Page 207 of Invisible Bars
Then he lowered the camera just long enough to gape in awe.
“I still can’t believe I’m capturing the one and only Naji Ali,” he exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Like… I’ve followed your work for years! You wereit—youstillare. These angles? This lighting? You’re magic in front of a lens!”
I felt the unmistakable warmth of a blush claim my features.
“Okay, let’s focus,” Saroya playfully interrupted from behind the monitor. “Depending on how well these turn out, we may just keep you on the team.”
She winked, but that only made things worse.
The poor man damn near clutched his chest. “Wait—seriously? Please say that again! Say it into the camera! I’ll doanything! You want champagne?! Lavender oil in the air? I’ll make it happen!”
Imanio snorted quietly behind me. “You trying to be her photographer or propose?”
I elbowed his side before he could say more.
Imanio pulled me closer. “Ease up before you pass out, man,” he added, with a slight smirk.
“I’m calm!” the photographer exclaimed as he frantically snapped another round of shots. “I’m just living the dream!”
“Good!” Saroya said smoothly. “Now live it silently! Keep working!”
The guy displayed a bashful grin and went back to directing the next pose, still glowing like he’d won a Grammy for holding a camera.
Saroya beamed excitedly. “The internet is about to break with this one!”
Dessign chuckled and added, “No,shatter.”
From behind the lens, the photographer agreed.
“These photos aren’t just defending your story, they’re telling it! This is Black love! This is elegance! This ispower!”
The next flash went off.
My chin tilted, and Imanio’s hand slid just a little lower.
I held the pose, but my breath hitched as I felt his lips near my ear.
“You look too damn good in this dress, baby. You gon’ look even better when I peel it off—slow… while you’re begging me not to ruin it… and I do anyway.”
His voice was low, possessive, and tainted with wicked promise. Surprisingly, no one else caught it.
Not the photographer. Not the stylist adjusting the angle of my heel. Not even Dessign, who was beaming from the sidelines… just us.
I didn’t respond; I just kept posing and… breathing.
Chapter Thirty-Two
NAJI
Isat on the edge of the bed, robe wrapped tight around me, bare feet brushing the rug as I re-read—probably for the fiftieth time—the statement Saroya had posted to Imanio’s page.
@imaniokors
Private, not hidden.
My wife, Naji Ali-Kors.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Fully mine. No games. No scandals. Just facts.
