restrained her into his arms. He cradled her body into his lustful embrace and kissed her with a ferocity that tamed every angry impulse flaring inside her. His wet hot tongue and supple lips entwined with her own, arousing the deepest part of her soul with burning, yearning desire. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise of more to come if she would have him.

  As swiftly as he swept her back for his kiss, he swept her up to face the man who had lost what he had gained.

  “I already have been lucky,” Sven punctuated, grazing his thumb over Inez’s lower lip. “Many times over. And so has she.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re unusually quiet.”

  Sven’s soft accent interrupted her thoughts.

  She had been gazing out the window of his Rolls Royce at the children frolicking through the puddles of the Crown Fountain in Millennium Park. The children screamed with glee and darted merrily across the black granite pavement, glazed with water. So happy and carefree. It was one of those magical autumn afternoons, deceptively warm and sunny, as if the twilight chill in the air was nothing more than a cruel joke rather than the inevitability of colder weather. Inez had lived in Chicago her whole life, and never once had she pranced through the fountain’s pooling waters like those children, barefoot and unrestrained while anxiously waiting at the base of the looming black towers for the cascading swell to crash down upon them.

  “I don’t have much to say.” She shrugged because it was the truth. She didn’t feel like talking after what had happened at the museum, and the last thing she wanted to talk about was Enzo.

  “I should apologize to you…” Sven said, then paused.

  Inez had only known him for two short days, and it was one of the few times she had truly seen him hesitate before speaking his mind.

  “Apologize for what?” she asked, puzzled at his words.

  “For what happened in the gallery. I took liberties that I shouldn’t have.”

  Inez peered out her window again. She knew what he meant, but she wanted to avoid the whole discussion.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” he continued. “I suppose I became jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Inez voice raised slightly in surprise. “Of what?”

  “Of you, of course.”

  He cleared his throat and smoothed down the imaginary wrinkle in his shale grey dress pants. Silence lingered between them. “I still need your assistance this week, and I can’t afford an ex-boyfriend coming into the picture and sweeping you away from me.”

  “There’s no sweeping me away,” Inez replied, nipping at her fingernail. “Trust me, Sven. I’m not a princess looking for my Prince Charming, and I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore, so no one is going to be sweeping me anywhere. Especially not Enzo.”

  Her gaze fell onto the portrait of her—the one that he had bought for two thousand dollars.

  “You realize you overpaid for that?” She nodded at the portrait, hiding the true pain it caused her to have to look at it.

  “No,” he countered, hoisting the canvas onto his lap and turning it towards her like a mirror. “I was willing to pay even more it—for all of them.”

  She dropped her fingernail from her mouth, realizing she was gnawing at it like a squirrel. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “What would you like me to do with it?”

  She stared at it, filled with rage and resentment. “Burn it.”

  “Tsk,” he clucked, as if her suggestion was unfathomable. “You’re angry. I understand. But despite the fact that your ex-boyfriend is an opportunistic bastard, he does have an eye for lovely things.”

  “He used me, Sven. You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I understand better than you think. You feel betrayed,” he replied, letting her know that he recognized her pain. “But are you really so angry about the fact that your ex-boyfriend displayed naked pictures of you to the public without your permission? Or is it because you are still in love with him?”

  His question echoed her question—the same
one she posed to him after their dinner with Celeste.

  She shrugged off his insinuation like it was a distasteful joke and glanced back out the window, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t worry, Sven. I’m not going to quit on you and go back to hooking up with Enzo. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  He gazed at her sideways, as if he was deciphering the meaning of ‘hooking up’. “No, I’m not afraid of that. Ebony’s sent over your gown, and I am afraid that you are going to hate it.”

  She studied his smile, sly and baiting. “More ridiculous lingerie?”

  “Perhaps.” He nodded.

  “And heels?”

  “A certainty.”

  “You’re right. I hate it already.”

  He nodded as their fleeting amusement evaporated into silence. Lowering his voice, he made a confession. “Inez…tonight is very important for me and my career, but there’s no way that I can navigate it alone. There will be too many unfamiliar faces and wide, open spaces to navigate…” He paused, as if he wanted to ensure that she understood him. “There will be many real estate developers and investors there. And many of them are going to want to discuss future commissions. Normally, it would be one of the highlights of my career. But these days, it feels like I’m attending my own funeral, and I’m certain that I wouldn’t be able to face it without you there to assist me.”