Page 53 of Dirty Shots

She gave a shy smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“But the question still remains about how we’re going to tell your father. I can’t promise his reaction will be the same as mine.”

“No, I know it won’t. I’ve barely been able to eat these last few days worrying about it.”

“I think we’re just going to have to tell him.”

“Would it be better to tell him in private?”

“He might rein himself in if we tell him in public, give him time to compose himself, perhaps even come to terms with the idea of his daughter modeling for erotic photography.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you think?”

“Well, maybe not. But whether we tell him here or back at the hotel, he’s still going to need to find out.”

She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay, let’s do it now. Get it over with.” It was like having a Band-Aid removed, better to get it over with than drag things out any longer. Besides, her mother had reacted far better than she’d ever hoped for. Perhaps her father would be the same and surprise her?

Anya quickly repaired her makeup in the mirror, and then she and her mother exited the bathroom together.

Eric and her father were deep in conversation, but they fell silent as the two women approached. Eric looked up at her, his eyes saying more than his mouth. “Everything okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine.”

Her mother placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Anya’s got something she wants to tell you, Trent.”

The nerves reappeared in Anya’s stomach. She had to do this, get it out there, and deal with the fallout afterward.

“The photographs Eric has been taking are going to be part of an exhibition of his work in a little over a week,” said Anya.

Her father smiled. “That sounds interesting.”

“It is. But I just wanted to prepare you that some of the photographs are of a ... Err ...” She could barely bring herself to say the word. Even as she stalled, she could see the expression in her father’s face begin to change. “They’re of an erotic nature.”

A cloud filled his features, his blue eyes seeming to turn gray. “What are you telling me, Anya? That you’ve been posing for explicit photographs?”

“Well, yes, but they’re tasteful!”

He wasn’t listening. He turned to Eric. “And you’ve been taking them? You manipulated my little girl into taking her clothes off?”

Her stomach lurched. “Dad! It wasn’t like that! I’m an adult. I do what I want.”

“That’s bullshit, Anya. You’re only twenty-two. You barely know your own mind.”

“Trent, no,” her mother interjected. “She’s an adult. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

He wasn’t listening. He shoved back his chair with a clatter and rose to his feet, pointing a finger at Eric. “And you, taking a young girl and using her in such a way. She’s a good girl, and you’ve made a whore out of her!”

“Dad!” Even she was shocked at his choice of words. People were starting to look, glancing over to stare at the performance.

Eric got to his feet, his face stone. “Mr. Bergman, please don’t ever refer to your daughter as a whore again.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t call my own child. Who the hell do you think you are? Perverting an innocent girl. And you’re going to display these photographs to the public? Over my dead body!”

“Trent,” said Saara, getting to her feet to try to pull him back down. “Calm down.”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

“Please, Dad.” Anya was too shocked to cry.

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