Theo quirked a brow at that. “I didn’t grant you any kind of permission you didn’t already have. You’re free to leave the boat any time you’d like. I’m not your master, Miss Dawn.” Then, he pressed his palms on the table, leaning toward me with a wicked grin. “Though, if there was ever a time you wanted to change that, I would be happy to oblige.”
All the blood drained from my face, a shiver sending a flood of goosebumps cascading down every inch of me. I was frozen from his gaze, from those words, for what felt like an eternity.
Then, Theo laughed — and it was the most confusing laugh of my life. I couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been joking and the look on my face was exactly the response he was looking for, or if he was dead serious, and he was laughing because he was the only one who knew just how serious he was.
“Have fun today,” he said, standing straight once more and sliding his sunglasses over those piercing eyes. “If you can, make your way to the Château de Bellet vineyards. It’s beautiful there.”
And with one last knowing smirk, he left me alone with our half-eaten breakfast.
For many people, perhaps most people, a photograph is simple.
It’s a moment captured in time. It’s a beautiful landscape — sprawling hills or glistening ocean. It’s an action shot — a ball mid-air, a player’s face bent in determination. It’s a milestone — a graduation, a wedding, a newborn baby. It’s a click of a button, a flash-freeze, a bit of light and shadow that serve as a memory, something to be hung on a wall, something to look back on and remember.
For me, a photograph was an entire world.
If you caught the right moment, the right lighting, the right subject — a photograph wasn’t just a mirror image. It was a feeling, something that struck you to your core, something that made you pause and reflect. You’d look at it just as much as it would look at you — each of you tilting your heads a bit, digesting, feeling vulnerable.
Feeling seen.
I wandered the streets of Nice with eyes wide open, taking each turn as it came, not abiding by any agenda or map. I held my camera close, nestled between my hands just below my rib cage, finger hovering over the shutter button, itching for the right moment.
When I had a day to myself like that, the hours seemed to dissipate like thick morning fog on a sunny afternoon. I didn’t exist as myself. I wasn’t Aspen Dawn, recent college graduate and wannabe photographer. Instead, I lived a hundred different lives, all through the lens of my camera.
I was the young girl on her brand-new bike, no training wheels, fear and excitement evident in my eyes as I took a breath, took my feet off the ground, took a chance. And I was the kind-eyed, old man behind her, cigarette dangling from my lips as I gave one final push, the wrinkles of my eyes deepening with a wide smile when the girl sped off on her own, giggling with joy.
Click.
I was the street vendor selling leather coin purses and keychains, exhausted from an early morning of setting up shop, sneaking a brief snooze at my table while I waited for a customer. My head hung heavy between my shoulders, old t-shirt pulled up over my eyes, tan and hairy arms crossed over my large belly. I could just be meditating. I could just be tired. I could just be mourning the loss of someone I loved more than myself. I could just be wondering if life is worth living at all.
Click.
I was both the young man and the old woman, sitting back to back on opposing benches by the sea, one facing the park, one facing the water. We were strangers together in our loneliness. We were strangers, and yet to someone, we were friends, lovers, a son, a daughter, a co-worker, a neighbor. We were strangers, and yet inside each of us, an entire universe of humanity — a forest of wants and needs, of dreams and desires, of past pain and scars and heartbreak and resilience. We read our newspapers. We check our phones. We smile at the passerby and tip our hat. Bonjour, bonjour.
Click.
I was even the blushing young girl, legs straddling the sea wall, a boy I rather liked sliding closer and closer between my open legs. I felt the heat of his hungry eyes, felt the cool dampness of his fingertips dancing under my shirt, tracing the wire of my bra. We’re invisible. No one sees us. No one in the world has been this in love, this desperate to touch, this unimaginably happy. I knew without hesitation that I would forever be safe in that boy’s arms. No matter how my heart screamed for me to be cautious, to heed its warnings, I still fell into the boy with the long, dark shaggy hair and the cool hands and the thick erection hiding beneath his jeans.
Click.
I was lost in a new city, in a new country, in a new language and corner of the world. I wandered the streets and took photos until the sun disappeared over the water’s horizon, and I realized Theo and I never discussed what time to meet back on the dock.
Then I asked myself why I thought Theo would meet me at all.
He wasn’t my caretaker. Or, as he had pointed out, my master.
I shivered at the memory of that comment, of the way his pupils dilated when the words rolled off his tongue. He had watched me closely for a reaction, and I wondered if the one he got was the one he desired.
I didn’t understand him, and more frustrating, I didn’t understand me when he was near.
He was scrambling me like a frying pan of eggs, and the more I tried to figure out why, the more lost I felt.
I found a café with free Wi-Fi on my way back to the boat, messaging my sister to update her on my travels. She sent a full page of emojis when I told her I was on Theo’s boat for the summer instead of traipsing around on my own, and when I asked how volleyball was going, for the first time in my life, she answered with a short it’s great before demanding that I tell her everything I knew about Theo Whitman.
I laughed, thumbing through my memory card until I found a picture of drunk Audrey and Nicolette hanging all over him from the other night. I snapped a picture of the camera display and sent it to Juniper, who answered with a long line of exclamation points.
I knew he was a dirty little playboy!
Ask him if he wants a new sugar baby.
I rolled my eyes on a laugh at that, and then with a promise to check in again soon, I shoved my phone away and walked the rest of the way to the dock.
I thought about it, though, as I walked, how Juniper would fit nicely with Theo. She was just as gorgeous as he was, and charming, and smart. She’d match him wit for wit. She’d be able to play games with girls like Nicolette and Audrey, and I knew with utmost certainty she’d beat them, too.
I frowned at the thought, shaking it away and letting my mind wander elsewhere the rest of the walk back.
I didn’t know if Theo was already back on the yacht when I crossed the ramp to the main deck. If he was, he was nowhere to be found, and so I decided to turn in for the night and thank him again the next time I did see him. The photos I’d captured were strong ones. I knew without even looking. I’d felt it when I snapped them.
I could hear the crew downstairs when I got back to the cabin, likely eating their late dinner or perhaps partying already since Theo was off the boat. Either way, I ignored the note on the bed from Joel saying I could join them when I got back, and instead, gave in to my exhaustion, peeling my clothes off and flopping down face first on the bed.
I was asleep before I could even make it under the covers, but I felt Joel when he came in later that night, covering me up before he slipped under the sheets, too. He kissed my neck, slow and tender at first, but then harder, his pelvis rolling against my ass, hands groping my breasts under my shirt.