King Size

by Celia Crown

  “Finish your food,” I crumble the wrapper of my sandwich as I’m done with it.

  Her sandwich is still half eaten, “I’m full.”

  “Finish,” I press harder on her thigh, “Don’t make me fucking feed you.”

  I will, and I won’t be embarrassed by it when I set her perky little ass on my lap and make her eat her food. Violet probably doesn’t want that as she quickly takes bites and finishes in record time while chewing through big cheeks.

  I want to kiss her again.

  Soon. Those lips are going to get sore and plump, but now is not the appropriate time or setting to do so.

  I reach down and pick up the strawberry milk. Her eyes brighten while she scoots forward in her chair anxiously. The excitement in her eyes is clear, and she impatiently squirms in her seat while swallowing the rest of the food in her mouth.

  “Forgive me?” I show her the bottle and her eyes are about to blind me with their insane brilliance.

  Then they dim, and her lips switch to a pout.

  Whether I’m asking her forgiveness on the kiss or the fact that I was a bastard two years ago, she shakes her head as her answer.

  It’s fine. I expected just as much, and I don’t mind it. It’s disappointing for sure, but Violet is hurting. I want to give her time to heal, yet I want her to be in my arms again.

  I’ll work harder for her forgiveness. Giving up Violet and our relationship isn’t an option. I never considered it a route for me to take. I have only imagined a future with us and our children.

  I give her the milk, and she takes it.

  At least she’s not making excuses to get away from me.

  She drinks it eagerly.

  It’s a start.

  Chapter Three

  Violet

  Seeing Aiden through the lens makes my hands shake; the crazy pounding of my heart won’t settle no matter how much I try to focus.

  I can do this.

  I’m a photographer, and I have taken many pictures of models. Aiden is just a model to me now. I can’t afford to have him as my anything. I’m barely holding to what little strength I have.

  Another snap and the photo don’t come out the way I wanted to. There is something missing from it, and I want to figure it out. I did eventually find what is the issue, and it’s his hair.

  It’s too neat. Aiden had always been a man who doesn’t comb his hair, and he would still look like a sex-god walking amongst regular people. Unkempt hair suits him better; it brings out the innate charm that compares him to the Roman gladiators, as Donna had requested her models to be.

  Somehow, I didn’t connect those two.

  I found out after he left that the news blew up with him and another woman. Aiden Hart and Emily Miller, the surprising couple announced their secret relationship. A high-class model and a walkway model, the powerhouse couple that made the world applause their bravery to allow the world to judge their relationship.

  I wasn’t even near starting my heart’s healing process when that came out, and the internet blew up. The last name he gave me wasn’t even Hart; he wasn’t a businessman, and he wasn’t really engaged to me.

  I was a side thing that he had going on behind his real girlfriend.

  I was the other woman.

  There were so many hints about our relationship, but love had clouded my mind. I was too in love with him to notice that we never went out in public together. He wouldn’t talk about his work, and he wanted to keep our relationship quiet.

  I thought he was ashamed of me, and I had no reason to believe he wasn’t since he did end up leaving and going back to his beautiful girlfriend.

  Gullible was the right word to describe a girl who wanted to be a professional photographer with no friends. It’s humiliating to remember myself as the girl who was lucky and proud that a man with such caliber as Aiden was my fiancé.

  How naïve was I to actually believe the lies that he so sweetly whispered in my ears at night?

  I don’t know if I was a weak girl or that I wasn’t thinking clearly, but the pieces fit together and it just confirmed my insecurities that a handsome man would never want a nobody.

  When his phone had disconnected, some part of my mine knew that Aiden never wanted me.

  A passing fancy, a way to make his girlfriend jealous, or a cruel game for him, I served my purpose to him, and he left with his prize, casting me to the side with a mess of a life.

  I set the camera down with the strap scratching the back of my neck. I walk up to him while closely and painfully pushing those memories back. His hair needs fixing. I lift my hand up, and he leans his head down to let me run my hand into his perfectly styled hair.

  It’s still soft and pitch-black. He smells like fond memories and heartache. When he straightens his back, our eyes met, and it’s the sharp sting in my heart that forces me to turn around and walk back to the safe distance.

  As I turn back around, he’s already immersing into the background. The newly-cracked royal blue smoke fizzes out the can in his hand, and with one wave, a form of perfection gets captured through the camera.

  I need to stop seeing him as my ex-fiancé and start treating him like a model that I work with daily. It’s going to be a long month, but I can do this. I have made myself a tiny box in my head to shove our memories and lock it, toss the key away, and never tread in the direction of the box ever again.

  He’s going to be a fantasy that I thought of, he’s not real, and he isn’t going to affect my work.

  I peer at him, and he turns into a piece of art that’s too out of my league and too beautiful to be touched.

  The clothes are not the main focus no matter how much I want it to. Aiden is simply a focal point that steals the spotlight, with his tight black shirt, the stylish form-fitting pants with silver zippers, and the edgy gas mask covering his lower face to show off the intensity that reflects in his deep eyes.

