The Ex Behind My Wedding Camera

"We dated," I said, staring at his hand pinning my fingers against the glossy print. "A long time ago. Briefly."

"Briefly." Andrew lifted his hand. He picked up the photograph by the corner, inspecting the black-and-white image of Julian kissing my forehead. "You are still editing the numbers, Sophie. Seven years is not a brief shadow to cast over a marriage."

He folded the heavy paper in half. The sharp crease cut right through Julian's face. Andrew slid the ruined photo into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Give that back. It belongs in my box."

"We will discuss your private collection after the shoot," he said. "Get some sleep. You have to look perfect tomorrow."

Nine o'clock the next morning, the glaring strobes of the South End studio illuminated a completely different claim of ownership. The air smelled of hot coffee and ozone from the flashbulbs.

Cassandra stood on her tiptoes, adjusting the collar of Julian's black shirt. "Hold still, Jules," she murmured.

Julian let her fix the fabric. His right hand rested lightly on her waist. But his dark eyes bypassed his girlfriend entirely, fixing straight onto Andrew's hand, which sat heavily on the small of my back.

Two possessive gestures happening in the exact same room. I stepped forward, forcing Andrew's palm to drop away from my spine. I needed space to breathe.

Cassandra turned. She extended a perfectly manicured hand toward me. The diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist caught the light. "Sophie, right? I heard all about the disappearing editor from Julian's mother."

I gripped her fingers firmly. "I prefer not to be a nameless character in Elaine's stories."

Julian stepped away from Cassandra's touch. He picked up his heavy camera from the metal table. "Save the introductions. We are here to shoot, not reminisce."

His voice carried a sharp, metallic edge, exposing the exact wound I had inflicted seven years ago.

The set was a massive bed draped in black silk. I wore nothing but Andrew's oversized white button-down. The air conditioning blasted against my bare legs, raising goosebumps on my skin.

"Get on the mattress," Julian ordered. He didn't bother checking the mood boards Noah had taped to the wall. He knew exactly what he wanted. "Left knee pressed against the edge. Expose the side of your neck."

I froze. It was the exact position I had taken on his beat-up futon our second year together. He used to trace the line of my jaw in the dark.

I climbed onto the silk and bent my knee. My body found the angle before my mind could stop it.

Julian's shutter fired. The clicks sped up, echoing like rapid gunfire against the concrete walls.

Andrew climbed onto the bed beside me. He wore a dark suit, his role playing into the dangerous intimacy theme. He leaned over, his shadow swallowing my face.

"Undo the second button," Andrew said.

He didn't wait for my hands. He flicked the plastic button free and pressed his open mouth against my collarbone. His teeth scraped my skin.

"Stop," I said loudly.

Andrew froze. He pulled back, his eyes darting toward the camera. "Why are you still shooting, Vale?"

Julian lowered the lens. He pressed a button on the back of the camera. "Deleting the frames. A photographer listens to the model when she says stop. Not the client."

Cassandra marched onto the set. She grabbed the two sides of my collar and yanked them together, covering my neck.

"Julian has shot hundreds of bolder women in Paris," Cassandra announced, her voice echoing loudly across the quiet room. "He never loses control."

She brushed a piece of lint off Julian's chest. He didn't look at her, but he didn't step away either. The jealousy flared hot and useless in my chest. I had no right to claim him anymore.

Andrew stepped off the bed. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the folded photograph from last night. He shoved it directly into Julian's chest.

"Replicate this framing," Andrew demanded. "Except I will be the one kissing her."

Julian caught the heavy paper. He stared at the image. His thumb brushed over the handwritten date scrawled in the white margin of the negative. He finally realized I had kept the archival box in my new home.

Julian looked up, his expression entirely unreadable. "Do you consent to this setup, Sophie?"

"I agree to the framing," I said, my voice steady. "But I will not do the kiss."

Andrew frowned. "The contract requires full compliance."

"I will hold your jaw," I interrupted, turning to my fiancé. "Two inches apart. The tension will look better on camera."

I refused to give Julian the satisfaction of watching me submit, and I refused to give Andrew the exact replica he wanted.

I placed my hand against Andrew's jaw, stopping his face just inches from mine.

Julian raised the camera. One single click echoed through the studio.

"Enough," Julian said. He set the heavy equipment on the tech cart.

Cassandra crossed her arms. "Take ten more. Prove you are a professional, Jules."

Julian ignored her, walking toward the lighting stands. Cassandra stepped close to the bed, leaning right next to my ear.

"He gave me a public title at the Prix Lumière because I never left him waiting in an empty apartment for an explanation," she whispered.

I looked straight into her eyes. "Then you should ask him why one shot of this pose was enough for him."

Cassandra's confident smile vanished.

We gathered around the glowing digital monitor on the tech cart.

The image loaded on the screen. The contrast was stark. Andrew's profile was razor-sharp, his eyes focused entirely on my mouth. But I wasn't looking at him. My eyes had bypassed Andrew entirely, staring straight into the camera lens. Straight at Julian.

"Delete it," Cassandra demanded, her finger pointing at the screen. "The model broke character."

Andrew slammed his hand down on the keyboard, blocking her from hitting the delete key. "Leave it. This is exactly what I paid to see."

A cold realization washed over me. Andrew wasn't trying to erase my past. He was gathering evidence to execute a verdict on our future.

"What exactly are you trying to prove, Whitmore?" Julian asked. He stood on the other side of the cart, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I should ask you the same question," Andrew countered. "Why take a contract you knew would hurt you?"

"I tried to wire the breach fee yesterday," Julian said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous pitch. "But someone decided to send gifts to my mother to ensure I stayed."

I looked at Andrew. The muscle in his jaw tightened. The orange box had reached Elaine.

Cassandra leaned over the cart. She tapped the screen right over my frozen, wide-eyed expression.

"That is not how a bride looks at her photographer," Cassandra said.

Andrew reached out and grabbed my left hand. He twisted my wrist until the massive diamond engagement ring faced the ceiling, the stones catching the harsh studio lights.

"Then ask her who she is looking at," Andrew said quietly.

Julian did not lower his camera.