Unwanted Wedlock

Chapter 7

A/N: 

You might notice that I dedicated this to @AdelaideKnight, and the reason for that was that they were my very first reader and my very first voter, and while I don't know what they think of my story, they were literally the only one except me who has even the opened the pages of this story which is beyond personal to me, so this is dedicated to them. Thank you AdelaideKnight. 

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      After a few days of more active avoiding, Ryerson basically dragged Lyla out of the house to get them to the studio. 

      Normally, Lyla has a lot of respect for filmmakers. She always loved the way stories were so moving and were put into moving pictures and motion to convey a vision. Especially when the film was one where people put blood, sweat and tears in. With all their hard work and everything put into a little tape or something. It must have been so satisfying to see how all their hard work was for their sight anytime. There were probably people out there who saw their hard work looking at a successful business or family but Lyla always had more of an affinity with the intimacy between a filmmaker and a film or a writer and a book.

      Now though, as the man named Carl told them all the kinds of shots they were doing, Lyla was barely stopping herself from running away.

     "So, the first shot," Carl started, "Mr. Reeds we'll start with something simple?" 'start? what the hell do you mean 'start'?' Lyla thought, ' 'isn't a cover only supposed to be 1 photo?'  "First, Mr.Reeds, you will be leaning on this table," Carl pointed to a shiny, over-polished wooden table, "and Mrs. Reeds will be leaning into you. You will have to have an arm around her and she will have her hand on your shoulder. Your other hands will be holding a wine glass in your other hands, stretching your hands out slightly to the side and the picture will be perfect." 

      Lyla gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying anything. To think, all this was because her oh-so-perfect husband said a specific, random amount of time they had been together. Before they could say anything a few ladies ushered Lyla to a changing room. Against her will she wore a short black dress, it was skin tight, just the way she hated wearing her clothing. The V line was too deep for her liking and the lady made her wear a thin gold chain with a small pendant on it.  Her hair was in a slightly messy bun style, Lyla didn't even want to think what the dress lady was trying to suggest in the picture. 'What am I doing here when I'm supposed to be freaking studying?' she cursed herself.

      Lyla's makeup was more than she had ever worn. The most Lyla ever remembered putting makeup was putting kohl and lipstick but this, Holy Jesus, Lyla didn't even know half of the stuff being put on her face. Lyla wasn't one to put makeup on but that didn't mean she didn't like it, she thought of it as an art. But as much as she liked to flatter herself trying to look beautiful once in a while, that wasn't her. 

     They put some weird base creams but they soon took it off saying that it was not complimenting. They had done a little bit of eye makeup. There was no kohl which was a pity because she thought kohl made her look quite pretty compared to other things. Instead they put eyeliner and a lot of mascara. Her eyes looked so hooded, again, she didn't want to know what the lady was trying to suggest. 

      They had put on dark red lipstick which didn't look half-bad. Thankfully Lyla was able to talk the lady out of making her wear the shoes of death. Honestly, Lyla could not walk in shoes that had more than two inches of heels. Sure, if it was the sassy thick base leather boots she would be able to do it, with difficulty, but she would handle it because it made her feel badass. But the ones that her makeup friend offered, my god, they were the pointy needle things that were made sorely for the purpose of destroying a lady's feet. That opinion never wavered. Putting on the most decent pair of black heels, Lyla could find she walked back to the photo shoot set (with little difficulty).

      Ryerson was already there. He was wearing a dark blue dress shirt that was complimenting his figure. His hair was neatly styled, in the sort of messy thing that Lyla was put into as well. No one could deny that he looked very handsome. It wasn't supposed to be legal to look so good, honestly. Lyla didn't miss his slow once over on her.

      Could anyone blame Ryerson? The woman in front of him was beautiful. With a dress as short as the one she was wearing and it being the only skin tight thing (except for all her lower body wear) he saw her wear. She looked absolutely stunning. Especially with her hair slightly messy, her eyes darker than ever in the most attractive way possible with a little bit of eye makeup, and don't even get him started on those cherry red lips. He could stare at them all day long, just like he could stare at her legs the same way. With a solid minute of staring at her, he cleared his throat and turned to Carl. The said man started to give the same instructions as before.

       In a few minutes both Lyla and Ryerson were extremely uncomfortable in the closest proximity they had been in since the brief half-kiss they shared on their wedding day. 

       Ryerson was leaning on the table, his foot bent to be flat against the part of the table which held it up. His other leg was stretched in a swaggerly manner. Lyla was between his legs, leaning against him, Ryerson had a strong arm wrapped around her waist, while she had her hand on his shoulder. Their faces were right next to each other. Their free arms stretched out in the same direction holding barely filled wine glasses. Whatever idiot chose this position really was an idiot. Lyla was trying to distract herself thinking about her study notes and cursing underneath her breath every time they had to adjust the position. She was grinding her teeth the entire time.

       "Relax," Carl insisted from behind the camera. Many other people echoed his words.

        "Relax, my foot," Lyla muttered, "how am I supposed to relax when you're having a camera pointed at me like a gun?" Ryerson raised an eyebrow at her, holding her waist tighter. Lyla flinched, she didn't like it when people touched her too much but she still got the message. She had to keep up a fake smile.

     "Hold her closer," Carl said. Ryerson pulled her even closer, Lyla had to squirm. She really didn't like people touching her so much.

     "Relax," Ryerson whispered in her ear, sending slight goosebumps down her neck.

      "And why the hell should I listen to you? I thought I made my point when you were drunk that I'm not going to do things just to please you," Lyla hissed at him. Ryerson brought her so close that the space between them was practically non-existent.

      "Not here. Not now," he ordered to her lowly in her ear. Lyla looked at him, a glare obvious in her eyes.

      "If I said that on that night, would you have stopped rambling?" she retorted quietly. He raised an eyebrow, challenging her. Lyla was tempted to shave that eyebrow off somehow.

      "I said sorry-" she parted her lips, about to answer. To make things real, the dude did not apologize. She didn't know what others thought but all he said was that 'he didn't mean it'. To her that didn't sound like 'sorry'.

      "Stop with the chit chat," Carl called to them. He walked closer to them, adjusting their posture slightly. He made Lyla keep eye contact with Ryerson, which meant that their faces were caressing each other. He adjusted Ryerson's arm to fit more snug around Lyla's waist and she was tempted to punch that guy in the face. She could punch both of them actually. Carl adjusted Ryerson's position so that his legs caged her more into him. There was no space between them and Lyla was already praying for them to get out. 

      Lyla was unaffected by Ryerson's hold except for the fact she was feeling uncomfortable to the bone. She hated it when people touched her without her will, something some might relate to. Ryerson noticed her discomfort and raised an eyebrow, to which she gritted her teeth at.

     Ryerson was so confused. Any other woman would have loved to be in her position. He blew out a slow breath through his nose. This woman was so stubborn, so strong-minded, so independent, he couldn't handle her. But Ryerson's eyes opened as he remembered his father's words on the day of their wedding. When his father had brought him to the side as Lyla had been signing off papers. "You don't need to handle her, son," Ryerson's father had said, "Ry, all you have to do is love her." and the words echoing in his head loosened his muscles slightly.

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One last thanks to AdelaideKnight.