Free Dead Perfect by Amanda Ashley Page B

her fault he wouldn’t listen. As for the photographs, maybe she could buy one or two for her parents so the night wouldn’t be a total waste of time. It might make a nice gift, a nice portrait for them to remember her by.
    She decided on a navy blue knit dress and matching heels. It was dressy yet casual. She applied her makeup carefully, brushed her hair, took a last look in the mirror she had bought. And frowned. She hadn’t really looked at herself lately; now she was surprised at how well she looked. Her skin had a healthy glow, her eyes sparkled, her hair was shiny. She had never looked better. A little beacon of hope flared inside her. Maybe she wasn’t dying, after all. Doctors had made mistakes before.
    Ronan nodded his approval when she went downstairs.
    “Are you sure I look all right?”
    He nodded. “Trust me. You look good enough to eat. Are you ready to go?”
    She nodded, though she wasn’t ready at all.
    The photographer, Ed Dewhurst, was waiting for them when they arrived.
    After welcoming the two of them, Dewhurst bade Shannah sit on a white wicker love seat. He arranged his camera, the lights, tilted her head at an angle, just so, and began taking pictures.
    He shot her sitting up and reclining, smiling and looking pensive. He shot her in front of a variety of backdrops and colors. He draped a long white silk scarf around her neck and turned on a fan so that the ends of the scarf blew softly behind her.
    Ronan stood out of the way, careful to avoid the large mirror that was set in the corner of the studio. He could see that Shannah was nervous and ill at ease. Her smile was tight, her whole demeanor declared she was uncomfortable in front of the camera.
    Shannah tried to relax, but it was impossible. She felt silly posing this way and that way, and worse, she felt like a fraud. Finally, she glanced beseechingly at Ronan. His dark eyes were watching her every move. It should have made her more self-conscious; instead, she forgot all about the lights and the camera and the photographer. She posed for Ronan, her gaze on his face, her body yearning for his touch. She imagined his mouth on hers, his arms holding her close, closer.
    “Perfect,” Dewhurst said, quickly snapping one picture after another. “Beautiful. Yes, yes. That smile! Wonderful!”
    A short time later, he put his camera down and turned off the lights. “That last roll,” he said, nodding, “you’ll be pleased with those, I’m sure.”
    “How soon can we see them?” Ronan asked.
    “The proofs will be ready by next week.”
    “We don’t have time for proofs,” Ronan said. “I want to see finished pictures as soon as possible.”
    “That’ll cost you extra.”
    “Just do it.” Ronan shook Dewhurst’s hand, then led Shannah out of the studio.
    “I think it went well,” he said as they walked to her car.
    “Do you? I felt…”
    He looked at her. “What did you feel?”
    She shook her head. At first, she had felt silly, posing as if she were somebody, but then she had looked into Ronan’s eyes and she had posed for him, wanted to look pretty for him. “Never mind.”
    “Tell me, Shannah. What did you feel?”
    “Pretty,” she said, ever so softly. “I felt pretty.”
    “And you were,” he replied. “You are.”
    Looking into his eyes, she believed him.
    But later that night, lying in bed, she found herself wondering yet again how he had found her apartment and how he had known where she was having dinner.
     
    The next week flew by. The flowers she had hoped to plant in the garden were forgotten as she spent practically every minute memorizing possible questions and answers and reading Ronan’s books. To her amazement, it grew easier and easier to memorize the answers. Even more amazing was the fact that she could recite long passages from all of his books. She wasn’t sure why, but she had never gotten around to telling him she had changed her mind.
    He removed the password from his current work in