20. Selma

twenty

Selma

It had been well over twelve hours, and my body was still ringing from how hard Ashton fucked me last night.

He must've been really angry because he'd never fucked me with such raw force before. I was still deciding if I liked it or not. Probably yes, because I'd come so hard my feet had lifted off the ground.

And then there was his declaration of love afterward that still had me reeling from shock. It was the last thing I ever expected to hear, and I didn't know how to feel about it. Couldn't sleep a fucking wink because the words kept replaying in my head like a broken record.

I guess it would explain his blatant jealousy toward my talking to Alex, yet I still found it hard to believe. Ashton was in love with me? The man was masculinity personified. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he fall in love with a woman whose last boyfriend had left her for her younger cousin? Surely, there had to be something wrong with me.

Alex had said I was too hard-headed, and he was right. I was too independent and too work-oriented. My work was my life. The exact opposite of the traits a man wanted in a woman. He'd said I was cold and unapproachable, never mind that I'd always found time for him and regularly reassured him that I loved him.

If I were being honest, Alex was the very definition of insecure. Hadn't he accused me of trying to make him feel less than manly because I had been the popular and successful one? And it wasn't like he had been broke. At the time, he'd been a celebrity manager, and he even had a few high-end clients.

I would have tried to see things from his perspective, but his perspective was stupid.

Heaving out a breath, I watched as the studio buzzed with energy. The designs were ready, and the final shoot was happening today. I instructed my interns to give Ashton space to work his magic. I noticed he didn't like to be crowded when he worked and was just being friendly by tolerating the noise.

Just like he'd suggested that day in my office, our models for the shoot were unknown faces. I had been skeptical about the idea, but now that I saw things for myself, I had to admit they looked good. Women of different shapes and sizes were being dressed and made up for the shoot, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips, feeling confident.

Ashton had posted an anonymous disclaimer on social media, seeking non-professional models to apply. We didn't have to worry about the media figuring it out because he'd done it behind a burner account, posing as a model agency in search of their next Naomi Campbell. But this time, size didn't matter.

I was shocked when thirty applications came in after five hours. Everyone selected was told the real reason behind the photoshoot, and surprisingly, they were ecstatic.

The best part was I didn't have to pay a dime. They were all excited to wear my designs and model them for the world to see.

I couldn't think of a better feeling in the entire world.

And it was all thanks to Ashton. After this was over, I made a mental note to send him a thank you note. Thank you sex wouldn't be very wise, considering I was the one clamoring for us to stop fucking each other's brains out. However, if last night was anything to go by, I wouldn't have had much success.

It didn't escape my notice that he'd been avoiding me all day. To anyone else, he appeared to be the epitome of civility: speaking in a modulated voice, walking me through his thought process, explaining little details, and asking for my input. But I knew better.

Something shifted in him last night, and I was willing to bet it was because he'd confessed love for me, and I'd given him nothing in return. In my defense, what did one say in that situation? He'd completely taken me off guard. How could he love me? It just wasn't possible.

Or maybe he was just confusing love with lust. I knew he wanted me. My body, to be more precise. It was evident in the heated way his eyes glazed over whenever he looked at me. In that aspect, I felt the same way. I wanted him, too. His body was a goddamn work of art, and when he touched me, electricity shot through my body and spread to my nerve endings, settling in the pit of my stomach as liquid fire.

Even though I didn't, my body loved him, the stupid traitorous thing. My weak, pathetic protests last night could have held a little more fire in them if I had actually meant them. Instead, the second he kissed me, I melted like butter on a heated pan and gave in to him.

Just thinking about it turned me on. I swear, there was something wrong with me. This attraction I had toward him wasn't normal in any sense.

Snapping out of it, I focused my attention on the shoot. The makeup artists were done with the rest of the models who hadn't posed yet, adding a little powder here and there. The studio was sizzling with a synergy unlike any I'd ever experienced. I couldn't bring myself to look away. Instead, I watched, fascinated, as Ashton led the shoot, making everyone feel comfortable and cracking a joke or two to ease the tension. Even my interns seemed to be having fun.

He knew what he wanted to elicit, the emotions he wanted to rage inside the viewer's mind, and he worked non-stop through his lens until the image was clear enough. Frankly, I admired him. From growing up in an orphanage, never knowing his parents, and fighting every day to become someone worth knowing, he'd done it. He'd succeeded.

