Page 63 of Fateful Exposure

I did. Oh, Jesus. I fucking did. "That's not the point. We're in public."

"Are you saying if I slip a finger inside your panties, I won't find you wet and ready for me?"

"Ashton!" I scolded lowly, though my voice lacked the urgency I intended it to.

He chuckled, pulling his hand back. "You're cute when you blush."

I rolled my eyes at him, my blood still burning. "And you're annoying."

"I'll take it." He shrugged, crossing his hands across his chest and gesturing to the backstage dressing room. "How's it going in there?"

I turned, staring at the door as if it held all the answers I was looking for. "Maria is in charge. I think she's gone on a power trip because now she doesn't want me around. Says I need to rest."

"She's not wrong. If you remove all that makeup, you look like a zombie."

I elbowed him in the ribs, earning a chuckle out of him.

"Don't worry,” he said. “There's very little that can make me fall out of love with you, and I'm not sure it even exists."

The words knocked the breath out of me, and the cold in my veins turned to ice. It wasn't the first time I heard those words from him, but they rang out loud and clear this time. At least the first time, I'd convinced myself he'd been caught up in the throes of passion and hadn't meant them.

"Blink, so I know you're not dead, Selma." Ashton's voice cut through the drumming of blood in my ears. It was low yet full of sarcasm.

I opened my mouth to respond, but only a puff of air came out. What did one say to such an admission without sounding like a fool? A certain feeling of dread overwhelmed me, drawing me back to a time when those words had meant something.

I love you, Selma. I cherish what we have. But all of that had been a lie. Every single word, every promise of love.

All fucking lies.

Because that was what men did—they lied. Once they got what they wanted from you, or decided you were too much to handle, all those promises turned to dust. How many times had Ibelieved them? How many times had my father promised to have dinner with me, or even buy me a birthday present?

And yet I had swallowed down his words like they were manna, and I was starving. In hindsight, I supposed I was in a way. It was probably why the years of disappointment did little to persuade me that I was wasting my time.

Then Alex came along with his own share of promises. He broke down my walls and made me trust him. He made me envision a life where it was only us against the entire world. I'd been drunk on love and money at the time, too blind to see that I was digging my own grave.

And now, Ashton was here with his own promise of love. Leaving aside the fact that it could all be bullshit, how was I supposed to love him when I wasn't even sure I loved myself? If this was the past when I'd been confident and audacious, maybe the thought that someone like Ashton could love someone like me would have made a little sense.

But as it was, my self-esteem was so low, and three years had not been enough time to drag it out from the hole it was buried in.

So, no. Nothing would ever happen between us. I no longer believed in love, and I was tired of men disappointing me. The only thing tying us together was the baby in my womb. When it was born, we would work out a visiting schedule of some sort. But that was it.

That was all it can ever be.

By the time I came down to reality, Ashton was gone. I tried to push down the ball of regret lodged at the base of my throat, but it would only come back up again, so I left it. Marching forward, I twisted the knob of the door and pushed it open, revealing Maria and the girls. At the other end of the room was an opening that led to the runway stage, covered by a thick red curtain.

"Ready?" I asked, clapping my hands together.

Everyone nodded in affirmation, and someone whooped.

Plastering a smile, I nodded. "Alright. Let's do this."

Ten minutes later, it was time. One by one, I arranged the girls according to basic colors and patterns first, saving the best for the last. The runway walk took about fifteen minutes, give or take, mostly because I had fifteen girls walking.

However, as they walked, I realized that the true beauty in the designs lay in the inexperience of my models. These girls had never modeled a day in their lives, having submitted applications to what they thought was a new modeling agency. There was no finesse in their walks, no professionalism, just pure passion.

And I loved it. Standing backstage, I let my eyes roam across the crowd. Everyone in my line of sight had their eyes on each girl walking down the runway. The designs spoke for themselves, eliciting emotions from fascination to unadulterated heat.

Honestly, this was my best work yet. And it was all because of one man. My heart swelled with an emotion I couldn't qualify. I couldn't have done this without Ashton. I looked for him in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. I'd find him after we were done.

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