“Motorcycle club. Actually I just joined the Army.” He grinned, and for a moment, he wore the same mischievous little boy look that Rome had so often. “Spent four years in there. Came back and found out my brother was serving time for a drug deal sentence.” He snorted. “Mama was real good with them tears.”
“That’s awful,” Elise whispered.
“That’s my parents. Here, let me show you something.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a driver’s license, then offered it to her.
She took it from him and studied it, trying to figure out what she was supposed to see on it. Then she realized his name was very familiar. “John Lozada,” she murmured.
“Number two,” he said with a laugh. “Dad is John Lozada number one. Rome is John Lozada number three. All the better to steal your identity with.”
“What?” Emily sputtered, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. She took a sip and then shook her head. “You expect me to believe that your parents named you the same so they could steal your identity?”
“I’m sure it didn’t start out that way. Maybe they just wanted me to be Junior. But by the time Rome arrived? No doubt in my mind that is what they were doing. We’ve had credit cards opened in our names for years.”
“And bankruptcies,” Elise said, thinking of the credit report for Rome. She’d wondered at the timing of his bankruptcy, since it would have happened when he was a very young teenager. It made sense now. “Your parents are awful people.”
“Yes, yes, they are. That’s why I left. I’m only sorry I didn’t get Rome out before they f**ked over his life.” He shook his head. “So if he runs out the door at a whiff of family, that’s why. We keep up with each other, but we’re not close. He’s been burned too many times. Now he doesn’t let anyone close to him.” Jericho gave her an up-and-down look and then smiled. “Before now.”
“He must not have cared for me that much,” Elise said softly, and hated how whiny she sounded. “He left me.”
“Probably hated to, if I know my brother. You were the only reason why he stuck around so long in the first place.”
An aching knot formed in her throat. “So how do I find him again?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I doubt I’ll hear from him again for months.”
She didn’t want to wait months. She wanted him back now. She wanted to pull him into her arms and comfort him for his awful life, and let him know that she loved him and things would be different from now on. But he wouldn’t even return her calls.
She needed to find a way to get his attention. To make him come back to her. If she got him in front of her, she could let him know that she didn’t care what Grant thought, or if his parents were awful people. If he’d gone to prison.
She just wanted to love him and be loved in return.
“By the way,” Jericho said. “Don’t tell him you talked to me or he’ll think I betrayed him, and then I won’t hear from him for years.”
“I won’t say a thing,” Elise promised.
• • •
That night Elise took over one of the guest bathrooms on the second floor of Emily’s bed-and-breakfast. She sealed the doorframe with painter’s tape, set up a folding table over the toilet, and screwed a red lightbulb into the light socket. She set out her trays of processing chemicals and her tongs, and set up her enlarger on one end of the sink. She’d put her film into a developing tank overnight and was ready to process the negatives. As she pulled out the newly cut strips, she held them up to the red light, admiring her work.
Rome was stunning. She picked one negative in particular, slid it into the enlarger, and then flicked the light off so she could set up the photo paper. Using her hands in the dark, she set up everything, flicked the enlarger on to stamp the image onto the paper, and then flicked it off again. She turned the red light back on, then dropped her photo paper into the developer bath, waiting for the image to come up.
When it did, she sucked in a breath, watching Rome stare out at her from the photo. She quickly drained the developer off the photo and then dropped it into the stop bath, admiring it as she agitated the photo with her tongs.
It was one of the best pictures she’d ever done. It was a head shot of Rome, looking over his shoulder at her. Candlelight bounced off his gleaming skin, and his face was half hidden in shadow, but those blue eyes stared out at her from long lashes, and his lip ring curved over one full lip.
The look in his eyes was sultry and full of heat. Desire. Good lord, how had she ever been unsure that this man wanted her? He was practically making love to her camera. Just seeing the expression on his face made her sigh with pleasure.
She pulled the paper from the stop bath, gave it a dunk in the fixer, and then washed the print and hung it to dry on a small cord she’d strung from one end of the curtain rod to a nearby towel rack.
These pictures were incredible, and she’d never felt more proud of her work, or more in love with Rome. How could this beautiful, wonderful, sexy man think she didn’t want him?
The next morning she retrieved her stack of dried photos from her makeshift darkroom and began to scan them into her computer. On a whim, she sent one to Crissy with just the email title of What do you think?
An email popped into her box a moment later.
YES YES YES!!! Crissy sent back. I love it! Look at that smoldering face! That is exactly what I wanted to see in your photos. Good job, girl! They’re not right for City Girl, but I know a friend who works at a tattoo magazine who would die for something like these. You interested?
Elise considered it. She considered it for a good long moment. These pictures were great, and not just in her own biased opinion. They oozed personality and lust. They could get her in the door for a couple of magazine spreads, and with a few professional pieces under her wing, she’d have her “in” for other magazines.
But when she wrote back, she said,
No, thank you. I just wanted to see if I was on the right track.
Actually, she’d known she was on the right track. She just wanted that validation from someone else. More than that, she wanted that other avenue open.
Because she wanted to know what she’d really, truly decide if she had all options open to her.
And she wanted to stay here. She liked the quiet lifestyle of the small town. She liked the idea of opening her own studio here, amongst family and friends. She liked the thought of taking photos of regular people and showing them a side they never saw. Elise knew herself pretty well, and she knew that she liked the idea of living in New York City and working for a magazine more than the reality of it. The reality would mean long hours, lots of travel, and low pay. It would mean living in a city that crawled with people who were used to a city that never really allowed anyone to be alone.