Page 6 of The Ruin
Mateo is watching from the back of the room. He shrugs. “Why not?”
“Sure,” I agree, and slip out of the black demi bra I’m wearing.
She has me hold it lazily off one finger while I lean forward with my chest on full display. We do several semi-nudes, then a few with my arms placed strategically over my breasts. One where I’m on my knees looking back over my shoulder. One where I’m curled in a ball, one where I’m leaning over the railing.
Switching into a bodycon dress, we do a few shots against the brick wall with draped overhead lights dripping down on me like little stars. Mateo joins me for a few shots. He’s shirtless of course, and completely unapologetic about making the shoot as sexy as possible.
Next, I’m photographed on a velvet chaise, then against the huge windows. As I press against the cool glass looking out over the city, I’m reminded of posing like this in the penthouse for Luka’s pleasure. My ass bare to him as I spread my naked body against the window for anyone below to see.
My heart flips at the memory and I push it away. That was one blip, one brief moment in a relationship filled with deception and broken promises. I’m not doing it anymore. As soon as I figure everything out, like where I’m moving and which agencies I have the best shot of switching to, I’m going to cut myself as free of Luka as possible and start over fresh.
A lump forms in my throat. I never thought my marriage would be over this soon.
I bet he doesn’t care one bit that I’m gone.
We finish the shoot and I slip back into my street clothes. I decided on a tight white dress today, which practically glows against my olive skin, and I slick on a layer of wine-red lipstick for good measure. Daylight is just starting to fade from the sky as we slip into an Uber.
“Well, what did you think?” Mateo asks as he looks over at me.
“Jasper is amazing. It was so…freeingto be able to use my body like that.”
The Uber driver looks at us in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows shooting up. He’s been eyeing me since I got into the vehicle, as if he recognizes me. Which is a real possibility.
“We got some great shots for my portfolio,” I follow up in a hurry, but I’m not sure that what I just said sounds any better. Not that I care what anyone thinks.
I pop in my AirPods and listen to music as we idle in traffic for a while, finally pulling up to a club that opened pretty recently on Melrose. The line to get in stretches down the block—not that Mateo or I will have to wait in it—and a couple paparazzi are waiting at the curb, cameras ready. Mateo flashes me a grin.
“You ready?” he asks.
Slipping on a pair of movie star sunglasses that I know full well will only serve to draw even more attention to me, I say, “Let’s do this.”
We climb out of the car and are immediately surrounded.
“Brooklyn! Brooklyn Zoric, over here!”
Mateo slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing his lips into the top of my head. It’s as much a protective move as it is a statement.
I smirk as I think of Luka’s face when these images start rolling through all the social media outlets and gossip channels in a matter of minutes.
Too bad.
Because I haven’t even started yet.
Brooklyn
Chapter 3
With a sigh of frustration, I slam my laptop closed.
“It’s insane what people are asking for rent on a decent apartment in this city,” I gripe to Mr. Kibbles, switching out my computer for the dog. He makes a much better lap warmer.
I’ve only been back in Chicago for three days and I’m already burned out. I meant it when I told Luka I wanted a divorce—Ihaveto mean it, for the sake of my heart—but when it comes to actually moving on, I’m paralyzed. There’s no way I’m moving back in with my parents, and I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that I’ll be living on my own. Unfortunately, it looks like I might have to sell a kidney in order to afford it.
Thankfully, a close, personal friend (a.k.a. fuck buddy) of Mateo’s invited me to stay with her until I decide what I’m going to do. I wish I could just stay at Mateo’s place in Chicago, but he already Airbnb’d the place for the entire time he’ll be out of town, and I couldn’t afford to cover his rent anyway. I’ll be okay, though. I’ve met Shay a couple of times in the past. She’s nice, a little aloof, and basically never home thanks to her bartending job, which suits me fine. I’m not up for late-night girl chats, and I prefer being alone considering my emotional state right now. But this living situation is obviously temporary. I need to figure out what’s next.
All I really cared about was that Shay didn’t bat an eye at allowing Mr. Kibbles to stay too (which was essential), and that she had no connection to Luka. I know plenty of other models that are good enough friends that they’d happily take me in with no questions asked—in fact, it’s pretty common in the industry to have other models for roommates when you’re starting out, since nobody is raking in the big money yet—but I don’t want my husband to know where I am.
On top of that, assumptions would be made and then the rumors would start to fly. Our breakup is exactly the kind of gossip that would spread through the modeling world like wildfire. I can’t stand the thought of everyone talking about our failed relationship behind our backs, wondering how things fell apart so fast. Especially Monica Shore.
