Page 1 of The Pact

1

THEA

I’ve always been able to find beauty in the darkest places and one day it might ruin me.

“Arch your back.” I stare at the woman on the bed in front of me, dressed in a white lacy bra and panty set. “A little more,” I coach gently. The shadows hug the dips in her stomach and the light hits the peaks of her breasts. “Good. Now spread your legs.”

I love my job.

“Wow. You’re absolutely beautiful!” The woman smiles, unable to help herself at the compliment. “You’re doing so good.” My mind wanders. Thinking about the other lingerie she brought along with her. I’d love to get her in the red one piece with the matching heels.

The clicking from my camera comes quickly, afraid I’ll miss the perfect shot. And then I find it. I get on my knees and aim the lens at her, appreciating the way all the elements have aligned to give me the dramatic effect I’ve been searching for.

“That’s it for this look,” I tell her. “Go get some water and a snack. We’ll change into your last outfit and take some bathtub shots.”

Grace unfolds herself from the pose I have her in. “Thank you, Thea.” I see a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there when she first walked into my studio. She was nervous and pointed out all the things she didn’t like about herself.

“You're exquisite. There's nothing about you that isn’t beautiful. And I want you to own that,” I told her before we started.

It’s true.

Where she sees flaws, I see a story. The story of falling in love with her husband and having three babies. I see a life of laughter and joy on her face. A powerful body that pushes through this world of harshness and hate, still standing here and brave enough to be vulnerable with me.

“Are you giving this as a gift?” I ask Grace at the end of our session as I walk her out to the waiting area. It’s a question I ask every client.

Half the time I’ll get a yes and I know undoubtedly that if their partner isn’t expecting it, it could be the end of their relationship. It seems far-fetched, yet more times than I’d care to count, I’d get a call later on with a story about how the photoshoot led to a divorce. At first, I was heartbroken to hear that. Then, they’d reassure me they were happier than ever.

While I was thrilled to hear that, I never wanted to be a part of that catalyst.

She grins like she's about to share a secret with me. “No. This was for me. I needed this.”

This is my favorite answer.

I check my phone—it’s nearly eleven. I’m supposed to meet Cassie for coffee soon. The DMV closes at four. I might make it after, but the thought makes me groan.

I’ve been putting off getting the address on my license changed for weeks. And I’ll be putting it off again today. No sense in ruining a good day with a trip to hell.

My feet hit the worn brick pavement in front of my studio—a white standalone building with black scrolling letters on a sign above the doors. Willow Hill Photography Studio.

My heart still skips a beat when I read it. Mine and Cassie’s dream come true.

We’ve only been open for a month, but it took a year to get here. I give most of the credit to my best friend, though. Without her, I’m not sure I would have made it through the breakup or the move.

I still remember the night I called Cassie and told her what Gavin had done. In her silence, I could feel her anger for me. Instead of letting me wallow, she came up with a plan.

She helped me arrange for all of my things to be packed up temporarily and sent to my parent’s house. For five months, I saved every penny. I took the time to heal as much as I could. And I went back and forth, deciding if starting a business with Cassie was the next step.

Four months ago, right before my thirty-third birthday, I got a call from her about a property ready to be leased. Months and months of indecisiveness went out the window—I told her yes before she finished telling me all the details.

It felt right. And the next thirty days were a whirlwind.

I quit my job. My parents begged me to stay and reconsider, although I’m not sure why. They complained daily about how I was living at home in my thirties and didn’t have my life together. Their protests didn’t stop me from loading up my truck.

Surprisingly, small town life suited me. Growing up just outside of Atlanta conditioned me to heavy traffic, crowds, constant noise, and concrete. It felt natural. Until I moved here and finally stopped moving so fast.

I feel at peace in Willow Hill.

There are disadvantages to living here, of course. No late night food runs or twenty-four-hour stores. And everyone knows your business. But three months in and I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

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