POV: Sophie Clark
"Hold still, Julian. Your collar is crooked."
Cassandra Vale stood on her toes and adjusted Julian's black tie. Her emerald dress opened high along one thigh. She touched him with the ease of someone who knew she belonged in his space.
"It is fine, Cass," he said.
"You are being photographed too. Try to look expensive."
I stopped inside the warehouse studio. Seven years earlier, Eleanor Hayes's attorney had placed a check for five hundred thousand dollars in front of me and said Julian needed a woman who could elevate his career. Cassandra looked like the answer Eleanor had already chosen.
Andrew emerged from the dressing area in a black velvet dinner jacket.
"You are late," he said.
"The stylist changed the wardrobe twice."
I looked down at the sheer white blouse tucked into a silk skirt. Under the ring lights, the fabric offered almost no coverage.
"I am not wearing this," I said.
Andrew crossed the room and settled one hand at my waist. His fingers pressed into my hip.
"The creative brief calls for intimacy."
"This is a bridal campaign, not lingerie."
"The magazine wants something provocative."
Julian lifted his camera, but his gaze fixed on Andrew's hand rather than my face.
"Move her to the mark," he said.
Andrew steered me beneath the lights. "Gladly."
He turned me so my back rested against his chest. One arm circled my waist. The other slid across my stomach.
"The crew is watching," I whispered.
"That is why they are here."
"Your hand is too low."
"Smile."
Julian adjusted the lens. "Turn her left. The light is cutting across her face."
"I will position my fiancee," Andrew replied.
"Then position her correctly."
A few assistants exchanged nervous looks.
Andrew's mouth brushed my ear. "He still hates being told no."
My body went rigid. "Stop this."
"Relax your shoulders."
"You are hurting me."
His grip tightened. "Do not ruin the shoot."
He bent and bit my earlobe.
A gasp escaped me.
The shutter fired.
Click. Click. Click.
Andrew dragged his mouth down the side of my neck. The pose copied one of Julian's old photographs exactly: my head tilted, my lips parted, a man's face hidden at my shoulder.
Andrew had burned the negatives, but he had memorized them first.
"Look at the camera," he murmured.
I did.
Julian's face was unreadable. Only his hands betrayed him. His knuckles whitened around the camera body.
"Move your hand higher, Miller," he said. "You are blocking the line of the dress."
"Capture what I give you."
"I shoot portraits, not ownership documents."
Andrew laughed. "You shoot what the client buys."
His palm slid lower.
I twisted away. "Enough."
He pulled me back against him. "We are not finished."
The camera stopped clicking.
Julian lowered it. "Take your hand off her."
The studio went silent.
Andrew's smile sharpened. "Excuse me?"
"Her expression is wrong because she is fighting you. Let her reset."
"She does not need a reset. She needs direction."
"She said enough."
Andrew turned his head. "You seem emotionally invested for a contractor."
Cassandra stepped between the lights with a paper cup. "Julian, take a break. We have been shooting for an hour."
She looked me over as if I were a dress returned with a stain. "The bride could use one too. Her face has gone gray."
"I am standing right here," I said.
"Then you heard me." Her smile stayed polished. "Some women photograph beautifully under pressure. Others reveal every weakness."
Julian's gaze snapped to her. "Enough, Cass."
The rebuke surprised her. It surprised me more. For years, photographs had shown them as a perfect unit. In person, the space between them held cracks no magazine profile had captured.
She touched his forearm. He pulled away without looking at her.
"Clear the frame, Cass."
Her smile faltered. "I brought your coffee."
"I did not ask for it."
He set the camera on the table and walked toward us.
Andrew kept one arm around my waist. "Careful, Hayes. Your contract contains a conduct clause."
"So does yours."
"Mine contains signatures from people who matter."
Julian stopped two feet away. His gaze dropped to the red mark on my neck, then to the bruising pressure of Andrew's fingers at my hip.
"The pose is not working," Julian said.
"Then find another angle."
"I have one."
He reached for my hand.
Andrew blocked him. Their wrists struck between us.
"Do not touch her," Andrew said.
Julian looked directly at him. "Then stop using her body to talk to me."
The truth landed so cleanly that Andrew's polished smile disappeared completely.
I pulled free of both men and stepped outside the light. My blouse clung to my skin. Every crew member suddenly found something else to study.
"Five-minute break," Julian called.
"No," Andrew said.
"Either five minutes or I walk out now."
Cassandra set the untouched coffee down with a hard click. "Julian, do not be reckless."
He did not look at her. His attention stayed on me.
"There is a robe by the monitor," he said. "Put it on."
Andrew's face went cold. "You do not give my fiancee orders."
"Then you should have listened when she gave you one."
I took the robe and wrapped it around myself.
Cassandra moved to Julian's side. "This is not worth Paris," she said under her breath. "We can leave tonight."
"Not yet."
"Why? Because she looks unhappy?"
"Because I finish what I start."
The answer sounded professional, but he was looking at the bruise forming beneath Andrew's hand, not at the camera or the set.
His silence answered too much. Cassandra's fingers tightened around the coffee cup until the lid bent.
Andrew watched me choose Julian's instruction over his.
Then he turned to Marcus, who stood near the loading door.
"Cancel the wedding fitting tomorrow," Andrew said. "Postpone the ceremony until further notice."
My head snapped up. "What?"
Andrew smiled at Julian.
"Apparently," he said, "our bride needs more time to decide whom she obeys."
