We drive back to my house in silence, the sky going from dusk to darkness. I stifle my sobs. How could a father say such awful words to his son? My heart breaks for Wills all over again. The man I love is hurting so badly, and he refuses to acknowledge his feelings. How can our relationship grow if he refuses to work on his problems? I need to get through to him. But how?

Finally, my exit is next. Once we are off the freeway, Wills turns into my neighborhood. We need to talk. He puts the blinker on at the traffic light. “Wills, I would like it if you would spend the night.”

He turns his head to mine, his cheek hollow like he is biting it from the inside. I have noticed he does that when he is anxious or worried. Tonight, I hope to ease his pain.

“I don’t,” he clears his throat. “I’m not good company right now.”

“Which is exactly why you need to stay.” I refuse to let him wallow in the words his father said.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He took off his blazer, loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt, such that his silver chain glints off one of the passing streetlights. He honors his sister by wearing her dog tags every day, and his tattoo across his heart. If only his father understood what an amazing man his son is. But, I cannot care about his father—it is Wills who needs my comfort.

“Please.”

“Okay.” The word comes out as a strangled bunch of syllables.

He pulls into my driveway, my Spanish bungalow well-lit by the landscape architects I hired. His family’s home seemed welcoming from the outside, but inside it was all about the awful man who sired Wills. I am out of my depth in trying to help him, but I will try my best.

After he puts the Jeep into park, he shuts the engine but does not make another move. My heart hurts for how much pain he is in. This is much worse than when Starr shot him in the shoulder. There is no blood, yet the injury goes much deeper.

I get out of the vehicle and walk over to his side. Opening the driver’s side door, I do what he has done for me so many times—unbuckle his seat belt. “Let us go inside.”

Dull blue eyes meet mine. “Okay.”

More tears escape my eyes. This time it is I who runs my palms over my own cheeks to wipe the moisture away. Since he refuses to cry, I am doing it for him.

He shakes his head and catapults out of the Jeep. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he escorts me up the stone path to the front door. After digging in my Kate Spade tote, I find my keys and unlock the door.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Thanks.”

I make him a vodka martini and pour a glass of wine for myself. I think we have both earned it after the “party.” I bring the glasses into the salon, where Wills sits on the sofa staring at the blank television screen.

“Listen, Ems, I’m so sorry you had to witness that.” He takes a large swallow, then lifts his glass to me. “I warned you, though.”

I curl up next to him. “Oui, you did. I am so sorry that you had to grow up in such an environment. I do not know how to help you. What can I do?”

He half smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I’m only a gym owner.”

I rear back. “Seriously? You cannot believe that? I know—first hand—how important the service you offer is. Like being a bodyguard, owning a gym is a very dignified profession. You have the power to change peoples’ lives.” I take a sip of my wine, then grimace—not at the wine but at myself. “Not like being a model. All I do is show up and put on whatever clothes they give me and smile.”

He blinks. “Ems. No. You do so much more. You’re not only selling clothes,” he bobs his head, “Or lingerie or bathing suits. You bring beauty into this very depressing world and give millions of people something to aspire to.”

I take another sip. “Honestly, I prefer touching people directly. Like what you do. And what I do on Instagram.”

“You can do both.”

I file this thought away. Now I need to focus on him. “Wills, the military is an honorable profession. Patriotic. But helping people become healthier and happier is just as honorable. Please do not forget that.”

He knocks back the rest of his martini. “FPU would disagree.”

I wave my hand. “He does not matter.” I suck in my breath. “I mean—”

Wills smiles. “I know what you mean. And I appreciate what you’re doing.” He kisses my forehead, placing his hand on the back of my head so that I am against his right pec. Directly above the scar from the crazy stalker’s bullet.

I inhale his scent and my thoughts scatter to the only way I know how to make him feel better. Disengaging from his warm body, I grab the remote and turn on some music. It picks up the last tune on my playlist, a song in French about passion. I slide a sideways look at Wills, knowing he does not understand the lyrics.

“Let it play.”

I guess some themes are universal.

Retuning to my spot next to him, I undo his tie and start to ease the buttons from their holes. When his shirt is opened from his waistband upward, I slide my fingers underneath the white dress shirt. They gravitate to his sister’s dog tags, and my fingers play with them.

