Chapter 30: Twisted Lies: Chapter 30

I woke up the next morning to rumpled sheets and a stomach full of butterflies, partly because of the shoot and partly because of the faint leather and spice scent in the air.

Christian was gone, but tiny prickles of heat consumed my skin at the sight of the rumpled sheets on his side of the bed.

I knew the villa had one bedroom. The front desk assistant told us so when he’d upgraded us. But the thought of sharing such an intimate space with Christian, even if I’d been passed out for all of it, electrified me in a way it hadn’t the first night we’d shared a bed.

I shared beds with my friends all the time when we traveled together.

wasn’t a big deal, so this shouldn’t be either.

Of course, I didn’t want to have sex with my friends, but that was a minor distinction.

I forced my eyes away from the bed and got ready.

Since Delamonte would be providing the clothes and makeup on set, it didn’t take me long to throw on a simple linen dress and tame my hair into something manageable.

When I stepped into the living room, I saw Christian working on the lanai, looking far too stressed for his first morning in Hawaii.

“Good morning.” I stopped next to his table. An empty coffee cup and a half-eaten slice of toast sat next to his laptop along with a a completed crossword puzzle. “You’re up early.”

“I’m working on East Coast time.” He lifted his head, his brow smoothing when he saw me. “Are you ready for the shoot?”

“Yes.”

My uncertainty must’ve bled through because his face softened further. “You’ll do great.”

“Thanks.” I twisted my ring around my finger before his words sank in.

“Are you not coming with me?”

“Not today. A work emergency came up.”

“Oh.” Disappointment bloomed in my stomach until I crushed it. Obviously, he wasn’t going to stand around and watch me get my photos taken the entire trip. He had better things to do. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Christian nodded at the room service menu on the table. “Do you want something to eat beforehand? I can call the kitchen.”

“No, I’m already running late.” I also might throw up if I ate anything before the shoot, but I kept that to myself. “I guess, um, I’ll see you later.”

I left, feeling oddly like I was saying goodbye to my boyfriend before a long trip apart. Which was ridiculous, because he my boyfriend, and our hotel was only a fifteen-minute walk from the set.

When I arrived, I didn’t recognize anyone except the photographer Ricardo and Delamonte’s fashion director Emmanuelle, who greeted me with a flurry of cheek kisses.

“Stella! How was your flight? You look lovely. We are so excited for the shoot…let’s get you into hair and makeup though, yes? We’re a behind…”

The ensuing whirlwind of activity was so chaotic it drove all thoughts of Christian out of my head. They shuffled me from hair and makeup to my fitting to my test shots, and by the time the real photoshoot was ready to begin, I couldn’t focus on anything except not screwing up so badly that Delamonte fired me on the spot.

We were shooting a different line every day—resort wear today, shoes and accessories tomorrow, and jewelry the day after that.

I was grateful for the breezy silhouettes because if I had to squeeze myself into anything more fitted, I might pass out right there on the beach.

“Angle your head toward the sun…yes, just like that!” Ricardo shouted. “Perfect!”

Maybe it was the sun and sea breeze or my high from being in Hawaii for the first time. Or maybe it was because I’d shot with Ricardo before and was more comfortable working with him.

Whatever it was, it melted my nerves until I finally relaxed enough to push the ugly, self-doubting voices out of my head.

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, I turned and posed at Ricardo’s direction. We stopped every now and then for an outfit change, but otherwise, the shoot was seamless.

Emmanuelle was ecstatic.

“You’re doing wonderful!” she gushed during one of our breaks. “Wait till I show Luisa the proofs. She’ll be …”

I smiled and nodded, but my eyes were busy searching the beach for a flash of dark hair and tanned skin.

Nothing.

Christian had said he couldn’t make it, but I’d hoped…

I’d see him later. We were sharing a room, for Pete’s sake, and while I wanted him here, I didn’t him here.

I could do this on my own.

The realization struck me right as Emmanuelle finished talking.

“Don’t you agree?” she stared at me expectantly.

“Yes.” I had no idea what she talking about. “You’re right.”

“

! Plaids for fall are overdone. I’m thinking brushed knitwear…”

.

I repeated the words in my head.

I’d spent years building my brand by myself, but ever since the Delamonte deal and my stalker’s reappearance, I’d been off balance. Unsure of myself.

I’d relied on Christian for confidence and a small part of me was convinced I would’ve bombed the New York shoot if it hadn’t been for him.

But I’d completed the shoot this morning by myself, and I’d done a damn good job.

A smile bloomed on my lips.

“Stella, we need you back here!” Ricardo called from his position near the water. “Are you ready?”

I was still wearing my smile when I returned to my designated spot, my steps lighter than they’d been all day.

“I’m ready.”

Work kept me preoccupied for most of the Hawaii trip. As much as I wanted to accompany Stella to her photoshoots, I had contracts to negotiate, virtual meetings to attend, and a fucking traitor to catch.

But when our last day on the island dawned, I couldn’t stay away any longer. I rescheduled my meetings and took the hotel’s boat to the Nā Pali Coast, where her last shoot was taking place.

The silky white sand shifted beneath my bare feet as I walked toward the private beach where Delamonte had set up camp.

I’d visited hundreds of locations over the years, but the rugged coastline remained one of the most stunning places I’d ever seen.