  Aiden is made to be a model.

  If he didn’t have any tattoos, then he wouldn’t be able to pull off this look, and it’s the antagonistic tattoos that tip the balance towards rebellion and devilish.

  The sky helps forms the atmospheric mysteriousness, and the photo turns out better than I expected. The earlier set is centered towards classic menswear of suits where I needed a clean and sharp cut angle to capture the elegance of the stitching.

  The models helped since they are literally trying to tear the seams apart with their muscles; it’s that raw masculinity that Donna wants in the final products, and it’s my job to deliver it to her.

  I don’t look at Aiden when he moves towards the building where lunch was served. I go on to the other background with industrial buildings as my model steps forward.

  He’s also a large man; his compacted muscles and the boyish charm makes me take a double look. I took his photos before, and I’m still having trouble trying to get used to the dissonance between his appearance and the bright smiles he has.

  This man is a golden retriever under all the bulk. I kind of want to pat his head to see if ears and a tail would come out, but that would be absurd in many ways.

  He’s my last model for the day as the sun had almost ducked behind the horizontal line; the sky got darker with the grey clouds creating a contrast between the warm colors of the sunset.

  It’s an odd distinction for a background, but when he cracks the flare of orange smoke, everything becomes perfectly aligned.

  I snap pictures from different angles, balancing the rapid smoke and the clothes. His style is a happy one as the corner of his eyes curve with a gold bandanna hiding his lower face; his form isn’t stiff, and neither is his presence.

  It’s lively and pure, he tosses up the can of smoke, and it spins in the air with the air concocting a circle of mistiness above him. It’s the perfect picture that captures his style, and I suspect that he’s showing off with a hint of mischievousness.

  He catches the can, and I lower the camera. The smoke begins to travel with the win
d, it’s coming towards me, and thanks goodness that the smoke is not meant to be harmful. Nonetheless, it’s not wise to inhale too much just in case it upsets my stomach.

  I give the man a smile and a nod to let him know that his set is done. I turn around to find Aiden staring at me with his arms crossed. I can’t help the view I get is his ink; it’s distractingly exquisite that I hate myself for being so taken by him.

  Pretending to look over the pictures on the camera is a worthless excuse to avoid him, but it’s better than to so obviously whip my head to the other side when he knows that I looked at him. He can do me a favor and stop it with the staring; people will get the wrong idea about us, and it’s going to create misunderstandings.

  I don’t want to inconvenience Donna and Thomas with unsolicited rumors flying around the industry. It would look like favoritism to many people and favoritism could either be seen as the model getting all the benefits of Donna’s agency or the photographer getting the benefits of having a high-profile model.

  It’s so complicated that I can’t even fathom the consequences.

  I yawn behind my hand and blink away the tears. I could use a nap until dinner time comes. Maybe I could skip dinner and sleep until the morning; waking up from a mid-nap would tire me out so much that I probably don’t want dinner anyway.

  Yeah, it sounds like a plan. I’ll just go straight to my hotel room, shower, and dive into the fluffy comforter.

  I stretch out the cable to plug it into the camera to connect with the laptop while everyone gets busy with cleaning up the set. I upload the images into the computer, and the number of pictures is crazy. Sometimes, I forget just how many times I click to snap a picture because it’s a process that I don’t remember doing once I’m in the zone of working.

  Actually, I don’t notice anything when I’m looking through the camera. A pack of wolves could be howling at the moon behind me, and I wouldn’t be the wiser. I have mastered the skill of tuning things out.

  As I wait for the computer to finish downloading the images, I start packing the other camera equipment into the rightful spots and carefully wipe them clean of any dust and particles with a special cloth just for the delicacies of gadgets.

  The other camera case is at the other side of the table, and my laziness lets me stretch my arm to the other side and pull the handle, but because my arm isn’t long enough, I have to bend my head under the table to get it.

  It’s still better than getting up and walking over; that’d be too much work when I can do this shortcut.

  I yank the heavy case up and smack my head up against the underside of the table. My pained groan and dramatic collapse on top of the case gets me a laugh from Thomas’s voice. I mentally fling a rubber band at him and imagine it hitting him right on the forehead.

  One minute I’m contemplating on just sitting on the ground and accept the throbbing on my skull, and then the next I’m being hauled up from the ground and seated on the table with my camera in my lap.

  Disorientation sways my vision, and I hold onto the camera with one hand while the other stables me on the edge of the table. A heavy thump beside me forces me to glance over to see the case that I wanted to get. A pair of familiarly-tattooed hands crack open the case to begin the steps of disassembling the camera on my lap after it got unplugged from the computer.

  His movement is swift and proficient. I’m stuttering and trying to find words in my dry mouth. Aiden turns to me with an unspoken order for me to stay quiet and my traitorous body shuts itself down from my independence. I helplessly watch him put the right pieces into their rightful spots before snapping the locks on to secure the expensive pieces.

  “Hello, handsome,” Thomas comes over with a jut of his hips and a bounce of his sunglasses perched on his head.

