When we were done, we stood in front of the full length mirror together.
We looked… formidable. We looked like a single entity, two halves of a perfectly matched set. The charcoal of my suit and the deep emerald of her dress complemented each other, creating a picture of elegant power.
I turned to her. I took her hand. It felt small and delicate in mine. I lifted it to my lips, my eyes never leaving hers.
"My Queen," I whispered against her knuckles.
Wanda laughed, a light sound that filled the room. She squeezed my hand. "My King."
She reached up, her hands cupping my face. She pulled me down, her gaze dropping to my lips. She kissed me. It was a loving kiss that tasted of certainty and forever.
She pulled back and a laugh escaped her.
"Oh, Aryan," she giggled, her eyes dancing.
"What?" I asked, my voice thick. "What's so funny?"
She reached up with her thumb. "You have evidence."
She gently smudged a small mark of her dark red lipstick from the corner of my mouth. The gesture was so tender, so intimate, it made my heart ache.
"There," she whispered, her thumb lingering on my skin. "Perfect again."
…
We drove to town in a comfortable silence. The photographer's studio was a small building tucked between a bookstore and a café, the window display filled with black and white portraits of smiling families.
The bell above the door chimed as we walked in. The photographer, an old man with a wild grey beard and kind eyes, looked up from his desk. A small brass nameplate resting on the wood simply read: Stanley Martin Lieber.
"Ironic, I know," I muttered to the empty air beside me. "It's a bit on the nose, isn't it? Stan the photographer."
"Wow," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Okay, You two are... striking. Are you models?"
"Just a couple," I said, putting my hand on the small of Wanda's back. "We need photos. For the mantle."
"A mantle," Stan nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "A noble purpose. Right this way. Background?"
"Something... classic," Wanda said, her voice soft in the quiet studio.
"Classic it is," Stan agreed, gesturing to a simple backdrop. "Stand here. Turn your shoulder. Look at the camera. And smile."
I felt rigid, a cardboard cutout of a man in a suit. I glanced at Wanda, she looked just as uncomfortable.
He sighed. He lowered his camera. "Okay, scrap that. Forget I'm here. Just... look at each other."
I turned. Wanda turned. Her green eyes met mine.
I reached out, my hand moving on its own. I tucked a single strand of auburn hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm. She leaned into my touch, her eyes closing for just a second.
Click.
"That's it," Stan whispered from the darkness behind the lens. "Beautiful. Don't move."
Click.
"Now, sit," Stan directed, his voice gaining confidence. "You, on the stool."
I sat on a round leather stool. It felt precarious.
"And you," Stan said. "Behind him. Lean in."
She moved behind me. I felt her warmth before she even touched me. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, her hands resting on my chest. She leaned down, resting her cheek on the top of my head, her hair creating a soft curtain around my face.
Click.
"Perfect," Stan murmured. "Okay, now switch."
I stood up. Wanda sat on the stool, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She looked like a queen on a very uncomfortable throne.
"You, beside her," Stan instructed. "Hand in your pocket. The other one... on her shoulder."
I stood next to her. I put my left hand in my pocket, trying to look casual. I rested my right hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm through the satin of her dress.
She immediately reached up, her hand covering mine, her fingers lacing through mine.
Click.
"Gorgeous," Stan said. "Okay, one more. Just... do something. Freestyle."
I looked at Wanda. She looked up at me, a question in her eyes. I grinned. A mischievous grin that she recognized instantly.
I grabbed her waist.
"Aryan, what are you…"
I dipped her.
I bent my knees, supporting her weight as I leaned her back, her hair almost brushing the floor. Her eyes went wide with surprise, and then she let out a peal of laughter… a bright sound of pure joy that bounced off the studio walls. Her head was thrown back, her throat exposed and her face tilted up to the lights.
I looked down at her. Looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Click.
"Okay," Stan said, his voice a little shaky as he lowered the camera. "We're done. Those are... those are going to be incredible."
I pulled Wanda back up into my arms. She was still laughing, her hands braced against my chest.
"You are impossible," she said, breathless.
"I am photogenic," I corrected.
"How long?" I asked Stan, still holding Wanda.
"A week. For the prints. I can get the big mantle piece framed for you."
"Do it," I said. "The biggest frame you have."
He nodded, looking at the wad of cash I pulled from my pocket. It was far too much.
"Keep the change," I said, handing it to him.
"Sir, this is... this is too much," he stammered.
"For art?" I shook my head, my eyes never leaving Wanda's face. "Never."
We walked out of the studio and into the cool embrace of the evening. The sun had set, leaving the sky a bruised purple.
We got into the car.
I looked at Wanda. She was beaming, tracing the patterns on the window with her finger.
"We have photos," she said softly.
"We have proof," I corrected, reaching across the center console to take her hand. "Proof that we exist. Proof that we are happy."
She squeezed my hand, turning to look at me, her eyes shining in the dim light of the dashboard.
"Yes," she whispered. "Proof."
I started the engine, the low rumble filling the quiet car.
"Home?" I asked.
"Home," she said.
PS: This is the third bonus chapter for this week. Come on guys, show some power, show some love, haha. Let's see if we can push for more.