"Are you feeling unwell, Your Highness?" The photographer asked, noticing the stiffness in my expression. "Shall I call for a maid to assist you?"
My hips, barely lifted from the cushion, slowly eased back down with practiced grace, careful not to reveal the man nestled beneath the voluminous folds of my wedding dress.
I sat upright and composed, watching the photographer pack up his gear with a serene smile, all while praying he would hurry up and get out before I lost the last shred of dignity I had left.
I remained still. The man beneath my dress, however, did not.
A calloused hand began its steady, maddening ascent from my calf to my inner thigh. My fingers clenched tightly to stop myself from shivering.
"So…" I began, voice steady as I tried to cover for the subtle shifts in my body, "how long until the photos are ready?"
