Page 51 of Dirty Shots

Her father’s blond hair had lightened to white, and while it was receding from the temples, he still had a mostly full head of hair. His strong jaw, light blue eyes, and six feet two build meant Trent Bergman was still a handsome man, even in his fifties. Her mother was more like her, small and curvy. Unlike her father, she dyed her hair, but the blonde appeared natural, and was pulled into a style similar to the one Anya wore now. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her daughter, and the twisting in Anya’s gut returned. She hated that she was about to make the light in her eyes go out.

Inquisitive, her mother’s gaze flicked to the man at Anya’s side. She smiled charmingly and rose fully from the table. Her father had finally torn himself from the menu and also began to get to his feet.

“Anya, honey,” Saara Bergman said, pushing her chair back to move from the table, enveloping Anya in her arms. She hugged her hard, and Anya had to blink to prevent sudden tears springing to her eyes.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s so lovely to see you. You’re looking fabulous.” Her gaze went to Eric. “And who is this equally fabulous man you’ve brought with you?”

Her father was staring at Eric. He lifted a finger and wagged it in Eric’s direction. “I know you, don’t I?”

Her mother frowned. “Now you say that, you do look familiar.”

Anya took a deep breath and plunged in. “This is Eric Rutherford, the photographer.”

A wide smile beamed from her mother’s face. “Of course, Mr. Rutherford! We’re both big fans. I’m so sorry we didn’t recognize you right away.”

“It’s Eric, please.”

“I’m Saara, and this is Trent.”

He gave an equally charming smile. “Yes, I know. Anya has already told me. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

She could see her parents trying to figure out the significance of Eric Rutherford accompanying her to this meal. Her mother glanced down at their joined hands and blinked in surprise. Perhaps she’d thought he was there as a kind of mentor.

Strangely, I suppose he is.

Her father reached across the table and shook Eric’s hand. “Good to have you here, Eric. Unexpected, but good nevertheless.” He turned his attention to Anya. “And how are you getting on, Anya?”

That was her father, short on the affection. He always had been, though she didn’t doubt he loved her. Her mother had always done her best to compensate for the way her father was, but that hadn’t changed the fact Anya never really knew what it was like to have her dad hug her and tell her how much he cared.

“Good,” she said. “Great, in fact.”

“That’s wonderful. I guess this calls for some champagne.”

He raised his hand to get the attention of the waiter and ordered an expensive bottle. Eric offered to pay, but her father waved him down. “It’s our treat.”

“So, Anya,” her mother said, after the champagne had arrived and been poured into flute glasses for them all, “is Eric the thing you wanted to talk to us about?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, it is. I wanted you to meet him. Eric and I are together now.”

“How long has that been going on?” her father said, his tone short.

“Nothing’s going on, Dad,” she said, irritated that her father couldn’t be happy for her for once. She hadn’t even told him the bad news yet. “We’re both adults, who have the same interests, and who enjoy each other’s company.” She picked up her glass, as if to make her point, and took an angry swig of the cold bubbles.

“So how did you two meet?” asked Saara, trying to keep the conversation bright, while completely unaware she was leading the questions that would most likely break up the party.

“We met at work,” Anya said, trying to put things in the best light.

“You’re doing photography now, Anya?” her father asked, his blue eyes focused on her with his intense, bright gaze.

“It’s certainly something I’m interested in,” she said, not really answering the question.

The waiter arrived back, hovering to take their orders. Still feeling as though she’d struggle to stomach anything at all, Anya ordered the lightest thing she could find on the menu—a salad of chorizo, spinach, red onion, and new potatoes. Eric ordered the steak. She wondered if they’d get a chance to eat their meals.

“Actually,” Eric spoke up, surprising her. She’d told him to leave this to her. “Anya has been working for me on the other side of the camera.”

She wanted to hit him. She’d wanted to do this in her own time, and he was forcing the conversation his way.

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