Tangled Truth (10 page)

“Well, in that case, I’m glad you like it. I’m going to have
to kill Sheila, and for that I apologize in advance. But I’m glad you like it.”

“Sheila knew what she was doing. Look, they signed and
numbered it. One of one, it’s a unique print.”

Eva smiled and skimmed her fingers over the inked signatures
in the lower right corner of the picture. “I like the processing. I was
planning for it to be black and white. The one I meant to give you, I mean.
It’s one that’s also in the book.”

“This is better. I guess it’s intended for both of us.”

“They’re not being very subtle, are they?”

Drew grinned. “Nope.”

Eva crumpled the wrapping paper in her hands, forming it
into a tightly compressed ball as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “I’m still
not sure what I’m doing. What
we’re
doing. I don’t know if that’s who I
want to be.”

Drew shrugged, sounding more nonchalant than he felt. “It
doesn’t have to be. It’s not like it’s an either-or thing. You can still be
you, you’re just you plus a little kinky stuff behind closed doors.”

Eva looked skeptical. “Maybe it’s because I know so many
people in that lifestyle.”

“And that’s one way to do it, but it doesn’t have to be a
lifestyle. It never has been for me.” Drew realized he was starting to panic at
the idea Eva might be pulling away from him. He was on the verge of promising
to give up ropes for good, as he’d once promised he wasn’t into the lifestyle
at all. But he couldn’t this time. By now, she meant too much. By now, he knew
the ropes weren’t the real issue. “I don’t go to clubs, except on very rare
occasions to do exhibitions or classes. I don’t do scene parties. For all
anybody knows, I’m only in it to help Danny out because I’ve known him since we
were kids.”

“I know that. But you’re talking about whether or not to be
open about doing it. I’m still working on whether I can imagine myself in a
relationship that…well, let me show you something.”

She pulled him to the back room of the gallery, where Danny
and Sheila had started delivering the canvases for their showing at the
gallery’s New Year’s Eve party. Flipping through a leaning stack of
photographs, Eva found the canvas she sought and gripped the top edge tightly
for a moment before turning to Drew.

“They want to know if they can include this in the show.”

Slowly, she pulled the mounted photo into view and waited
with obvious anxiety for Drew’s reaction.

His first reaction was that he had to have a copy for
himself. The photo was not among the proofs he had reviewed for the book, and
he could see why. Eva’s face was recognizable in profile, each delicate feature
etched in sharp contrast against the black backdrop. She was quite obviously
naked, or at least topless. Her back was completely bare. With her arms pulled
back by the elaborate dragonfly tie, and her head and torso turned just
slightly, the rounded edge of one breast was visible.

He had used, for the highly decorative tie, a wide red ribbon
that matched the color of the silk robe swathing Eva’s hips; the bow at her
wrists flowed into the fabric, making it look almost as though the robe itself
were rising up in ribbons to bind her. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid
that Sheila had cleverly worked to echo the pattern of the dragonfly binding.
They had shot this series near the end, with promotional material or possibly
even the cover in mind. The rope work was beautiful, the simple color scheme of
the photo visually arresting.

But it was the look on Eva’s face that took Drew’s breath
away. She had settled into the binding fully, spacing out to something like a
trance state, and in the picture he could read every detail of bliss on her
face as clearly as if he were still standing there admiring his handiwork. She
looked as though a soul-deep contentment had overtaken her. One sleek strand of
hair had slipped free of the braid, and it described a curve from her temple to
her shoulder. The one element out of place might have marred the whole shot,
but instead that single imperfect note somehow enhanced the beauty of the rest.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Drew said at last. “It would be a
crime not to show it.”

“I know.” Eva had pulled the picture to the front of the
stack, and she stood contemplating it with a closed expression. “I think it’s
the best thing they’ve ever done. But.”

“But,” he agreed.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be outed, Drew. I don’t even know
if I want to label
myself
that way, much less hear it from other
people.”

