“She does do that well,” Wyatt said from somewhere in the room. “I think I have goosebumps.”
“Mm,” Sean caught my attention, “that right there,” he pointed his camera at me, “is why every man in Italy will be beating down her door.”
I pushed the men out of my head, closed my eyes, and let my mind wander to the forbidden corner of my mind where his face lived. His intense dark eyes stared back at me, and I let all the pain open up and wash over me. It had been ten years since I’d seen the only man I ever loved. I had dated, I even once had a three-year relationship, but my heart was never fully in it. Nothing compared to him. My heart raced, sweat threatened to break out, and my stomach churned like an angry sea as my lids opened again.
“Shit,” Sean whispered as the shutter clicked, “this is the shot.”
I barely heard him as I blinked back the hot rage that boiled just under the surface of my skin. It hurt so damn much.
Click, click, click. The camera moved around while I lay there unafraid to show the world what I was capable of. That I was much more than just a reporter for a newspaper.
“Sienna, Sienna,” Wyatt’s voice pushed through and brought my attention back to the room, “are you okay?”
I pushed myself to my feet, realizing everyone in the room was staring at me. I was careful that the fabric covered all the right spots.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I held up my hand and smiled. “Are we finished?”
“Yes, and if you ever want to work with me again,” Sean handed me his card, “I will always find the time for you.”
“Thank you.” I rushed to get changed and felt almost lightheaded. Perhaps I should get something to eat.
“Come on, lady, it’s time for us to go home.” Wyatt wrapped his big American arms around me, and we walked out together. “I know that was hard, but I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I rested my head on his shoulder as we headed for the train.
It had been eight days since the shoot, and I felt even more nervous than when I did the actual session. I had always been comfortable with nudity, but it was different when someone wanted to share you with the world. It was hard for me to close the gates that I had opened that day, and I feared that seeing the magazine would make it even worse.
“Honey, I’m home,” Wyatt said in English as he burst into the living room like a caveman. “Get dressed because, darlin’, I have something to show you.”
“No way. Me and my sweats are fine right here.”
“Okay, but remember you were the one who always asked for a heads up on things because you hate surprises.” He made a face like he couldn’t understand why I would hate them.
“Dammit.” I dragged my tired body from the couch in my room and put on something clean.
“That’s my girl.” He grinned, knowing I would fold.
“How far is it?”
“Not that far.” He led me outside and down a few streets then stopped on a corner and put his hands on my shoulders. “Ready?”
“Ready for what?”
He whirled me around, and my stomach sank as I took in my image on a digital billboard right above the shopping center. It was the red silk shot, and my eyes shouted everything that I had been running from for years.
“Georgio is going to freak when he sees this!” I could hear the pay raise in Wyatt’s voice.
“I think I might be sick.”
“Sick?” He moved to stand in front of me. “You’re everywhere!” He pulled out Fab Magazine from his bag, and there I was again, on the front cover. I snatched it from his hand and flipped to the article where I’d poured out my heartbreak to a stranger for the world to read and judge.
“Yup, this is my hell,” I whispered.
“Sienna, what did you think you were doing?”
“I don’t know.” I hid my face from a woman who looked to be making the connection on who I might be. “Maybe I thought I’d be on page twenty-seven wedged in between two celebrities and their baby drama. Not on the front cover or on a vineyard-sized billboard for everyone to see. Dammit, Wyatt, they might as well have popped my boobs out completely!”
“Yes, that is some magnificent cleavage,” he pointed to the magazine, “but it’s not slutty, Sienna.” His voice became softer. “It’s beauty and pain meets raw and exposed.” He held out his arm toward the billboard. “It’s showing young women everywhere that a true Cinderella story does exist.”
“Cinderella got the guy, remember?” I muttered darkly.
“The problem with fairytales is that they don’t show you all the heartbreak that they’ve overcome.”
“That would be a long movie.” I sighed, trying to see his point.
“Screw Cinderella, be the one that uses this article,” he held up the magazine, “to get what you want.”
“So, play the villain?”
“He did, so why can’t you?”
I turned to look at him, shocked that he’d referenced Elio so boldly. Wyatt was the only person who knew my true back story, and never once had he painted Elio as a villain.
He raised his hands palms toward me when he saw my expression.
“I’m sorry. It just hurts me that you hurt so much for someone who left you.”
“Everyone I ever cared about has left me.”
“Not everyone.” He lowered his head.
“No.” I felt bad. “I guess not everyone.” I threaded my arm through his. “Come on, let’s go home. I have a quart of chocolate gelato with our name on it.”
The weekend came and went, then Monday came much too quickly, and as Wyatt and I walked toward work, I found myself staring at the billboard wondering if my mother had seen me yet. If she had, would she come looking for me? Was I not worth looking for?
“Stop,” I whispered to myself. That was the old me. The new me had a backbone and a new life I really loved.
“Here we go.” He held open the door for me, and we quickly zipped past the chatty secretary. She was nice but would talk your ear off about her pet bird. Did anyone really like birds? And who named their bird Chester? I thought that was a cat’s name. That just caused confusion for all.
Of course, on cue, my boss appeared at the door to the office with a file in his hand. I shook my head at Wyatt. He hated Georgio just as much as I did.
“First, nice photo.” He held up the magazine. “Second, just as I expected, we got a lot of press from your story.” He waved us in and closed the door, which was odd, and motioned for me to take a seat. “I received a call early this morning requesting to have you, Sienna, interview one of the owners of Ricco Oil.”
“Ricco Oil? They never let anyone interview them.” I glanced at Wyatt, beyond confused.
“Precisely why you will do this interview with Mr. DeSimone.”
“Why me?”
“Because of this.” He held up the magazine.
“I won’t sleep with him.”
“They made it very clear it was your article that made him want to meet you, Sienna. Apparently, they want you to write it because you struck a chord with him or something. They say, like you, he started from nothing, and so on and so on.”