He looked and sounded so believable as a proud, doting boyfriend that I almost forgot we were pretending.
Almost.
“Huh.” Luisa eyed him with fascination. “Indeed.”
I was more surprised to see her on set than she was to see Christian. As the brand’s CEO, supervising photoshoots was below her pay grade.
She must’ve read the confusion on my face because her eyes twinkled with knowing. “I couldn’t resist dropping by as well. People say I’m micromanaging, but this campaign is my baby. I’m determined to make it the best one in Delamonte history, and you, my dear…” She patted my hand. “You’re going to help make that happen.”
The sandwich I ate for lunch churned in my stomach.
Right. No pressure at all.
Christian retreated to the back to take business calls while I sat through hair and makeup and met everyone on set, including Ricardo, the brand’s in-house photographer. He was a handsome man in his forties, with tanned skin and a flirtatious smile that he bestowed upon me before it faded.
I followed his suddenly wary gaze to where Christian stood by the exit, his phone to his ear but his attention fixed on us.
“Your boyfriend is an intense one, huh?” Ricardo let out a nervous chuckle before he cleared his throat. “No matter. Time to get started, darling. We have magic to make!”
He was charming enough to pull off such a cheesy line, and for the next hour, I tried my best to follow his guidance, posing and turning and contorting my body into strange, unnatural positions until sweat trickled down my spine.
The lights were insanely hot, and I pictured my makeup melting until I resembled a crazed clown.
Also, was it just me, or had Ricardo lost some of his enthusiasm? His encouraging shouts of “Gorgeous!” and “Beautiful!” had gradually tapered off into “Turn left” and “Too far left.” Soon, only the clicks and whirs of his camera filled the studio.
No one spoke, but the weight of their stares pressed against me like a second layer of clothing.
Self-doubt crept into the vacuum left in the wake of their silence.
Pretend you’re at home. Your camera is on a tripod facing you. You’ve perfected the settings and you’re ready to shoot. You’ve done this a thousand times, Stella…
“Lift your chin higher.” Ricardo’s instruction interrupted the fantasy I’d concocted of being alone. “Drop your hand…a little more…relax those shoulders…”
It wasn’t working.
He didn’t say it, but I could feel it. The thick, sour sting of disappointment tainting the air. The one I was so used to tasting whenever I went home.
I was finally working with my dream brand, and I was screwing it all up.
Tears gathered behind my eyes, but I set my jaw and blinked them back. I would not cry on set. I could hold myself together until the shoot was over.
Besides, this was only the first session. There were three more. I’ll practice before the next one and improve…if they kept me on.
The unforgiving fist of anxiety strangled my lungs.
What if Delamonte terminated my contract? Were they allowed to do that?
My mind rifled through the contract’s clauses, frantic in its search for one that allowed the brand to dump me if I didn’t perform up to its standards.
Whyhadn’t I looked more closely at the language? I’d been so excited I’d signed after a quick check with Brady to ensure there were no major red flags. But what if—
“Stella, darling.” Forced patience strained Ricardo’s voice. “Let’s take a break, shall we? Walk around, drink some water. We’ll reconvene in ten minutes.”
Translation: you have ten minutes to get your shit together.
Low murmurs broke out, and I spotted a frown on Luisa’s face before she turned away.
The rush of tears pressed harder against the dam of my willpower.
Cool, calm, collected. Cool, calm, collected. Cool—
Warm, masculine spice filled my nostrils. A second later, the deep black of Christian’s suit jacket came into view.
He handed me a glass of water. “Drink.”
I did. It cooled some of the sweat inching my spine, but the air was still too hot, the lights too bright. I felt like a bug buzzing around in a fluorescent bulb, trying to escape before I burned to death.
“What are you doing?” I asked when Christian took my empty glass, set it on the nearest table, and returned to stand in front of me. Assessing me, the way he would a prospective investment or unsolved puzzle.
“Reminding you of why you’re here.” His tone was soft but authoritative enough to drown out the nasty taunts crowding my head. Disappointment. Failure. Fraud. “Why are you here, Stella?”
“For a photoshoot.”
I couldn’t summon the energy for a better, less inane answer.
“That’s the what.” Christian grasped my chin and tilted it until my eyes met his. “I’m asking you why. Why, of all the people who could be standing in your spot, are you here?”
“I…” Because I’d spent the past decade cultivating an image that had become a cage as much as it had a lifeline. Because I was deceiving my followers and almost everyone I knew to achieve some stupid, arbitrary measure of success. Because I was desperate to prove I could succeed to people who didn’t even care.
Thickness clogged my throat.
“Because they chose you.” Christian’s cool voice sliced through my muddied thoughts. “Every blogger in the world would kill to be standing where you are, but Delamonte chose you. Not Raya. Not any of the other women at the dinner or in the pages of magazines. This is a multibillion-dollar brand, and they wouldn’t have invested in you if they didn’t think you can do it.”
“But I can’t.” My whisper revealed the heartbreaking truth. I was an imposter, a little girl playing dress up in a grown up’s clothes. “You see how it’s going. I’m bombing.”