I started to wish I was one of the models. Maybe then he would meet my eyes.

After an hour, we were halfway done. I was just giving my assistant instructions to order food for everyone present when Ashton appeared in front of me, holding his camera.

Sensing the tension that suddenly showed up with him, I nodded at my assistant. "You can go, Rose."

Sucking in a nervous breath, I faced him. "What's up?"

Ashton raised a brow at my odd chirpiness and straightened his face. "I'll need to get you in front of my camera, too. As the designer, you get to have a little interview of some sort, or the lookbook will be incomplete. When do you think you'll be available?"

What's with the formality? When will I be available? I scoffed. We literally lived next door to each other. I would be available at any fucking time, goddamnit. Why was he looking at me like he didn't try to tear my insides apart with his dick last night?

I didn't like this, Ashton. I'd grown accustomed to the asshole Ashton, who didn't care about anything else except getting what he wanted. The Ashton who was always eager to press me against a wall and take me from behind. Not this cold Ashton, who was looking at me like we didn't have history outside these walls.

Taking a step forward, I lowered my voice. "Are you avoiding me?"

His face might as well have been a piece of paper, given how blank it was. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because you haven't looked me in the eye all day, and have only spoken to me about work."

Now, he looked confused. "Isn't that what I'm here for?"

Forget photography. He should've been an actor.

I sighed, resisting the urge to touch him in a room full of people. Or even at all. "Ashton—"

He took a step back. "4pm works for me." His voice was stoic and distant. "Let me know your schedule."

A sharp pang passed through me at his rejection. I hurt him last night, and it just occurred to me that there was probably nothing I could say to make things better. I might still not believe he loved me, but maybe I shouldn't have gone silent.

"Listen, I'm sorry—"

The door suddenly burst open, almost falling from its hinges, and Maria barreled through it like an angry bull in search of red.

"Selma! Sel—" She stopped as she sighted me, chest heaving at an alarming rate. Her eyes were wide and frantic, shooting a shot of fear up my spine. "Selma. It's bad."

My heart hammered inside my chest as I stared at her. "What's happened?"

Maria inched closer to me, gripping her phone tightly in one hand and fisting the other. The room quieted, in anticipation or trepidation, I wasn't sure. In seconds, she closed the distance between us, and it wasn't until she handed me her phone that the breath got knocked out of my lungs.

"Oh, my God," I staggered, almost falling on my ass if not for Ashton's strong hand that snaked around my waist to hold me upright. "Oh, God."

"What is it?" Ashton asked urgently, his gaze darting between me and Maria. "Maria?" When neither of us answered, he plucked the phone from my hands to read the news headline. I felt him tense up behind me, and shakily inhale and exhale.

"Who could have done this?" Maria asked in a low voice, but I wasn't listening. I was too busy trying to breathe because it suddenly felt like I was underwater and couldn't swim—just like three years ago when my life had fallen apart, and I was powerless to stop the destruction.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Not even a breath. My chest was constricted, and I couldn't get enough air. The sound of my heart pounding mercilessly was all I could hear, and my body shook violently.

Not again, I begged soundlessly. Please, not again. I couldn't take another. I almost died the first time.

"Ashton, do something!" someone cried somewhere close to me. There was a numbness in my hands and feet, followed by a coldness that suddenly enveloped me like a thick blanket.

"It's alright. She's just having a panic attack," a voice said from very far away.

My feet were suddenly suspended in the air, the overwhelming angle making me more aware of my heart's palpitations. Fear gripped me as the room seemed to engulf me, and a sinking feeling of dread consumed me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, I was in my office. The familiarity was welcomed, but it didn't do much to bring me back to reality.

"Selma," Ashton's voice rang out, penetrating deep into the water and floating around me. "Peaches, can you hear me? I need you to breathe, alright? Take deep breaths."

I wanted to say that I was trying, but the fucking words just wouldn't come out. I stared up at him blankly, but I wasn't seeing him. The only thing I could see was the headline I just read: Love, Betrayal, and Bump: The Scandalous Affair of Pregnant Scorned Fashion Designer Selma Volkov and Her Photographer.