He couldn’t argue with her on that score. A few of their
mutual friends knew Eva was standing in for Sheila as a model for the book, but
nobody knew which shots were which. Nobody knew how far Eva had gone with it.

But anybody who knew the lifestyle, who knew Eva, would know
at a glance that her participation in this photo had not been a mere favor to a
friend. She had come alive within the binding, and the photograph glowed with
her willing and joyful submission to that restraint. If it was part of the New
Year’s Eve show, she would indeed be outed. Not only within the BDSM and art
communities, but to anybody else who happened to attend what would likely be a
fairly large gathering.

“You have six days to decide, I guess.”

Eva nodded and threw him a brief smile, but Drew’s heart
sank as he contemplated the possible outcome of her decision. She knew he
couldn’t do without the ropes, and from the sound of things, she might not be
as ready as he’d hoped to embrace that side of her nature. He worried that this
would not just be a decision about a photograph, but a decision about him.

* * * * *

“No, the food will all need to be set up along the very back
wall, by the bar. Besides, cold as it is, stuff’s going to congeal if it’s
sitting in this front room.”

Drew leaned on the reception counter, watching Eva as she
ran briskly through the final arrangements for that evening’s festivities at
the gallery. It was chilly indeed in the nearly empty space. But when the crowd
arrived, he knew, the temperature would rise pretty quickly to something much
more temperate.

Not wanting to distract her, he stifled a sigh along with
the urge to play with the long curl of hair that had drifted over her shoulder.
Still, Eva seemed to catch his impatience. She finished her phone call in short
order and slid her cell into the tiny red satin pouch that served as her purse
for the evening.

“I’m sorry I have to be dealing with all this last-minute
stuff. The storm threw things off. You really don’t have to hang around, you
can go do something more entertaining for a bit if you’d rather. I know this
must be boring, and it’s another thirty minutes at least before people start to
show up.” She had pulled her phone out to check the time but slid it firmly
back into the bag as if reminding herself to leave it there. That was a
concession to him, Drew knew; normally at show time minus half an hour, she’d
have the cell glued to her ear and her omnipresent clipboard tacked to her hand
as she multitasked her way through the final preparations.

“Am I distracting you?” he asked with a grin that was only
slightly wicked and suggestive.

“Always.” But she didn’t sound particularly upset about
that.

“Are you nervous?”

“Not so much since my dad said he probably wouldn’t be able
to make it.” Her smile was rueful. “Don’t tell Danny and Sheila, they’d roll
their eyes so hard about this, but I never even worked up the nerve to tell him
about my part in the photo shoot. I figured I would find time, but when is the
right time to tell your dad you’ve posed for naked bondage pictures?”

She stretched like a cat, the crocheted shawl she wore
slipped off her shoulders, and Drew briefly lost his ability to think as he
stared at the lean lines of her body, highlighted beautifully by the soft, snug
fabric of her dress. The front molded to her skin, so form-fitting it didn’t
need a low neckline to be daring. The back was better still, he saw as she bent
to pick up the shawl. A simple network of spaghetti straps crisscrossed from
neck to waist. They seemed to hold the whole thing together like magic.

“Fire engine red,” he said with obvious appreciation. “That
has got to be the best dress I have ever seen. I’ve never seen you wear
anything like that.”

“It’s carnelian,” Eva corrected him, “and thank you. I may
have to put my coat back on until it warms up in here though.”

“Please don’t.”

“I was feeling a little more daring in the store than I am
at the moment, actually. I don’t want to look skanky.”

With a considering frown, Drew stood and rounded the
counter, taking Eva’s hands in his and holding them wide to reveal the dress
again. He pondered her as seriously as if he weren’t just taking the
opportunity to ogle her again. He thought about the fact that all the other men
in the room would also be ogling her, for how could they do otherwise? But on
balance, he decided he was all right with that if it meant he got to look at
her in the dress all night then take her home and do deliciously naughty things
to her with the dress pushed up around her waist.

“Not skanky at all. Very tasteful. Classy, but sexy as
hell.”

