Page 93 of The Photograph

he stops when it gets…” I clear my throat. “…and drives me home.” I find refuge into her arms once more. “Gabe thinks I’m damaged and keeps saying we should wait. I don’t get it, we were so good when he thought I was experienced and now, he…” I shrug again. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell him.”

Cara grins. “Personally, I like that he’s careful with you, that means he cares.” When I roll my eyes, her smile widens. “Talking about angels. Michael and Gabriel?”

Their parents must have had a thing for angels.

She kisses my head. “Talk to him, angel.”

“I did. I don’t want to talk anymore.” I growl, and we laugh again.

****

The magazine photoshoot is in full swing, and the stylist is retouching my hair for the hundredth time. I insisted my whole team be present for at least one picture, so we’re all posing around one of the stone benches

We’ve been at this for three hours. Earlier, theElle Décor’steam placed us at the bottom of the grand stairs, but the photographer thought it looked too much like a class photo, so we’re here but the wind picked up and the styling team is not happy.

I open my mouth wide to unlock my jaw and relax my cheekbones. Jen and I are seated on the bench while John and Piotr stand behind us.

The two men stopped talking altogether an hour ago and just grunt and bare their teeth when asked to smile.

The photographer’s head is bent over his camera while he yells at us. “That’s it! You’re happy! Show me happy!”

I peer up to John, who gazes up at the sky and turns a scowl at the lens while Piotr crosses his arms on his chest looking like a pissed off Mr. Clean. I bite my bottom lip to stop the giggle threatening to erupt which ‘ruins’ my lipstick and triggers a shriek of horror from the make-up artist.

When Piotr mutters something in Russian we don’t understand but can easily guess, I grab the edge of the bench and dip my chin to hide my smile. Jen bumps her shoulder to mine. Her grin sets up a domino effect until we all laugh so hard even the photographer joins in.

The artistic director finally approves of the group shot and Piotr disperses fast while John disappears inside the house. He comes back with two cups of coffee from the catering table set up on the ground floor opposite the grand stairwell.

After settling beside me, he hands me the cup. “Here.”

I wrap my hands around the cardboard cup to smell the coffee while I scoot sideways to make him some room.

“How are you, Ael?”

I smile. “I’m okay, Johnnie. How are you?”

We haven’t seen each other since we’ve finished the work on Holloway, and I haven’t had time to visit him at his workshop in Plymouth. But to be totally honest, I’m angry with him for wanting us to date again.

Cara and I met him at the Rainbow house one day he was delivering a table he made for them, and I was fascinated by the quality of his work, so I asked him how he did it and he was really good at explaining his process, and we became friends.

Like most men involved in the charity, John is very protective of women and children which makes him a strong ally. We naturally moved from friendship to dating. I was nineteen, coming into my own, figuring out who I was and what I liked.

Our very first kiss was soft, tender, and with very little tongue. I liked making out with him, so we did it often and within weeks, I was ready to take it further.

One evening, we were sitting in the living room of the upstairs apartment we rented above the bar Cara and I were working in. She liked him for me and that evening she’d made us salmon lasagna and a pear fondant for dessert.

After dinner, I led him to the couch with me and kissed him. I deepened the kiss and I still remember the goosebumps on my skin when he slid his hands up my arms and my anticipation at the idea of being naked with him. He grabbed my hand to hold it against his chest and pulled back from the kiss.

He smiled and squeezed my upper arms. “Aelin, we don’t need to do this if you’re not ready.”

I was, so I knelt next to him and cupped his face to kiss him, but he just hugged me. He gently pushed my face in the crook of his shoulder and made shushing sounds while petting my hair.

Sitting back on my haunches, I looked at him while tears pressed behind my eyes. “You don’t want to do this … with me?”

He placed his hands on my shoulders with a solemn expression. “Aelin, after what happened to you, we can take it slow. We’re friends and you don’t have to throw yourself at me.”

Throw myself at him?I stared at the expression on his face—a strange mix of kindness and aversion.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, John.”

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