  “I see you are playing unfairly,” he tuts and wags his finger.

  I switch my gaze to Thomas as he giggles. He’s really trying to seduce Aiden, and I give him so much credit for trying. Aiden has this very handsome yet incredibly unapproachable face; it’s like commoners can’t be in the greatness of his presence.

  I get scared just by breathing with so much proximity between us.

  Thomas’s eyes have this gleam in them, and I do not like it. That’s the same look when he’s got something planned, and somehow, I always get roped into it. He once wanted to make a calendar with oiled men, and they had shown me parts of them that I didn’t want to see.

  I got an eyeful five times, and Thomas deliberately stared with no shame. The models didn’t care; they were vain about their bodies. People and fans would consider me lucky to be able to see stark naked men, but they need to realize that I am not comfortable with naked men.

  I’m too awkward even when they are dressed, so I was stupid when I saw them naked.

  “You only pay attention to Violet,” Thomas pouts, and I press my lips tightly to stop smiling.

  Thomas gets whiny and clingy when he doesn’t get enough attention, and there is no shortage of that when it comes to the modeling industry. Everyone has attention thrown at them left and right, wanted or unwanted.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you fancy our dear girl.”

  Aiden steals my breath when he grasps my green eyes with his brown eyes, “I do.”

  I jump off the table and gather my laptop. My ears are burning from his gaze as I fumble with my things. It’s time to escape and retreat to the car. I don’t want to deal with this when Thomas is right there, and he has a knack for spotting inconsistencies.

  I never told anyone about Aiden, and as a former relationship, I want to keep it that way, so there are no complications. I just wish Aiden would be on the same boat as me and stop making my life so difficult.

  Whatever his endgame is, I don’t want to be a part of it.

  I’m not ready to be subjected to another round of stitching my heart back together. It took me months to be able to accept that I wasn’t anything other than insignificance in his life, and it hurt too much that now I’m scared of Aiden.

  He and I know what he can do to my heart, and I’m futilely trying to avoid the inevitable.

  Thomas coos at me, “You have a suitor!”

  I want to tell him that Aiden doesn’t pursue anything; he takes and takes until there is nothing left to give. I have been there, and I have done that, but I’ll never regret loving him.

  It’s why I have trouble hating him for what he had done.

  A woman scorned would be making his life miserable and telling everyone the love story to any willing ears. A scored woman would not tolerate being the other woman and watch the love of their life be with another woman who is more successful and more beautiful.

  I don’t have that courage to stand beside him. I have nothing to offer him, and even if I do, he can find others that will be better.

  “I’m going to the car,” I mumble. I keep my head down and away from the two men.

  With both my hands occupied with my stuff, I roll with the case behind me. I need to get away from Aiden. I’ll suffocate and drown in these insecurities. I barely got through them, and now he’s so ruthlessly digging them back up with such nonchalance that has me wondering if this is another game to him.

  It has to be.

  I wish I can hate him; it would make this month go by faster and less excruciatingly. There are ways to be the Violet before I saw him again; I just have to find them before I take plunder into his web.

  I’m already one foot stuck, and I think I never really got out of his honeyed cocoon. It’s so skillfully wounded around me that the future I imagine without him is starting to disintegrate slowly.

  Every touch, the possessive glint in his eyes, and every word he says has a motive. Aiden should have been a spy for a foreign government; he’d make a valuable asset as the next James Bond.

  I shake the thoughts away. The easiest way to protect me from his inferno intentions is to not to take anything he does to the heart.

  I’m not special. I
repeat to myself.

  “Sweetheart,” his voice comes behind me, so close that I think he’s a mere foot away.

  I don’t turn as I busy myself by putting the stuff into the trunk; every space could be spared for other things as I stack the fragile camera equipment on the top of other cases. I look forward to seeing that Donna is hauling two other big cases, and she fits them into the other car.

  We have three cars to fit everyone comfortably, but it’s not too flashy to get unwarranted attention from bystanders.

  “We need to talk.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, a wave of pain washes over me, and I don’t want to feel it anymore. I’m tired. I just want to sleep off this stress because sleeping works for me. I can momentarily forget the existence of this man and pretend that I’m doing fine, but he likes to invade my dreams too.

  He’s everywhere, and I have no idea how to get rid of him. I’m not trying hard to cut him out of my life if I still keep the engagement ring safely tucked into my desk drawer.

  I should try harder. I’m never going to heal if I keep thinking that he’ll come back someday, and I’ll forgive him for walking away.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I mumble as I reach up to close the trunk.

  His strong hand folds over mine, squashing the heat of his palm to the back of my hand and slowly bring the hatch door down. The other hand press against the front of my head to bring me back to his chest while he slams the door shut.

  I freeze in his arm and I will the tremors in my hands to stop because he can feel them as he interlaces our fingers together. It’s too intimate for us, and it’s not appropriate for people to see, but his actions do not care about prying eyes.

  “There is a lot to talk about,” he whispers roughly in my ear, and I move my head away to avoid the hot breath fanning there.