I nod, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. I know what this means. Writing my deepest, darkest secrets for them to gloss over like a journal entry. It all feels so sterile, but if I want this to end, I have to do it.
I won’t let my father destroy the security I fought so hard to achieve.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kairo
I’ve never been to a photo shoot before. We’re crammed into Rosalie’s dressing room, Roman taking up most of the sofa and Maddox sitting bleary-eyed beside him as he fights to stay awake. I’m propped against the armrest of the couch, occasionally snatching the back of Maddox’s head to keep him from slumping over like a ragdoll onto the floor.
His sleeping has gotten worse. Part of it’s because we’re staying in a new place that isn’t our apartment. Maddox has to get used to his surroundings before he’s comfortable enough to crash. Another part is something far more…peculiar.
It’s obvious he’s stopped taking his meds, and Roman notices the third time I drag our friend’s head back against the rest of the sofa.
Rosalie is oblivious to what’s going on. She’s seated in front of a large vanity with fluorescent lights framing the mirror. She’s dressed in a silky white robe, her legs crossed as a make-up artist flutters around her, applying lipstick and removing the curlers from her hair.
It’s interesting to see her dolled up like this, with blush painted over her cheeks and black eyeliner heightening her siren eyes until she looks dangerous and tantalizing. Her soft curls fall around her heart-shaped face, framing her perfectly.
Fuck, she looks good enough to eat.
My mouth is watering as my eyes bounce around every inch of exposed flesh I can see. Being too far away is agitating, and I’m unable to stop myself as I rise from my seated position and wander over. I’m cautious not to get in the make-up artist’s way as she finishes with Rosalie’s hair.
I run my fingers along the vanity, catching those enchanting green eyes in the mirror. Rosalie gives me an impatient expression. “Don’t touch anything.”
I rub my hand all over the tops of the makeup palettes, smirking when the artist covers her amused snort with the back of her hand.
“You’re worse than a child,” Rosalie snarks, rising from her chair. “Is the photographer ready?”
The artist checks her phone, then nods and packs up her supplies. She leads us out first as Elijah intercepts Rosalie before she can step onto the set. They speak in hushed tones, and he looks remorseful as he apologizes.
She gives him a reassuring smile, listening to him as he tries to explain himself. She’s far different from when we were teenagers, but she’s still a good person at heart. I’m glad to see that never changed.
But I think I like this bratty side of her even more. She’s outspoken and not afraid to put us in our places. It’s going to make taming her even more fun.
Maddox looks like he’s fading as his head hangs and he slouches back against a vacant wall. Until his eyes saucer and his head shoots up as he stares at something behind us. “Hey…what kind of photoshoot is this?”
Roman scowls. “I don’t know. Something to do with a sports brand.”
Maddox’s eyes dilate at something in the distance, and I follow his gaze, unprepared for the miles of creamy, perfect skin on display. Rosalie has shed her robe and now stands in a matching pink bikini set and heels. Her shapely waist dips near her flared hips, and the perfect globes of her breasts show past her top. Her legs are long and toned, showing just how athletic she is with muscular, supple thighs and perfect calves.
My sight soaks in every inch of her I can, bouncing around as if I’m not looking well enough at one particular point of her. Then, I notice something faint over her arms as she struts closer to the set. It wouldn’t be noticeable if thosepale scars weren’t scattered across her skin like an untold story and far too many to count with the naked eye.
Bitterness churns in my gut at her wounds, something profound washing over me in tidal waves.
We knew her home life was bad, but I never thought…
Roman rubs a hand across his mouth, dangerous, dark intent swirling in his irises. There’s anger mixed with his desire, lighting a fire within him.
Maddox is now awake, his bloodshot gaze following Rosalie as she steps onto the large, white backdrop that makes up the set.
“You see them too?” I ask him low, cautious not to stir attention from the crew rushing around us.
“Mhm,” he hums at my side.
A few people on the production crew wheel massive lights towards the set, illuminating Rosalie in all her beauty before another man pushes a luxurious red armchair onto the backdrop behind her.
The photographer, a man in his forties with silver straight hair to his shoulders and neutral-toned clothing, glides onto the set. His camera hangs down from his neck, resting over his loose shirt as he smiles in welcome at Thorn.
“Rose, my dear, it’s a pleasure to work with you again. Stunning, as always!” He gushes.
