18
JADE
Water. Everywhere, water.
The Tegenungan waterfall thunders forty feet above us, a relentless cascade of white fury crashing into the emerald pool below. Mist rises, catching sunlight and fracturing it into rainbow fragments. It's breathtaking. Stunning. Paradise.
And I can't breathe.
"Jade, darling, just a little closer to the edge," calls Julian, the photographer, gesturing with elaborate impatience. "We need to capture that gorgeous contrast between the swimsuit and the natural elements."
I force my lips into a smile that feels like a grimace. "Working on it," I call back, trying to sound breezy and professional.
But my feet won't move. They're anchored to the rock where I stand, a safe fifteen feet from the water's edge. The white string bikini I'm wearing feels suddenly exposing ina way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin on display. I've spent years being comfortable nearly naked in front of cameras.
This isn't about modesty. God knows I've modeled less fabric in more public places. It's about vulnerability of a different kind.
"Sometime today would be fabulous," Julian calls again, lowering his camera with visible frustration.
I catch Gloria's worried gaze from behind the small crowd of assistants and stylists. She knows. Of course she does. She's been with me long enough to recognize when I'm struggling.
Where is he?
My eyes scan the perimeter, searching for the familiar broad shoulders and easy smile that have become a strange sort of anchor over the past days. He's been a constant presence. Professional but warm, vigilant but unobtrusive.
There. Mateo. Standing near the equipment tent, talking to one of the security guards hired by the magazine. His attention appears focused on the conversation, but I know better. He's been watching me all morning, those amber eyes missing nothing.
You can do this, Jade. I take a small step forward, then another. The sound of the waterfall seems to grow louder with each inch I gain toward the water's edge. It's just water. Just a photo. You've done thousands of these.
But as I approach, memories surge withoutwarning:
Darkness. Chlorine burning my nose and throat. The weight pressing me down. My lungs screaming for air that isn't there.
My heart thunders in my chest, suddenly racing so fast I feel lightheaded. The tropical heat becomes suffocating. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
I know this. I've been here before. The edge of a panic attack is sharp. Familiar. And I cannot fall apart in front of this crew.
"Jade?" Julian's voice comes from far away now. "Are you alright? You've gone rather pale."
I open my mouth to answer, but no sound emerges. Just keep smiling. Just keep breathing. Just do your job.
"Fabulous location you've chosen," I say instead, forcing my attention to the camera, to technique, to anything but the panic clawing at my throat. "How are you handling the backlighting from the falls? The mist must play havoc with your exposure."
Photography. Safe ground. My secret passion. Focus on that.
Julian brightens, professional vanity momentarily distracting him from my stalling. "I'm using a polarizing filter to cut some of the glare," he explains, gesturing to his setup. "And we've positioned reflectors on your left to balance the shadows. The trick is capturing that ethereal quality without washing you out completely."
I nod, grateful for the technical conversation giving me breathing room. "What about the constant movement of the water? Are you using a slower shutter speed to smooth it out, or keeping it faster to freeze the droplets?"
Julian blinks in surprise. "Both, actually. We're shooting a variety for the editorial team." He tilts his head, studying me with new interest. "You know your way around a camera."
I shrug, mentally kicking myself for revealing too much. "I've worked with photographers for fifteen years. You pick things up."
"Ms. Sinclair," interrupts a clipped voice. Melissa Chen, the magazine's art director, approaches with barely contained impatience. "We're losing the light. The scouts spent weeks finding this location specifically for the golden hour effect through the mist. We need to start shooting now."
"Right, of course," I say, pasting on my professional smile again. "Sorry for the delay."
She gestures toward the rounded rocks at the water’s edge. "We need you in position. In the water, if possible, at least ankle-deep."
