“You want me to meet your brother? Sure.”
I realize that Vicente must think I’m using Ben as a buffer, but I’m not. There’s no need for that, especially as I’m going up to his hotel room right now.
Once I’m in the hotel and we’re going up the gilded elevator, I’m nervous again. I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror as we stepped inside and it’s burned into my brain. My face staring back at me, white and clear. Not quite fearful, just…alive.
“Here we are,” Vicente says as we stop outside his room. He swipes the keycard and holds the door open for me.
It’s like stepping into someone’s apartment. I’ve been in houses smaller than this suite.
There’s a huge marble kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a dining room, living area, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. While I wander about taking it all in (how the hell does he afford this?), Vicente pops open the champagne. He wasn’t kidding about that either.
The most stunning thing about the whole suite is the floor-to-ceiling windows with the city and bay laid out at their feet. The fog is lighter today, and we’re mostly below it, giving us a full view.
I could study it for hours. In fact, I barely notice that I’ve perched on the edge of a plush armchair, one hand against the glass, both afraid to get closer and wanting to feel more.
Vicente stands beside me. “Quite the view,” he says.
But when I manage to tear my eyes away, he’s staring at me, holding out a glass of champagne.
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking a small sip. It’s hard not to chug the whole thing, but as much as I want to relax I also feel like I should stay on my toes.
“Do you mind if I ask you a favor?” he says as he walks back to the kitchen to grab the champagne bottle.
“No,” I tell him, my heart thudding loudly in my ears.
He brings the champagne over to me and sets it at my feet. “Do you mind if I take your picture?”
I frown. “Like, now?”
“Yes. Now. Just…like this.” He waves his hand in the air, gesturing to me, to the city. “But without the jacket. I want to see your tattoos.”
My throat feels thick. I try to swallow another sip of champagne. “Why?” I manage to say.
“Because you inspire me,” he says before turning around and going through his camera bag on the coffee table. I watch as he pulls out a brand-new Nikon, the kind of camera I’ve been saving up for.
He notices my envious gaze because he raises it up. “Tell you what. You let me take your pictures, you keep the pictures and the camera.”
“What?” Now I’m doubly confused.
“It’s only fair,” he says, flicking it on and going through the settings.
I chew on my lip for a moment before guzzling back half the glass of champagne. “But why do you want to take my picture if you’re going to give the pictures to me anyway?”
“Because I want to show you what I see. You said that’s why you love photography, because you can expose the light in all the darkness. I want to do that with you. I want you to see the beauty that you can’t. See what you look like through my eyes.”
Damn Vicente. Just, damn.
I don’t even know what to say. This man is getting under my skin like no one has before. So I grab the champagne and pour another glass because I think I’m going to need it.
“I don’t need the camera,” I say softly, the bubbles from the glass tickling my nose.
“It’s yours, whether you take it or not,” he says, walking over to the light dimmer switch so the room is filled with a soft rose glow that seems to stretch out into the endless grey of the city.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just take off your jacket,” he says, coming closer. “Or I can take it off for you…”
“I can manage.” I put down the glass of champagne and slip my jacket off, tossing it onto the chair cushion behind me.
He makes a sound of disappointment as his eyes rake over me.
“What?” I ask.
He’s shaking his head slightly. “You had to wear a dress that covers everything.”
“We’re going to a fancy restaurant,” I explain. “I didn’t want my tattoos to be on display. Not that I have many on my arms.”
He’s watching me carefully, his eyes gleaming dark in the low light. He lifts the camera up to his face, and suddenly I feel his gaze magnified through the lens.
But he doesn’t take a picture. There’s no click. He’s just observing, bringing the focus in and out, the lens in and out.
Oh god. I’ve never felt so on display before and I’m fully-clothed. I feel like he’s reading me, sorting through the layers, trying to reach the bottom. He doesn’t realize he won’t like what he finds.
I let out a shaky breath and bring my attention back to the cityscape outside the large windows, trying to relax. “Is this all you want me to do? Just sit here?”
He doesn’t answer me at first, just keeps watching. Like he’s waiting for something and I don’t know what it is.
“How do you feel?” he asks. “Right now.”
“Right now?” I repeat. My veins feel hot, warming my body from the inside. My cheeks have to be flushed red. “I feel…stupid.”
“And?”
“And? Well, I don’t know. I want to finish the champagne.”