The Wife Before

I had to admit, it felt a little odd, him bringing a friend to my hotel room, but at the time I didn’t think to question it. I invited them both in with a smile.

“Felipe is a great photographer,” Roland said after fixing me a glass of wine.

“Is that true?” I asked Felipe, accepting the drink.

“I am,” said Felipe with a grin.

“Yes, and as you can see, he has his camera.”

“I see that,” I said with a laugh.

“I brought him here so he can take pictures of us.” Roland looked me in the eyes and I looked back, confused for a moment, but then it hit me.

“What kind of pictures?”

“Keepsakes,” he said. “I want him to capture us and how we feel the night before we get married. Excited. Primal. Feral.”

“You mean you want him to take pictures of us . . . naked?” I blushed and sipped my wine and Roland nodded and revealed all his teeth as he smiled.

“Is that crazy?”

“Only if you think it is,” I giggled, then I glanced at Felipe. He turned his head, peering out of the window, pretending he wasn’t listening to our conversation. “You won’t feel weird that your friend is shooting us?” I whispered to him.

“Nah. I trust him. Plus he already signed an NDA.”

I sighed, sipped my wine, and then said, “Okay. If this is what you want.” That was the thing about me. I was so head over heels for Roland at the time that I wanted to do whatever to please him and make him happy. It didn’t matter that he’d already had Felipe sign the NDA without my consent, or that he’d brought him to my private suite. Whatever Roland wanted from me, I gave to him.

Roland told me he had something for me in the car and went to get it. While he did, Felipe took off his camera bag and then began fiddling with the lens of his camera.

When my fiancé returned, he had a white bag with a black ribbon for a handle and inside it was green lingerie.

“My favorite color,” I cooed.

“Try it on,” he insisted, and I skipped off to the bathroom, putting on the matching set. The bra was lace and see-through, and I felt silly looking at myself in the mirror. I’d had my fair share of nights in lingerie, but not like this. Not with another pair of eyes around. My soon-to-be husband was out there waiting and his friend had a camera, ready to snap private photos of us. Though I was nervous, I was also excited about it. I loved when Roland revealed his spontaneous side. I didn’t see it often, but when I did, I never forgot those moments.

I tipped my chin confidently, then walked back out of the bathroom.

I took several pictures with Roland, who had taken his shirt off to get in on the fun with me. Felipe gave us instructions to enhance the photos and it was entertaining at first. But then we kept drinking and Roland insisted that I take pictures alone. I posed on the bed, half naked, in front the lens of a man I didn’t even know, while Roland sat in a chair in the corner of the room and watched.

And then Roland told me to take off my bra, so I did. He told me to be myself, so I did. I climbed off the bed, went to my makeup bag and pulled out a red tube of lipstick. I rubbed it on my lips, then walked over to Roland and kissed him on the cheek. He laughed.

I went to the patio doors to open them, throwing my arms up in the Vegas heat, drunk and unafraid. I was exhilarated that night. I was getting married to the love of my life in a matter of hours. I had no worries, no fears. Nothing to fret about.

I turned and cupped my breasts and Roland groaned and smiled.

“Do you like that?” I asked him, and Felipe kept shooting. I bit my bottom lip and climbed back on the bed.

“You realize that after tonight, you won’t be able to have sex with another man ever again, right?” Roland asked.

“Then maybe we should all just have a threesome!” I exclaimed, breaking out in a laugh right after.

Felipe stopped taking pictures. Roland glanced at him, and then back at me, his jaw flexing.

“I’m kidding, babe. Relax,” I said.

“No, you’re not.” Roland sipped from his wineglass.

Felipe lowered his camera nervously, slowly, side-eying Roland. Before long, Roland stood and picked up his shirt off the edge of the bed.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going to get some ice,” he said, heading for the door.

“Roland. I was just kidding,” I hurried to say.

“While I’m gone, I don’t care what you do. Don’t care how you do it. But I want you to know it’ll be the last time another man ever touches you again.”