Anja’s hand froze mid-grope. “I know this…”
I nodded, unable to read her neutral expression. “So. So I’ve been thinking that…that the timing is right, now, for us to start thinking about the future. What’s ahead of us—”
“You are saying you are ready to move on from this?” She was frowning now.
I couldn’t help myself; I laughed. “No! God, no. Anja, I—I love you.” I stroked her cheek, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“And I love you,” she said. She wrapped her legs around me and propped herself up on her elbows to drop kisses down my throat, along my collarbone, moving toward my chest. My cock jumped against her thigh eagerly, but I gently pushed her away. I needed to focus.
“Anja,” I said.
She looked up at me, her angelic face wearing a frown of confusion.
“You don’t want to—?” she gestured to my cock.
I did. I really did, but I took her hand in mine instead.
“I love you,” I said again, slowly, “and I want to marry you.”
Her eyes widened in shock. We’d spoken about it before, in passing—I had made my intentions clear—but for some reason this was still a surprise to her.
“But—what is wrong with what we have?” she asked. “Are you not happy?”
“I am happy,” I said. “What we have is amazing. But…I want more. Don’t you?”
“Stefan.” She laughed softly. “You can’t be serious.”
I looked into her eyes. “I am. I want to be with you. I want to marry you.”
She gently pushed me aside and wriggled out from beneath me. Before I fully realized what was happening, she was getting out of bed, pulling on her clothes.
I leapt to my feet, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. She stilled but didn’t turn toward me. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I asked. “I can take care of you. You wouldn’t even have to keep modeling if you didn’t want to, or you could stay focused on your career as long as you want. Either way, we’d get on a good path—together. Build a life of our own.”
Anja finally looked back at me. “You are a wonderful boy. But you know we cannot.”
That word, “boy,” stung. But I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “This can work. My trust fund has enough money to live off of for years, and once I have my MBA I can provide for us even better. If you don’t want to come with me to U Penn, maybe we can—”
“Your father would never allow me to stop working for him,” she cut me off.
I was confused. “You don’t have to stop. You can keep modeling.”
Her shoulders slumped under my touch. “I am not referring to the modeling,” she said.
Of course.
I knew that my father employed his models for more than just print work and runway shows, that some of the clients who came to him expected the women to work in the bedroom as well. I’d always known this. As someone who was naturally curious and expected to take over KZM when I was older, I’d made it my business from a young age to learn everything about how the agency operated. And I did. I knew where to recruit models, how to woo them, what their contracts looked like, how to entice new clients into the fold and keep the established ones. I had no illusions; I knew exactly how our company was run. Including all the things my father kept out of the press. The sex work was just another part of the business. A part that we never discussed, that was kept secret from most of the world, but a part of KZ Modeling nonetheless.
I never judged the models that supplemented their income this way. After all, I had been the grateful recipient of many of the tricks and treats they had doled out while earning additional money. They could live their lives as they saw fit.
And even though I knew it wasn’t entirely legal, I didn’t judge that either. Everyone was making more money, everyone was having a good time, everyone was gaining something. As far as I was concerned, it was a win-win situation. My father made more profits and connections this way, and the models earned more to send home to their families, as most of them were supporting their relatives overseas.
But if Anja and I got married, she wouldn’t need to make that extra income. She would be part of the Konstantin family, and all the wealth and perks that that included.
“You don’t need to keep doing that kind of work once we’re married,” I told her. “I meant what I said. I’ll take care of both of us. Of your family, too.”
She pulled away and resumed dressing, zipping her jeans and reaching for her T-shirt.