Dramatic emerald cliffs towered thousands of feet above the Pacific, their steep ridges and narrow valleys curling around pristine beaches at their feet in a protective embrace. White-plumed waterfalls cascaded past sea caves carved into the cliffs, their soft roar mingling with the lap of waves against sandy shores.

The coast was a work of art forged by nature’s most talented artisans, the closest to Shangri-La in the modern world, but it wasn’t the most beautiful thing present.

Not by a long shot.

I stopped at the edge of the set.

Stella stood in the shallows, her arms covering her bare chest and her curls a wild cloud around her face. Her simple white bikini bottom offset the extravagant emerald necklace around her neck.

She was too focused on the camera to notice me yet, so I soaked her in at my leisure.

The late afternoon sun gilded her skin and formed a halo around her gentle curves. Her face appeared almost naked of adornment. No obvious makeup, just huge green eyes, lush lips, and skin that had deepened into a warm brown after days in the sun.

She looked like Venus emerging from the deep blue sea, only a thousand times more spectacular.

My heart slowed to match the sensual ebb and flow of the water as she turned and posed according to the photographer’s instructions.

Unlike at the first photoshoot, she appeared at ease here, with the wind rustling her hair and the waves lapping at her thighs.

A goddess in her natural element.

“And that’s a wrap!” Ricardo shouted after a short while. “You are , darling. Absolute perfection.”

Stella responded with a shy smile. She dropped her arms an inch—not low enough to bare herself to the crew, but enough that the swells of her breasts peeked over her embrace.

A lethal spike of possessiveness surged through my blood.

I allowed my eyes to linger on her for a second longer before I dragged them away to assess Ricardo with a cold stare.

Half-naked models were de rigueur in the fashion world, but that didn’t stop me from suddenly wanting to gouge out the eyes of the only male member of the crew—one who was staring a bit too appreciatively at Stella.

Ricardo Frenelli, age forty-six, twice divorced with one daughter who had a bad cocaine habit, employed at Delamonte for the past eight years. Well-respected in the fashion industry, but he had a secret gambling problem and owed a shit ton of money to people you didn’t want to owe a penny to.

I’d done my research after the first photoshoot.

“Mr. Harper!” Emmanuelle finally noticed me.

Her greeting attracted the attention of everyone on the beach, including Ricardo, whose head whipped around to me. His tan blanched white at my smile.

People scared so easily these days.

A flutter of movement shifted my attention back to the ocean. Stella hadn’t moved from her spot in the water, but she’d turned to face me. Surprise, pleasure, and a hint of something unidentifiable passed through her eyes when they caught mine.

My ire toward Ricardo fell to the wayside, drowned out by the electric hum in the air.

I’ve met plenty of beautiful women in my life. Women with perfect hair, perfect skin, and perfect bodies. Supermodels and movie stars and heiresses molded by the best money could buy.

None of them held a candle to Stella. She glowed in a way that had nothing to do with her outer beauty.

Darkness was always drawn to light, but I wasn’t just drawn to her; I was fucking obsessed. I would throw myself into her flame and let it burn me alive if it meant her warmth was the last thing I felt before I died.

Her lips parted on a sharp exhale, like the force of my need was so great it pulled a physical reaction out of her.

“…didn’t realize you were coming.” Emmanuelle’s sycophantic voice buzzed like an irritating gnat in my ear. “You should’ve told us. We would’ve—”

“Leave.” I didn’t take my eyes off Stella, who stood so still she resembled a carved statue in the ocean.

Emmanuelle faltered. “Excuse me?”

“You and your crew have five minutes to vacate this beach. I’ll take Stella back in my boat.”

I’d chartered a private boat from the hotel and anchored it further down the beach, not far from Delamonte’s own charter.

Emmanuelle’s cheeks flushed crimson. I wasn’t her boss, but like most people, she was susceptible to authority no matter what form it came in. Still, she put up a last-ditch effort to stand her ground.

“We can’t pack that fast.” Nervousness diluted the impact of her protest. “We also need to clean and store the necklace first. It’s worth over seventy thou—”

“Bill it to me.”

I couldn’t give less fucks about how much the necklace cost. I wanted everyone except Stella gone.

When the director didn’t move, I raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself?” I asked pleasantly. I checked my watch. “Four minutes, Ms. Lange.”

She finally picked up on the veiled warning in my tone and scurried off.

Two minutes later, the crew was gone, leaving nothing but footprints behind.

“Should I be worried?” The wind carried Stella’s sweet, teasing voice to my ears. She was still in the ocean, but the crew’s departure had broken the spell keeping her quiet. “You’re not planning on murdering me here now that you’ve scared off the crew, are you?”

“They were annoying me.” I walked closer to the shore until I reached the natural border demarcating dry sand from its damp, wave-tossed brethren. “And I didn’t scare them off. I merely requested they leave.”

“What would you have done if they hadn’t complied?”

A strong breeze whipped a curl across her face. She brushed it away with one hand while keeping her other arm over her chest.

She looked different here. Without the nearby threat of the stalker hanging over her head and the proximity of her family dragging her down, she was brighter, more carefree, with a playful sparkle in her eyes that outshone the emeralds around her neck.

“I would’ve let it go like the gentleman I am.” A smile worked its way onto my mouth at the way her brows formed twin arches of skepticism.

“You said you weren’t a gentleman.”

“I didn’t. You did.”

“And I was right.”

My smile morphed into a soft laugh that promised all sorts of ways I could further prove her right.

“Come here, Stella.”