“And I’mblind,” he snarled, rubbing at his eyes, wondering whether his retinas had detached or simply seared themselves to the back of his skull. Peeling his fingers from his forehead, he blinked as his vision slowly returned, the image of a person, tall and intimidating, taking shape before him.
“Hello Jawline,” a razor-sharp voice intoned, and Tom stiffened. He knew that voice. Knew it all too well, having spent six hours in its owner’s presence while being shifted from position to position so she could ‘capture the best light’.
“Hello,” he said formally, his face instantly falling into a scowl. “How nice to see you again. I didn’t think I would, to be honest, after the last shoot we did together.”
“Ah, yes, theForbesshoot,” the woman replied drily.
“Yes,” Tom said tightly, “the one where you said the light ‘just didn’t favour me’. That was a pleasant day.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” The woman nodded, either not hearing the sarcasm in Tom’s voice or choosing to ignore it. “You would think with a face like yours you’d photograph beautifully. Your mother has cheekbones to die for, after all. But no.” She looked at him without really looking at him, her icy eyes trailing critically over his face. “You’re all angles I can’t make work—a jigsaw with too many jagged edges. There’s no softness in you. Of all the limited disappointments in my career, your face has been the greatest.”
“Thank you,” Tom said again. “So, dare I ask why you’re even here?”
She gave him a sideways glance, her lips unnervingly still as she spoke. “Why, I’m your wedding photographer. Your fiancée specifically requested me.”
Tom felt every muscle in his body grow tense.Stella Snow, he thought miserably, hardly believing her words.Shewas going to be their wedding photographer? How had this been allowed to happen? Tom couldn’t stand the woman — hated being around her with the fire of a thousand blazing suns. Surely Sasha knew that? But even as he asked himself the question, the answer settled in his mind.
Sasha didn’t know about his issue with Stella, and why would she? Tom had never mentioned it, and yesterday, when Sasha had brought Stella up, he’d been so wrapped up in his own troubles he hadn’t paid her the slightest bit of attention. Under normal circumstances, he would never have agreed to this. But because of his own ridiculousness, because of his own distraction, he’d blindly walked into allowing Stella back into his life. Scowling at his own ineptitude, he drew in a shaky breath.
“How nice,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled.”
“Less so when she gets my bill, I should imagine,” Stella remarked coolly. “Speaking of which, you still owe me a box of chocolate biscuits.”
“Chocolate biscuits?” Tom asked, puzzled, wondering why everyone seemed to be speaking in nothing but fucking riddles this weekend. “You mean a cookie? Why would I owe you a box of cookies?”
Stella stared at him with an even expression. “Whenever I photograph a Queen and Country wedding, I need the biscuits. The small invariably pops up, and she—”
Abruptly, Stella stopped speaking, staring at Tom with an even more intense expression. She stepped closer to him, peering into his eyes closely.
“Do you have a problem?” Tom asked quietly, unnerved by the clear blue eyes Stella had pointed like daggers on his own. “Do you—”
“How interesting,” Stella remarked, though Tom instinctively knew she wasn’t talking to him. “How very interesting.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
Another blinding flash snapped in Tom’s face, and he recoiled, swearing loudly.
“Will you stop doing that?” he seethed. “You’re going to blind me.”
“Don’t be such a baby.” Stella shook her head dismissively. “Look, see?”
She held up her camera for him to glance at, and he found himself staring at an image of himself, caught by her lens. His eyes were wide, brown and glassy, his mouth caught in a round shape of surprise, his jaw unclenched and lax. He looked, Tom thought miserably, absolutely ridiculous.
“I’m going to call this oneUnknowing,” Stella said, her voice rich with self-approval. “And then later, after everything, I’m going to take another one and call that oneKnowing. It will be a wonderful series, and you, my gormless boy, will be the star. The camera might hate you, but by God, the people will love you.” She peered at him critically once more. “You know, I may just find that softness in you yet.”
Tom stared at her. “You know half the time I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Stella, however, didn’t seem to hear him. “Isn’t that nice,” she replied absently, before shouting “Brandon!” and walking towards the gallery, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor.
Tom watched her go with a feeling of trepidation.
“Mom!” he shouted again. “Where are you?”
* * *
Tom found his mother in the study, the French doors thrown out to the garden, smoking cigarettes in his father’s old armchair. Beside her, lying languidly on the chaise lounge, was a blond-haired man in a pressed suit, also smoking calmly. They were oddly silent and, after the fracas of the drive and hallway, both oddly calm. They stared out into the garden with looks of absolute boredom on their faces, inhaling in tandem and blowing wispy plumes of grey smoke into the air.
“Mom! You’re smoking again! What is going on today?” Tom snapped, and both his mother and the blond-haired man swivelled their heads towards him, looking at him with detached interest.