“You are not bombing.” The guided precision of his statement struck the shell of uncertainty in my chest. Dented, but not destroyed. “It’s been an hour. One hour. Think about how much time you invested to get to where you are now. How much have you achieved? How many people have you outlasted? You downplay your accomplishments as ordinary when you would hail them as extraordinary on anyone else.”
Christian kept his grasp on my chin as he brushed his thumb over my cheek. He was close enough I could spot the gold flecks in his eyes, like fallen stars swimming in pools of molten amber.
“If you saw yourself the way other people see you,” he said quietly. “You’d never doubt again.”
Curiosity and something infinitely sweeter and more dangerous fluttered to life in my heart. “How do other people see me?”
Christian’s eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Like you’re the most beautiful, most remarkable thing they’ve ever seen.”
The words lit every molecule in my body and dissolved them into a pool of exquisite, unbearable warmth.
We weren’t talking about other people, and we both knew it.
“This is one photoshoot, Butterfly.” Another brush of his thumb, another gallop of my heart. “The first half was practice. The second half is yours. Do you understand?”
It was impossible not to get swept away by Christian’s confidence.
Instead of adding a brick to my worries about not living up to expectations, his faith in me fortified me enough to lock those ugly, taunting voices in my head back in the box where they belonged.
“Yes,” I said, my lungs tight but my breathing easier than it’d been all afternoon.
“Good.” His lips dipped and touched mine in the softest of kisses.
It wasn’t the first time we’d gotten this close, but it felt more effortless.
Less of a kiss, more of a promise.
My nerves settled while everything around me disappeared for one long moment.
Then the moment was gone, and so was he, but the warmth of his presence and the phantom brush of his mouth lingered.
Another flutter disrupted my heartbeat.
Cool, calm, collected.
I steeled my spine and faced Ricardo again with a smile.
“I’m ready.”
If the first half of the shoot was a disaster, the second half was a revelation. Whatever had been blocking me unstuck, and Ricardo’s rapid shutter clicks filled the studio with renewed enthusiasm.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
And we were done.
I hadn’t moved more than a few inches the entire time, yet my heart thundered like I’d just ran the New York Marathon.
“Perfect! You are stunning, darling, despite the, ah, rocky start.” Ricardo winked at me. “You were made for the camera. The final photos are going to be gorgeous!”
“Thank you,” I murmured, but I barely heard the rest of his gushing.
My eyes searched the stark white room until they found Christian.
He stood in the back corner. Still on a business call, still gorgeous in his suit and tie, and still watching me with those eyes of whiskey over ice.
Despite the phone pressed to his ear and the hungry stares of every woman and several men in the room pinned on him, he didn’t look away when I gave him a playful wink and smile.
It was an off-the-cuff, in-the-moment sort of thing, and not the type of action I’d usually take with a man I had barely even kissed.
But I was riding high after the shoot, and Christian was so composed all the time I wanted to knock him off-kilter.
Just once, just a little bit.
Nothing, however, could’ve prepared me for the devastation his lazy, answering smile wrought on my heart.
The butterflies lying dormant in my stomach went crazy, and I suddenly knew, with all the certainty in the world, that they were there to stay.
STELLA
That night,absent of any other plans, I accompanied Christian to dinner at his friend Dante’s house.
I’d met Dante before the night of the blizzard, but I’d forgotten how intimidating he was. Even in a simple black shirt and pants, he commanded authority in a way that was different from Christian but equally as powerful.
Christian was a finely honed assassin’s blade sheathed in velvet; Dante was a hammer burning bright with deadly intent. Lethal and striking, with no ambiguity as to the damage he could inflict if crossed.
His fiancée Vivian, on the other hand, was open-faced and friendly, with beautiful dark eyes and a warm smile.
Strangely enough, she was quick to grace everyone with that smile except Dante. The engaged pair hadn’t looked at each other once since Christian and I arrived.
“I didn’t realize you were dating Christian when I met you.” Dante’s deep voice pulled me away from my curiosity and sent a pleasurable shiver down my spine. Italian accents. They did it for me every time. “Now it makes sense.”
He bestowed a hard stare at Christian, who yawned.
For two people who claimed to be friends, they didn’t act particularly friendly toward each other.
“What makes sense?” I asked.
“How distracted he’s been lately.” Dante swirled his wine in his glass. “Wouldn’t you agree, Christian?”
“My record profits this quarter say otherwise,” Christian drawled. He rested a hand on my thigh, the touch so casual yet possessive it sent heat arrowing to my core.
“It’s not your business that’s in trouble,” Dante said dryly.
Christian stared back at him with as much interest as someone listening to an insurance sales pitch. He rubbed his thumb over my bare skin. Softly, just once, but it was enough to cloud my thoughts.
I was so focused on the warm pressure of his hand I couldn’t focus on anything else, not even the delicious food.
What is wrong with me?
I’d never lost my head over a guy like this. It was disconcerting.