Page 26 of The Art of Professing Love

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, giving my upper arm a squeeze as he walked past me. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone now. Wait, how did you know he was here?”

“My cousin – the Librarian – told me. They found out through someone they know who works at the hotel.”

I nodded my head slowly, trying to make sense of Sylvan’s rapid-fire explanation. “I see.” I sank into the leather chair behind my desk, pivoting until I was facing Sylvan, who’d taken the liberty to sit down in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. He was a much more welcome sight than the last man who sat there, but I couldn’t get the contents of those photos out of my mind.

“What did he say to you?” he asked, placing his elbows on the desk. God, how I hated that. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then what? You look white as a daisy.”

“A daisy? Don’t you mean – oh, never mind. He…brought me some photos to look over.”

Sylvan chuckled. “That sounds ominous.”

His smile faded when I didn’t return the amused look. “They’re photos of you, Sylvan.”

He furrowed his brow, shaking his head in confusion. “I have had my picture taken before, but you know what I look like, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Are they from college?”

“I don’t know when they were taken.” I fished them out of the bin and set them face-down in front of him.

“Because if it’s me at a party, you should know that I did have a little fun in school – nothing too wild, but I wasn’t an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of fae.”

“I gathered that,” I said dryly. “Just look at the photos, Sylvan.”

He turned them over and I lowered my head into my hands, rubbing my temple which suddenly had a nagging ache. The room grew painfully silent – a rarity for Sylvan.

“Is that all?” he asked after a few more infinitely long seconds.

I raised my head. “What do you mean? They’re nudes of you, Sylvan. They’re nudes of you and God knows who else doing God knows what.”

“Oh, I remember who that was.” Sylvan smiled as his gaze grew distant with memories. “And I remember what we did that night too. I can assure you that he’s long gone, though. Actually, he’s married now.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that there are pictures of you having sex with another man.”

“We have sex, Irving.”

“But we don’t take photos of it – or, at least, I certainly hope you haven’t photographed us without my knowing.”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

I picked up the photos and waved them in his face. “I hardly think I’m being ridiculous. These are out in the world now for anyone to see.”

Sylvan shrugged and leaned back. “I don’t mind.”

“What do you mean? These are intimate photos, Sylvan. How could you possibly be all right with others seeing them?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I…” he trailed off as he noticed my nostrils flaring. When he got his voice back, it was barely more than a mouselike squeak: “A friend took them for me for a, well, a book.”

“A book of what?” I asked sharply.

“Of erotic art. I submitted some painting for the book as well.”

“Like the one you made of me?”

Sylvan nodded his head. “It wasn’t a big deal, though. They only sold a few thousand copies of the book and it’s out of print now, so no one else can buy it.”

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