His head falls back on the sofa. Emboldened, I pull the material of his shirt up and out of his dress slacks and finish opening it. Wills made an effort for his father. Swallowing my anger on his behalf, I make quick work of his belt, slipping it through the loops and letting it drop to the floor with a clunk. When my fingers land on the button at the top of his pants, above his impressive bulge, he places his hand over mine.

“Wait.”

My eyes search his, silently asking what he needs from me. Offering all of myself to him.

“Stand up.” I scramble to my feet. “Turn around.” I present my back to him.

The sofa rustles as he gets to his feet, but I do not turn my head. Another sexy French song plays as he unzips the back of my dress, which falls to my feet. “You looked so fucking hot at the party in this dress. I was so proud you were on my arm, even if that meant we had to be in my parents’ house. But it wasn’t just how you were packaged. It’s who you are in here.”

He comes around and stands in front of me and places his hand over my heart. “I’ve never met anyone as sweet, supportive and positive as you are, Emilie. Never change. Don’t let me change you into a hard person, like me.”

I open my mouth to tell him how wrong he is, but his fingers land on my lips. “Shhh.” He steps back and rakes me from head to toe, his eyes ending at my Jimmy Choo slingbacks. “Off.”

While I make quick work of my shoes, he shrugs out of the dress shirt and unzips his pants. My mouth waters at how sexy he is. And so in charge. Without another word, his arms come around my body and I am stripped of my bra and panties. He steps back, his index finger doing a “come here” motion. I follow him as he walks backward toward my bedroom.

He stops. I stop. He takes two steps to me and kisses me so that the only point of contact between our bodies is our lips. His hand lands in my hair, scattering bobby pins in all directions. When my hair is loose, his fingers go through it and he pulls me into his body, his lips crashing down on mine.

“Je t’aime.” The words slip out of my mouth. I need him to know how I feel about him. I repeat in English. “I love you.” I say them in Portuguese and Spanish, just to be sure he knows I mean it. I rain kisses all over his face.

He shakes his head. “Oh, Ems, you can’t.” Yet he crushes my body to his.

Sometime later, we fall into my bed. Wills pulls the sheet over us and wraps me in his arms. I tangle my legs with his and lay my cheek over his Gemini tattoo. He never talks about his sister, the one person in his family he holds any affection for. “I saw a photo of your sister at your parents’ house. She looked like you.” I trace my finger down his nose. “Tell me a bedtime story about her.”

His hand stills in my hair for a moment, then continues stroking. “When we were in middle school, I got my hands on a copy of ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street,’ a horror flick. After our parents went to bed, I snuck into Three’s room and we watched it together. Scared ourselves to death.”

While he is talking, I interlace my fingers with his. “Then what happened?”

“The movie was about a serial killer that murdered people in their dreams, which made them die in reality. Three slept with me for a week afterwards. I never admitted it to her, but I liked having her there.” A chuckle rumbles from his throat.

“You had to keep your place as her older brother.”

Wills kisses my shoulder. “Yeah.” He goes on to share two more stories about his twin. “Thank you.”

I lift my head, keeping my chin on his chest. “For what?”

He tucks my hair behind my ear. “For letting me talk about my sister. It feels good to remember the fun times we had.”

“I love hearing about when you were younger.” I cannot stifle my yawn. “And that you got scared of a movie.”

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. And now it’s time for us to get some shut eye.” Our lips meet in a gentle kiss. “Good night, Angel.”

Even though he did not say the words, I know he loves me. Still sprawled against him, my eyes drift shut.

Until I am jarred awake by Wills tossing me to the side of the bed. He cries out, his arms and legs thrashing. Not again.

“Wills. Wake up.” I hold my breath. His eyes pop open, darting around the dark room. When they land on me, I say softly, “You had another nightmare.”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Huh? Sorry.” He blinks awake and gets out of bed with sluggish movements. Putting his dress slacks back on, he silently pads out of my bedroom without looking back. The French doors open and shut.

This cannot continue—Wills needs to discuss everything he is carrying inside. Sighing, I understand deep down that am not qualified to help him. I grab a robe and pad onto the patio, taking a seat next to him on the lounger.

“I really think you should talk to a professional about your nightmares. There is nothing wrong with doing that.” When he does not respond, I continue, “I told you I saw someone. I can give you her—.”