She giggled as he stole the predictable kiss. Giggles turned
to sighs as he lingered, letting his lips brush against hers, savoring her.

“Get a room, you guys,” Danny said from the back of the
room. He had come through the service entrance, and now joined them at the
desk. He had apparently conned the bartender out of some wine, because he set a
plastic glass down next to Eva before sipping at his own.

“We’re in a room. A room with nice, sturdy exposed rafters
too. Great for suspensions…” Drew cocked his head, scanning the high ceiling as
though scouting for the best location to mount a pulley.

“Enough!” Eva was laughing with the guys, but with a nervous
edge. “I’m anxious enough about the picture. Stop talking about that stuff,
you’ll make it worse.” She swigged some wine and tried to look stern, which
Drew found adorable.

“Actually,” Danny said, “I came over here to say a toast to
your bravery. I really can’t thank you enough, Evie. That photo will be the
making of the show.”

He raised his glass and she tapped hers against it, just as
the caterers arrived.

Drew sneaked in one last hug for reassurance before Eva
started up her usual whirlwind of organizing, greeting and mingling. He gave
her an unmistakably possessive boyfriend kiss, and was unable to resist
slipping one hand under the shawl to stroke the expanse of exposed skin at her
waist.

“You’ll be fine.”

And she was.

Right up until her cell phone rang again an hour later, and
her eyes found Drew’s over a tight knot of revelers who were all exclaiming
over the very picture in question. She had to mouth it twice before he could
make out the words. “My dad is coming.”

* * * * *

Bob Godfrey was of average height and average build, with
thinning hair of pure white that was obviously once as blond as Eva’s, a slight
gut, and a dark suit with a red paisley tie. In short, he looked wholly
unremarkable. But when he walked across the room to greet his daughter, Drew
could feel her react as though all the air had been sucked from the room. Her
slender hand froze on his upper arm, gripping almost hard enough to hurt, and
her tension telegraphed itself so clearly that he had an urge to step between
her and the encroaching danger.

But there was no monster, no horror, only a middle-aged man
with a genial handshake. He greeted Drew with the careful civility of any man
who knows he’s meeting the guy his grown daughter is most likely having sex
with. The slightly too firm, lingering grip with its implicit promise to crush
Drew like a bug if his little girl came to any harm. Nothing out of the
ordinary.

Close up, Drew could see the man Mr. Godfrey must have been
in his prime. Trim, blond, with ice-chip blue eyes and features so sharp they
looked etched. Age had softened his lines, but he looked every bit the type of
man one would expect to see alongside a woman like Eva’s mother. How very
beautiful their family must have been, like the picture that came with the
frame. But so very wrong behind the façade.

“She seems happy,” he said to Drew when Eva darted across the
room to greet an influential critic. “Not just tonight, I mean.” He stopped
short of saying she seemed happy with Drew in particular, but Drew still felt a
flare of relief and joy at the implication.

“I think she’s enjoying her work. Tonight especially. I know
she’s always happy to give friends an opportunity to show.”

Godfrey nodded, his gaze flicking to the closest blown-up
photo and then back to the plastic cup of white wine he held. “Interesting
subject matter tonight. I understand some of this is your work?”

Sheepish, Drew shrugged. “Not the photography part. I just
help with the setup.”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a wealth of meaning in those two syllables, none
of which Drew wanted to address with the father of the girl he was sleeping
with and, as it happened, tying up. He thought it was probably safest to focus
on the photography exhibit as art, and treat it as an educational opportunity.

“Would you like a walk-through? There’s sort of a method to
the way the exhibit is laid out.”

They began with the perimeter of the smaller room at the
front of the gallery, which was filled primarily with what Danny and Sheila
called “technical” shots. These were the detailed pictures that would accompany
specific techniques in the book, showing ties in varying stages of completion.
Many of them were of Sheila, from the first few shoots, and several showed her
face. After the third or fourth one, recognition began to dawn on Bob Godfrey’s
face.

“Isn’t that…” he said, scanning around the room for Sheila,
who was nowhere to be seen.