Page 50 of Dirty Shots

But none of these preparations changed how she felt. She was sick with nerves. Her stomach was twisted into a knot, her throat almost closed over. Shifting from foot to foot, she fiddled with the strap on her purse and chewed her lower lip until she tasted blood. She couldn’t believe she was about to have this conversation with her folks. She dreaded their reaction, certain she already knew what it would be.

Perhaps their reaction won’t be as bad as you’re imagining? Perhaps ... But she doubted it.

A car slowed and began to pull over. With relief, she saw Eric’s big Lexus. He pulled over, and she hopped in the passenger side, enjoying sliding into the soft leather seat.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the mouth. “How are you doing?”

“Terribly,” she said. “But better now I’m with you.” And it was true. Being in Eric’s solid presence made her feel like she could breathe for the first time that day. All day, she’d been running over the imminent conversation with her parents in her head, and she started to worry that the photographs were trivial, just two people playing at sexy art. But now Eric was here, knowing how seriously he took his work, it didn’t seem that way anymore. He gave the project an authenticity that would be missing if he weren’t involved. She just hoped her folks would see it in the same way.

Eric pulled the car back out into the traffic.

“You’re nervous, huh?” he asked her, throwing a glance in her direction.

“That obvious?”

“Your knee is jumping up and down, and you haven’t stopped chewing your lip.”

She realized she still was and pressed her now sore lips together, forcing herself to stop.

“I feel sick at the thought of telling them. I don’t know how I’m even going to get my mouth to work when I’m actually sitting in front of them.”

He reached out and placed a hand over hers. “Would it be easier if I tell them?”

She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but this really has to come from me.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

She smiled, but it felt weak. “Thank you.”

The closer they got to the restaurant her parents had booked, the more her nerves ratcheted up. She felt like a tightly strung bow that was close to snapping. Her palms were soaked, and she was sure dark spots probably marked the underarms of her jacket. She hated feeling this way, especially next to Eric when she’d worked so hard to portray herself as a sophisticated woman. She felt like she was about to undo all her good work in one evening.

And what about all the years of good work you’ve done with your parents? Aren’t you about to undo twenty-two years of love and respect with them?

She didn’t want to listen. She had to believe she had no choice in the matter. If she wanted to be able to decide her own future, her parents would need to know.

Eric pulled the car up outside the restaurant and handed the keys to the valet. Anya stepped out of her side of the car and walked around to join Eric. He took hold of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“And you look beautiful, by the way.” He reached out and twisted a lock of hair that she’d deliberately left free from her chignon. The back of his finger brushed her cheek as he did so, and shivers coursed down her body. “Absolutely stunning.”

She only just noticed how smartly dressed he was himself, wearing a dark gray suit which complimented her own outfit. That he’d made an effort to meet her parents pleased her. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He smiled. “Why, is that a compliment, Miss Rhinne?”

She couldn’t help herself. Even under the circumstances, he still managed to make her smile. “Why, yes, it is, Mr. Rutherford.”

They grinned at each other, and then Anya glanced back toward the restaurant door, once again remembering the reason they were there. Eric leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“It will be fine. Try not to worry.”

She wished she could share some of his optimism.

She took a deep breath, and hand in hand, they entered the restaurant. The hostess met them, a young woman wearing too much makeup and a fake smile. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“We’re joining another couple,” said Eric. “The name’s Bergman.”

She glanced over to the restaurant. “Ah, yes. They’re already here. Follow me, please.”

With her heart in her throat, Anya followed the hostess’s line of sight. Sure enough, her parents sat at a round table which was covered in a starched white cloth and expensive silverware and glasses. Her mother had already noticed her and was rising slightly from the table as she waved with one hand and nudged her father, who was immersed in the menu, with the other.

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