Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
After a few more poses, Duncan emerges from behind the lens with a happy sound. “Flawless. You’re slaying this already. As far as I’m concerned, you can relax and have fun. You’ve already got the album cover. Everything else is gravy.”
“Really?” I let out a relieved breath, arms flopping to my sides as Jan and Janie swoop in with their makeup brushes.
“Really,” Duncan assures me as he adjusts the settings on his camera. “I wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass.”
“He wouldn’t,” Janie seconds with a wink. “I’ve worked with him for years. Getting the shot comes first; your feelings come second. Or never, depending on how badly things are going.”
“Good,” I say, grinning as I meet Blue’s gaze over her shoulder.
He stands at the edge of the chaos, ready with my emergency bag of water, snacks, baby wipes, towels, and extra boob tape. My breasts are somehow even larger than when I bought my outfits and will require careful wrangling to keep the shots decent enough for public consumption.
But after we’re done tonight?
Well, I plan on getting indecent with my sexy boyfriend as soon as possible.
Damn, he looks good tonight, in jeans and a white button-up, watching me with a quiet pride that makes me feel warm all over.
I’ve never had a man look at me like this, support me like this.
Blue makes hard things easier and easy things like this so much more fun. I’ve always performed well at photo shoots—a combination of knowing my angles and loads of experience. Since our band signed with the record company when I was nineteen, I’ve probably done a hundred of these, but I already know this one is going to be my favorite.
Because this one’s all mine.
And because of Blue and the quiet certainty, deep in my bones, that things are only getting better from here on out.
It’s just a perfect night, like Mother Earth herself is on my side.
The light is perfect, the garden is in peak fall bloom, and every location we try is more gorgeous than the last. Once I’m in my second look—a cream silk dress that’s splits in the middle, leaving my entire belly bare—we move to the sunflower patch, then to the only slightly wilted rose garden, where I drape myself over the edge of the weathered marble fountain, and Duncan goes crazy. He ends up on the ground beside me, shooting up toward the pink-streaked sky, and I can practically taste how good the shots are going to be.
By the time we finish, magic hour is almost over, but I have one last look, and Duncan has ideas about the lily pad pond.
Ideas that sound like a hell of a lot of fun…
Jan and Janie work like madwomen on my makeup, while Blue sprints back to the “bride’s room” I rented to use as a changing room to fetch my last dress. There’s no time for me to get there and back myself, not before we run out of light. But my man is as swift as he is sexy. He’s back in minutes, just as Janie and Jan apply the finishing touches to my smoky eye.
Then, everyone turns their backs while I strip down in the middle of the Botanical Garden, grinning the entire time.
Nineteen-year-old me would have been scandalized. Twenty-nine-year-old me doesn’t give a shit. She loves her body and her art too much to feel embarrassed about either. She’s happy. Free. And in love.
It’s only been two days, but I already know this is it.
This is my forever love, my forever man. The way Archer looks at me as I wade into the lily pond in my ball gown makes me feel invincible. Like the goddess of strong mamas and shameless women who refuse to compromise or shrink themselves to be what small-minded people want them to be.
I will be what my spirit demands I be, and if other people don’t like it?
Well, they can take several steps back, have a seat, and fuck all the way off.
Power swells inside me, and I swear, somewhere between the water’s edge and the middle of the pond, my ancestors join the shoot. As I slide onto my back, belly jutting up through the lily pads, staring daggers into the lens, I’m not just Beatrice. I’m every woman whose sacred act of creation was trivialized, whose pain was ignored, whose magic was mocked and minimized so the men in charge wouldn’t be intimidated by just how powerful “the weaker sex” actually is.
Weaker, my ass.
There’s nothing “weak” about being a woman or a mother.
I am a primal force clawing my way out of the earth, refusing to stay buried. I am Woman, dirt under her nails and fire in her veins. As I rise from the water, arms spread, hair dripping, the last of the red sun sinking behind me, a smile hooks the corners of my mouth, and I realize Checkers was right.