“No.” He turns his head away from me. “I’ll be fine. It was all my talking about Three that brought it on.” He runs his fingers through his hair.

Trying to lighten the mood, I play with some of the hair at the bottom of his neck. “You need a haircut.”

His half-smile tells me I have succeeded. If only for tonight. I only wish I could really help him exorcise his demons.

The next time I wake, the sun is up. Birds chirp outside my window. I turn my head on my pillow, but I already know I am alone. Last night, Wills sent me back to bed after I fell asleep outside. At some point, I felt him join me.

The heady scent of a morning brew precedes his re-entering my room. “I made us some coffee.” He places a steaming mug on my side table.

“Merci.” Inhaling the aroma, my blood begins to circulate faster, helping me to throw off the last vestiges of sleep.

Wills sits next to me on the bed. “What would you like to do today?”

I run my eyes up and down his half-naked form.

“Besides that.” He winks.

Smiling at the man I love, I say, “Perhaps I can practice driving? Drive us to Complete for a workout?”

He nods and tips the mug to his lips and swallows. “This is really good coffee, Ems.”

“That is because it is French.”

He nudges me with his shoulder. “I guess everything French tastes that much better.”

“Oui.” I take a sip. “Everything.”

Our interlude is interrupted by my cell phone. Sighing, I tell him it is the Agency right before swiping to answer.

Monsieur Price dives right in. “While you were doing whatever you thought was more important than being photographed with Brandan Rogers last night, Geonna Broz’s name was floated to be the cover model for the Holiday edition of Hit List.”

I suck in my breath. I have been on the cover of that magazine for three years in a row. Only Lizzie has been on it more consecutive times than me. I am set to beat her record this year. Assuming Geonna—

“Be here in an hour and we’ll go over Greta’s new strategy to put you back on top and the teenager in her place.” The call disconnects.

“Looks like my plans just changed.”

A new, very blonde receptionist greets Wills and me as soon as we cross the lobby to the Agency. “Mr. Price is expecting you, Emilie. Follow me.”

Wills places his hand on my shoulder and leans over so as not to be overheard. “Stand up for what you want, okay?”

Inhaling deeply, I nod my head and leave Wills. Time to face the music. A problem I created by defying Monsieur Price yesterday. The receptionist knocks and opens the door to his office, shutting it when I walk in. His imposing figure stands by the windows. “Bonjour.”

He turns and walks up to me, stopping so that he is close. Very close. Too close. His hands grasp me by the shoulders and he kisses both of my cheeks in greeting. Funny—I do not recall him ever doing that before.

I stand straight but still have to tip my head to maintain eye contact. His hands remain on my shoulders. “I just got off a call from your attorney about your contract renewal.” His fingers dig into my flesh but I refuse to slink back.

“Oh.”

He leans forward again, this time putting his mouth close to my ear. My blood accelerates. “Do you want to stay on top?”

Disengage. I need to pull away. Swallowing, I try to lean back but his hold on me becomes more entrenched. The door to his office is closed. On my way here, I did not see many people at their desks outside. If I were to scream, would anyone hear me? Wills is in reception—too far away. I bite my lower lip.

When I do not respond, he says, “I know I like to be on top. In all things.” He laughs and steps away from me, walking to his desk.

Heart racing, I look out at Los Angeles. Rather, I look down on the city, his office is so high. I need to get out of here.

In an imperious voice, he says, “Sit down, Emilie. We have some things to discuss. Like how I built you up, and how easily I could tear you down.”

My stomach contracts. What does he mean? Turning around, he waves a stack of papers. What is that? I take a couple of steps toward his desk, keeping close watch on him.

“I do not understand what you mean.”

“Oh really? Maybe this will help you.” He pushes the pile across his desk.

I close the gap, staring down at the papers. They are photographs. Of me when I was fifteen-years-old. Topless. In all kinds of compromising positions. My mouth drops open as my eyes seek his.

“What a nice photo shoot.” He grabs and stuffs the photos into his middle drawer, which he locks before pocketing the key. Before he removes his hand, he adjusts himself. “Now that I have your attention, this is what we’re going to do.”

I gag, trying to keep my breakfast down.

