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The bitterness in his tone toward Jax only amplifies my agitation.
“I have one stipulation. Keep your hands off my girl.”
He scoffs. “What?”
“You’ve become affectionate with Aurora. Don’t touch unless it’s necessary for her safety.”
There’s a long pause. “You have no worries. I, ah, don’t swing your way—I mean, I do, if you get my drift.”
I don’t. “I’m not one for riddles, Ricky. Speak plainly.”
“I’m in a committed relationship with a man,” he spits out, almost too fast for me to comprehend. “I’m friendly with Aurora because she deserves it, and I like her. She’s kind, sweet, andresilient. She took over my contract after landing a huge project today, and tomorrow, I’m taking her to look at apartments because she’s sick of dealing with two men who, together, can’t manage the bare minimum.”
Dumbfounded, especially since Aurora hasn’t mentioned staying in New York, I only muster, “Say that again?”
“She accepted an extended contract in New York. There’s a good chance she’ll continue to work here. She deserves better, and I’m glad she’s finally figured that out. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
Well, fuck me and fuck that. No way am I losing Aurora and my child.
5
AURORA
I wake with renewed energy,fresh coffee, and pastries, all thanks to my teddy bear of a bodyguard, who’s quickly becoming one of my favorite people. Over breakfast, we discuss apartments, and I don’t feel as though I’m being stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. A flicker of hope and faith lights my spirit.
I put on my sexiest outfit and flirtiest smile for the paparazzi.
Then, I go to work.
My first day back on set.
I try to brush off the lingering stares and obvious whispers, but my confidence shakes even with Ricky’s comforting presence. I can’t pretend they’re not talking about me, because they are. Not only am I returning pregnant and alone—no boyfriend and no assistant—I’m returning after being publicly humiliated by my so-called baby daddy.
Cheated on by a man every woman desires, by a man I considered mine.
No matter how much I tell myself I don’t care, my social anxiety cares a whole fucking lot. My skin burns with raw vulnerability, my chest erupts with hives, and my fingers tremble.
Before, modeling empowered me. Fashion is art, and I was proud to show off something unique and beautiful.
Now, as I strip naked backstage with my changing body while people snicker and talk behind my back, I’m terrified.
For what? Because they want me to feel ashamed?
I glance down at my tiny baby bump. Torn and afflicted with guilt, I wrap my arms around my swollen stomach in a tight embrace.
Why should I be ashamed of my baby? I’m not.
I may have lost Jackson and Emily, but I have this child, and he’s my everything.
Our designated stations are separated by racks of appointed outfits, and I grab the first one—a delicate, pink, silk-and-lace slip. The fabric feels luxurious on my bare skin, and the matching dainty heels make my toned legs appear a mile long.
Heading out to the runway to experience the full effect under the lights, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The soft shade contrasts flawlessly with my tanned complexion, and my courage soars.
My smile grows when my gaze meets ocean-blue eyes brimming with pride. Ricky winks from his seat, and I stand a little taller, my head held high.
For the rest of the workday, I focus on my appearance and technique. I ignore all else, and by the time I’m strutting my last piece, my legs are cramping, and it’s evident in my stiff gait. I drank a bottle of water between sets, but that could’ve been hours ago.