Chapter 12

Heidi

If only Charles could see me now…

I was wearing the sexiest lingerie known to man: a push-up bra that made my Bs look like Ds and a perfectly crafted thong that made my pert ass jut out even more than usual. I’d grinned at myself in the bathroom for a good three minutes before I’d made it out here on set in the store itself.

I pretended he was the one behind the camera. I pursed my lips and shoved out the lower one. I widened my eyes ever so slightly in an innocent expression, then narrowed them in a dirty one.

All the while, the commentary of the tall British photographer egged Liza and I on.

“Hands on your hips, left hip out. Blonde, throw your arm around brunette.”

I blinked back my oncoming glare. Maybe it was because our photographer, Hugh, was both posh and oddly good looking, but he seemed to think he didn’t have to take the time to refer to us by our actual names. It was annoying, but Liza and I were getting a big fat paycheck for this, so we kept our mouths shut.

After we held his ordered pose for what felt like an eternity, Hugh clapped his hands. Thank goodness. His rapping, single handclap was his memo for us to separate.

“Heads together now,” Hugh ordered. “Brunette, can you look like you’re into this, please?”

Once again, several slow blinks stopped my glare. How was I supposed to be into this when all I could think about was last night and how badly it had ended? Charles had gotten a strange call and then left without telling me what in the hell was up. And today, over twelve hours later, he still hadn’t contacted me.

The worst part was, as Charles was leaving, how he’d looked at me, almost as though he felt sorry for me, sickeningly enough. That was the last thing in the world I wanted him to feel around me: pity for the poor American model who was in way over her head with the prince who was already tiring of her. Just great.

“All right.” Hugh clapped his hands again. “That’s enough for today. You two ladies need to get some sleep.”

Liza and I left with wane smiles and half-hearted waves. As soon as I was out of his line of sight and in the safe hallway outside, I let out a big sigh of relief. Some workdays, the best part was it ending.

Photographers like hot, posh Brit back there came with the territory. Being a model meant you got to deal with a lot of challenging personalities, whether it was other diva models, anal photographers, or even militant agents. One thing I’d learned in this business was that when people got a bit more power than they were used to, they often became simpering incompetents or demanding dictators.

At this point, I wasn’t sure which type of photographers I detested more—megalomaniac jerks like Hugh or the pervy ones who had us models contort into such bizarre poses while wearing such flimsy attire that I got the distinct impression the only thing their camera was angling for was a nip slip.

“Check this out,” Liza said, gesturing me over to a small room set into the hallway I hadn’t noticed. “There’s a little DJ cubby. When I got here early, the DJ, Arturo, showed me and said we could hang out here.”

One wall was entirely crammed with what looked to be professional DJ music equipment and stereo speakers. In the corner, there were two fluffy seats, so I settled down on one’s white fur. Liza sat down beside me, and we waited.

I wasn’t really sure what we were waiting for, except that she looked to be as slightly frazzled as I was. Not from the stupid shoot, though. She’d come in looking that way.

“I think Henry’s tired of me.”

Her admission filled the small room.

“I think Charles is tired of me too,” I confessed.

After all, what other conclusion was I supposed to draw by the awkward way he’d disengaged himself last night? Maybe he just hadn’t been feeling it with me and had jumped at the first excuse he’d had.

“What makes you say that, though?” I asked her, eager to fixate on something other than my own seemingly all-encompassing issue.

“I saw him every night after Friday except for last night,” she said, nibbling on her thumbnail. “And he hasn’t called since.”

I batted her thumb away, and she withdrew it, glaring but saying nothing. She knew an unexpectedly nibbled-down nail was sometimes enough to set off an already on-edge photographer, despite the fact that it could be easily photoshopped away these days.

“Could Henry have just been busy with royal duties?” I attempted.

She snorted.

“Come on,” she said. “We both know his reputation and how much stock he puts in royal duties.”

I nodded, taking her now restless hand and squeezing it.

“Whatever happens, you know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, girl,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder.

My gaze went around the darkened, equipment-filled room dully. It seemed there were cords everywhere. Cords to and from other places, cords doubling back on themselves, cords all knotted up and tangled with other cords. Wasn’t that what the truth was for my Charles situation? Was it not some knotted truths that were all tangled up with other truths, none of which I really liked? Or was it just simple and straightforward? Had I guessed it already—that he was just plain bored of me—but was denying it to myself?

“What will you and Charles do?” Liza asked in a more hopeful tone of voice.

I shook my head.

“He just left last night during dinner without even telling me why. He got this call and then he apologized and left. Maybe that’s it for us.”

What followed was a span of silence during which everything was still. It was dark in this room, and in our exhaustion and despondency, we hadn’t even bothered to turn the light on. In the darkness was calm. My attention focused on the little blinking red light on some receiver or whatever it was that was ahead of us. It was nice, focusing on that instead. I kept my gaze trained in its pointless position so I wouldn’t have to think about the Charles situation.

But then Liza said, “Maybe that’s it,” and that finished things.