Look at your face. God, I want to pinch your cheeks so badly right now. I’m so glad to see you in the flesh again I can hardly stand it. You put everyone else to complete shame.”
“Debbie,” Amber chastised, shaking her head. She couldn’t take her eyes off the image that stared back up at her. The image that was her. She was blown away by how…different she looked.
How unhappy she looked.
Couldn’t Debbie see it? She could. It was written all over her face, especially in her eyes. The unhappiness, the sadness, the absolute disgust. When had these photos been taken? What in the world had she been thinking as she posed for the camera?
“Manuel wants to work with you again. In fact, he’s dying to work with you. He calls once a week, asking if you’re back,” Debbie said.
Amber glanced up, frowning. “Who’s Manuel?”
Debbie tapped the magazine cover. “The photographer who took these photos, darling. I believe he was quite enamored with you.” Debbie smiled wickedly. “And if I remember correctly, I think you were rather taken with him yourself.”
“But…but I’m married.”
“So? That never seemed to stop you before.”
“Are you serious?” Amber lowered her voice, disgust and horror racing through her veins. “Have I been…unfaithful to Vince?”
“Of course not!” Debbie laughed. “You were always such a good girl. Always wanting to do the right thing. But that didn’t stop you from flirting incessantly. Everyone can flirt, right? It’s all harmless good fun.”
Harmless good fun until someone—namely her husband—found out she’d been flirting constantly with other men. Men she worked with, men she spent too much time with.
Why would she do that? Flirting was a part of the business she knew, but…
No way could she have contemplated thoughts of being disloyal to Vince?
“When is your meeting with the plastic surgeon?” Debbie asked, interrupting Amber’s thoughts.
“Soon.” Amber offered her a weak smile as she handed the magazine back. “I’ll let you know what they say.”
“Please do. We could even put you back on the books now, you know. The scar doesn’t matter. Their photo manipulation skills get better as each hour passes, I swear. Or they can take your photos from an angle,” Debbie suggested, excitement dancing in her eyes.
Amber shoved the magazine at her again and Debbie glanced down, frowning at the magazine. “You don’t want to keep it?” she asked when she lifted her head and met Amber’s gaze.
Amber hated the cover. It represented something foreign to her. Something unknown. And that something unknown was…her.
“You keep it, Debbie,” she said, her voice low, her thoughts a jumble. “My sister-in-law mentioned she had a copy. I’ll get hers.”
Debbie watched her with those see-everything eyes. “You don’t like it.”
“I don’t remember it,” Amber stressed. “That’s a different thing.”
“You were a little bitter then,” Debbie said, her gaze locked on the cover. “Irritated with the world.”
“Why?” She had to ask. Wanted to know.
Debbie lifted her head, her steady gaze meeting Amber’s. “Your husband was being rather demanding on your time and you had none to give. He wanted different things, like children. From what you told me, I had a feeling you were at the end of your rope.”
Amber’s heart sunk. “Were we fighting?”
“Not so much fighting…I wouldn’t call it that. More like he was telling you what to do and you were rebelling against it. As much as you could, I should say. He didn’t allow much room for rebellion when it came to you,” Debbie said with a soft laugh. “He snapped his fingers and, for the most part, you went running.”
“Because I love him,” Amber said.
“Because you were anxious to please him and didn’t want to make him angry,” Debbie said wryly. “He had quite the temper sometimes. Or so you told me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Amber didn’t
“Debbie,” Amber chastised, shaking her head. She couldn’t take her eyes off the image that stared back up at her. The image that was her. She was blown away by how…different she looked.
How unhappy she looked.
Couldn’t Debbie see it? She could. It was written all over her face, especially in her eyes. The unhappiness, the sadness, the absolute disgust. When had these photos been taken? What in the world had she been thinking as she posed for the camera?
“Manuel wants to work with you again. In fact, he’s dying to work with you. He calls once a week, asking if you’re back,” Debbie said.
Amber glanced up, frowning. “Who’s Manuel?”
Debbie tapped the magazine cover. “The photographer who took these photos, darling. I believe he was quite enamored with you.” Debbie smiled wickedly. “And if I remember correctly, I think you were rather taken with him yourself.”
“But…but I’m married.”
“So? That never seemed to stop you before.”
“Are you serious?” Amber lowered her voice, disgust and horror racing through her veins. “Have I been…unfaithful to Vince?”
“Of course not!” Debbie laughed. “You were always such a good girl. Always wanting to do the right thing. But that didn’t stop you from flirting incessantly. Everyone can flirt, right? It’s all harmless good fun.”
Harmless good fun until someone—namely her husband—found out she’d been flirting constantly with other men. Men she worked with, men she spent too much time with.
Why would she do that? Flirting was a part of the business she knew, but…
No way could she have contemplated thoughts of being disloyal to Vince?
“When is your meeting with the plastic surgeon?” Debbie asked, interrupting Amber’s thoughts.
“Soon.” Amber offered her a weak smile as she handed the magazine back. “I’ll let you know what they say.”
“Please do. We could even put you back on the books now, you know. The scar doesn’t matter. Their photo manipulation skills get better as each hour passes, I swear. Or they can take your photos from an angle,” Debbie suggested, excitement dancing in her eyes.
Amber shoved the magazine at her again and Debbie glanced down, frowning at the magazine. “You don’t want to keep it?” she asked when she lifted her head and met Amber’s gaze.
Amber hated the cover. It represented something foreign to her. Something unknown. And that something unknown was…her.
“You keep it, Debbie,” she said, her voice low, her thoughts a jumble. “My sister-in-law mentioned she had a copy. I’ll get hers.”
Debbie watched her with those see-everything eyes. “You don’t like it.”
“I don’t remember it,” Amber stressed. “That’s a different thing.”
“You were a little bitter then,” Debbie said, her gaze locked on the cover. “Irritated with the world.”
“Why?” She had to ask. Wanted to know.
Debbie lifted her head, her steady gaze meeting Amber’s. “Your husband was being rather demanding on your time and you had none to give. He wanted different things, like children. From what you told me, I had a feeling you were at the end of your rope.”
Amber’s heart sunk. “Were we fighting?”
“Not so much fighting…I wouldn’t call it that. More like he was telling you what to do and you were rebelling against it. As much as you could, I should say. He didn’t allow much room for rebellion when it came to you,” Debbie said with a soft laugh. “He snapped his fingers and, for the most part, you went running.”
“Because I love him,” Amber said.
“Because you were anxious to please him and didn’t want to make him angry,” Debbie said wryly. “He had quite the temper sometimes. Or so you told me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Amber didn’t
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