Page 52 of Dirty Shots

Saara brightened once again. “Really? You’ve been modeling for some of Eric’s portrait work? How wonderful. You know, Anya, I always told you how beautiful you were, even though you would never believe me.” She turned to Eric. “Can you believe she’d never accept how beautiful she is?”

Eric smiled and looked over to make eye contact with Anya. “I’ve told her every day since we met.”

Her cheeks heated, and even her mother was beginning to look flustered. Her father, however, went completely unmoved.

All eyes were focused on her. She felt herself shrink beneath their gaze, her face growing hotter and hotter. She couldn’t bring her mouth to open and describe to her parents here in this fancy restaurant exactly what type of portrait photography she’d been posing for.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. “Bathroom.”

She hurried from the table, doing her best not to break into a run. Without looking back, she scanned the room for the signs for the bathroom and raced toward it, almost knocking a huge silver platter of food from a waiter’s hands.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, still rushing. She burst into the thankfully empty bathroom and stood at the bank of sinks, her heart racing.

I can’t do this.

She’d let them find out on their own, by attending the exhibition, or perhaps reading reports of it afterward. There was no way she could open her mouth and tell her parents she’d been posing for erotic photo shoots.

The bathroom door opened, making Anya jump. Her mother walked in, a concerned expression on her face.

“Anya, honey. What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together, sudden tears threatening once again. She couldn’t stand for her mother to be nice to her when she was about to let her down so badly. “Nothing,” she said. “Everything is fine.”

“Don’t give me that. I gave birth to you and raised you. Don’t you think I’d know right away when something was wrong with my little girl? I could tell on the phone. That’s why I arranged for us to come into town early. Is it something to do with Eric?” Something in Anya’s expression must have changed at the mention of his name, as she added, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No, Mom!” she burst out. “Of course not!”

“Well, you can’t blame me for asking. It was only because you were drinking the champagne that I didn’t ask sooner.” She paused then said, “So what is it, honey? Please, tell me. I’ll drive myself crazy with worry if you don’t.”

Finally, the tears came. “Oh, Mom. I’m so scared you’re going to hate me.”

“Anya, stop it! You’re scaring me now.”

So much for acting like a woman of the world, an adult who knew her own mind. Here she was blubbering in the bathroom like a child.

“It’s the photographs, Mom. The one’s Eric has been taking.”

Her face hardened. “Has he been making you do something you don’t want to do?”

“No, Mom. Not at all. I wanted to be his model. He hired me.”

“What are you telling me, Anya?”

“I’ve been modeling for Eric, but they’re not like his normal work. They’re erotic art.”

“Anya!”

“It’s tasteful, but yes, the images are explicit. The thing is, he’s going to have an exhibition at the Blanc Art Space in a week. I needed to tell you because you’d find out eventually.”

Now it was out, the tears dried up, and she wiped her face.

“Oh, Anya.” Her mother pressed her lips together, shaking her head. She lifted her hand to cover her face in dismay, and then turned away from her daughter.

Anya’s heart sank. This was it, the reaction she was expecting. But to her surprise, her mother dropped her hand, turned back to her, and met her gaze. “How are we going to tell your father?”

She blinked in surprise. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Oh, honey. I was young once, too. And I know Eric’s work. I’m sure whatever photographs he’s taken have been done in the best possible taste.” She smiled. “And he’s a very handsome man. I can understand why you’ve fallen for him.”

---