He laughs, the harsh sound filling the imposing room. “Sit down.”

Without thought, my body does what he commands.

“Let me spell this out for you. I represent you. Hell, I basically own you. If it weren’t for me and what the Agency did for your career throughout the years, you’d be a nobody with her tits—and more—on display in some porno magazine. This Agency discovered you. We made you. Now it’s time for you to pay us back. And you will do what I say.”

My hand flies to my face. What is he saying? “But I thought Wade—”

“Is a fantastic photographer with a stellar reputation. The industry adores him. He is untouchable. However, you…”

Even though I am sitting, a wave of dizziness comes over me when his voice trails off.

“Listen, no one but me need ever see those photos of you.” He waves his hand toward the drawer. “I just need you to follow orders. You’ve been such a good girl for Stacy, going on shoots, never complaining. Never telling her ‘no.’ Although, I have to admit, that did turn me on.”

He adjusts himself again. My eyes stray to the door.

“You’ll leave when I’m finished with you. Now listen to me, Beautiful, you’re never going to say ‘no’ to me again. When I tell you to go on a publicity outing, you go. I know how to steer your career so you remain a hot commodity for as long as possible. That’s all I’ve been trying to do here. And this is the kind of thanks I get—refusals and negotiations.”

“All I want is for you to succeed. When you succeed, I succeed. It’s a win-win. Now, I can squash that little Geonna like a bug.” He drums on the top of his desk. “Or, maybe, I could bring her onboard the Agency once her contract with the television show runs out. I bet she wouldn’t have any attorney make such imprudent demands as yours did.” His fingers drum on the desk. “Dropping Greta’s PR firm for a puny startup? Really?”

He stands and circles the desk, resting his butt on it while looking down on me. “You want more control over your schedule? Sure thing, Beautiful. If that’s what it’ll take for me,” he leans down, his arms landing on the arms of my chair, “to bring you to heel, then I’m all for it.”

I try to remain still but lose my willpower and squirm backward. A helpless squeak comes out of my mouth.

His hand cups my cheek and my breathing seizes. “Such flawless skin. It’s no wonder the photographers love my pliant beauty.” His index finger cuts across my bottom lip.

I need to get out. Get to Wills. When the stench of onions from his lunch lands in my nose, my hands fly to the armrests.

“But you want to stay the industry’s top model, don’t you? That’s what you’ve always wanted. And I’m here making sure you stay there. So do as I say and we’ll both be happy. Here’s what I need you to do for me.”

He spends the next half-hour telling me about all my new publicity dates, with something scheduled for every single day. I do have Thursday off for the movie shoot, after which I am expected to go to some party to celebrate my little cameo. Throughout, he takes sick joy in reminding me that he has all the photos taken of me when I was a teenager. About how I would not want them to become public.

How if they do become public, I would be even more in demand with certain venues. But the big houses would drop me like a rotten potato. Wade, of course, would never be touched by any scandal.

“Do you have any questions for me, Beautiful?”

How can you do this to me? How many other models do you treat like this? I cannot form a coherent question and shake my head.

“Believe me, I don’t like having to do this. So let’s just keep this between us. I know you’ll do the right thing in order to keep your place in the industry. You’re a smart girl.” He reaches out to shake my hand.

I cannot touch him or agree to what he just did. I slip my hand under my thigh, which only causes him to smirk.

“God, had I known you had some fire behind that sweet act you put on, I would’ve personally taken you under my wing ages ago.”

My heart is beating so fast that I give in to my need to flee his office. Without saying anything, I grab the straps of my purse and bolt to the door, desperate to leave this awful man behind. I turn the lever and escape.

Running down the empty hallway, I duck into the ladies’ room. If I want those photos to remain buried, I need to get myself under control. I brought this on myself by going to Wade’s flat so many years ago. Feelings of shame and embarrassment bubble over and replace the shock of how I have been backed into a corner.

Gulping enough air to slow my heartrate, I walk over to the sink and splash cold water on my face. The woman peering at me from the mirror is pale, but otherwise looks just like me. Even though I feel so far away from my true self in this moment.

I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes to erase what happened back in that office. So long as I do what he says, I will keep my career going and the photos will stay buried. No one else need know of this.

Not even Wills.

I push my shoulders back. This is who I am. It has to be.