His voice sounds different, like he’s lost. This isn’t the certain Nick Ferro who’s been promenading around me for months. It’s the man I glimpsed inside that other guy. I hear his voice and I can’t help but turn and look at him. Nick speaks to the ceiling, almost as if he’s afraid to look at me.
Nick clears his throat and continues, “I thought she was crazy, but my Dad’s the same way. They’re clones, my aunt and my dad. They think the same way and have the same expectations. So when little Nick Ferro discovered he had artistic abilities, they were squashed. No Ferro is permitted to have such a mundane job. But I couldn’t stop learning—that would have been like trying not to breathe. I just can’t. So I learned photography and I learned some other things.”
“Some?” I prompt. I know damn well that he knows a lot of artistic things. I can see it in the few pictures he took.
He laughs once, softly, “I’m trying not to exaggerate. Somewhere between high school and graduating with my masters, that artsy guy disappeared. Now I’m all gusto, charisma and charm. I have to be. It’s on 24/7 and I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.” He sighs and looks over at me. “Ah, right, it’s because you already know. You have this gaze that’s unnerving, you know. It’s like you can see through me and tell I have no soul.” He shivers and, although I know he’s making light of it, I can see he believes what he says.
I turn toward him and pull one foot up onto the bed. Looking down at him, I say, “You have a soul—it’s not a thoughtless compliment, it’s the truth. If you didn’t, you couldn’t take photographs the way you do.”
Nick watches me a moment too long, then lowers his gaze. Those dark lashes obscure his blue gaze. He opens his mouth with a fake smile and then shuts it again. “I can’t bullshit you. In all this time, you’re the only person I can’t fool. It’s like you’re bullshit-proof.”
The comment makes me laugh. “A wonderful quality to possess, indeed.”
“It is, but there’s more. Tenacity and genuine concern and care for the people around you—even when life doesn’t treat you fairly, even when I didn’t treat you fairly.”
I mash my lips together and ask him again, “Why me? And don’t say because I’m the best. That’s bullshit.”
Nick’s smile fades. “I had to prove myself. You were the job.”
“What?” I straighten and look at him because that sounded totally wrong.
Nick shakes his head, “I love your dirty mind, gutter girl, but that’s not what I meant. I was given a target based on my current set of skills. The goal was to destroy your business in ninety days and complete every contract I received. I had to make sure you closed your doors and never opened again.”
He mashes his lips together and hands me his phone. “You were chosen for a reason, by my father, so I could work at the family company. My objective was to prove to him that I am ruthless enough to handle business matters, no matter what. He pinpointed someone I admired and told me to destroy her.”
Taking his phone, I look at the picture he has pulled up. It’s an article about me printed in Babylon’s newspaper, a paper so small I thought no one ever saw it. My picture is there along with a shot from one of my bridal sessions. They did a story on me because “the portrait was sublime for a photographer so young.” They felt my level was unusual for my age. I continue to stare at the article, unable to wrap my head around what he’s telling me. “But this was almost four years ago.”
“I know.” He reaches for his phone, but I accidentally flip it to the next picture and stare. Shock fills me from head to toe and I drop the phone on the floor.
Nick sits up quickly, worry flashing through his eyes. “I’m not a stalker, Sky. I just saw your work when I was getting my degree and fell in love with it. I guess when I met the legend and got shunned it hurt a little, so it lessened the sting when you were assigned as my target.” He lowers his eyes like he can’t stand what he’s done.
A Ferro was infatuated with my work? I lift his phone from the floor. “May I?’
Nick swallows hard and nods before getting off the bed and heading toward the window. He slips his hands into his pockets and looks outside at the blue sky and setting sun. Sophie is probably walking down the aisle right now. I push the thought away and take a deep breath. I flip to the next picture, it’s another piece of my work. I flip from image to image, finding a spattering of work from other artists—most of whom are long dead.