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I had spent the last five decades in a world in which cameras always surrounded me, it didn't matter if it was me who decided how the photo was going to be, how the lighting worked for the perfect mood that fit the magazine, or if it was a photo taken by the press, or the paparazzi, only useful to paint the picture they wanted to.
There were always cameras.
Except when I was home. When I was home there were no cameras.
At home I was able to dress in a far more casual manner— tasteful, but a far cry from what I wore outside— and breathe freely.
There were photos of me that had been taken at home of course, but those were my photos. Me with my daughters when they were younger, photos with my husbands that laid forgotten in old corners of the townhouse, old private photoshoots taken during the days of my youth that never made their way to the public eye.
Then there was Andrea.
Oh, that bewildering woman loved taking photos.
I tended to say teasingly it was her journalist streak that leaked into her daily life, but we both knew that there was nothing related to journalism in the photos she liked to take.
Now, I no longer held on to my own photos.
“Andrea, please, I have just woken up.” I muttered with a scowl as I rested my head on my hand, my body leaning against the kitchen aisle as I sat to drink my morning coffee.
Andrea merely smiled at me, her eyes twinkling with that warmth they always carried in the privacy of our home. “You look adorable.” She muttered, her voice as thick with sleep as mine was.
I huffed and shook my head in disbelief. “I am not adorable, Andrea. You seem to be still half asleep.”
Andrea kept taking photos, then, she lowered her old camera and walked around the kitchen aisle. “You really should dial down the coffee, it's not like you have to go to the office today.” She muttered, hands settling in my thighs as she made my seat spin for me to face her.
Big, warm, brown eyes looked at me with such an adoration that still caught me off guard every time our gazes met.
“I will forbid that new girl from telling you a hint about my schedule.” I scoffed as I let Andrea shift closer, her hands settling in my hips and she nuzzled her face against my shoulder, her hips between my legs.
We both knew I wasn't going to do it anyways.
***
“Andrea, when, if you don't mind me asking, did you take these photos?” I muttered, an eyebrow climbing up my forehead as I examined the many photos of me that laid on Andrea's home office desk.
The photos were rather adequate, cinematic yet carrying a certain warmth that not many could capture.
I lay in bed, face down, naked with nothing but the covers hiding my nudity from the lens. I was seemingly sound asleep, my hair tousled in a way it was only at home. Warm light leaked through the half closed curtains, giving just enough luminosity to the room.
I hadn't seen these photos until now.
Surprisingly, it didn't bother me to know there were photos of me I didn't know about, unlike the press, I knew Andrea would guard these photos until her last breath— quite a possessive foolish woman, if you ask me.
It felt calm, curious possibly, but calm.
Safe.
I heard steps approaching the office and then Andrea was standing right behind me, gentle hands settling on my waist as her chin lowered to rest on my shoulder from behind.
“I took them four days ago. I was just going to show them to you.” She muttered, her voice sweet and quiet in an almost reverent way. “You look beautiful. You always do.”
I was just about to huff in a vain attempt of denial to her affirmation, but then, I felt wet lips pressing against my nape.
“You have a tongue of silver.” I said as I turned to face her, suddenly finding myself caged between Andrea and her desk.
“Well.” She said with that cheeky smile of hers. “I can give it far more entertaining uses.”
***
Caroline was visiting Andrea and I for Easter, her sons, still small and in the tender years of childhood, brought an energy to the house that reminded me of when Cassidy and Caroline herself were younger.
“Grandma, grandma, look!” I saw as the eldest of the boys, Charles, ran towards Andrea with a wide grin, holding a little soldier toy. My wife burst into laughter as she leaned in to receive the little boy with open arms, lifting him up in the air before settling his weight on the side of her hip.
“Well, would you look at that! Caro, since when does little Charlie have toys this cool?!” Andrea said with an enthusiasm that mirrored Charles’ and I couldn't help but smile faintly.
I sat on the couch of the den and watched Andrea play with Charles, then, slowly, Caroline's youngest approached me. “Mimi, can I sit with you?” I looked down at Edgar, then I lifted him to help him get on the couch.
Two days later, when the townhouse went back to its calm yet pleasing quietness, I saw Andrea snickering in the backyard as she sat in a rocking chair with a glass of wine.
“What is it you find so amusing, love?” Andrea lifted her eyes to look at me as I sat down in the rocking chair next to hers.
“I mean.” She murmured as she handed me a pile of photos. “Try denying you are cute.”
The photos seemed to have been taken over the last two days. There was one of me feeding a half naked Edgar before bath time, he was grinning wide, mouth dirty with food as he opened it up for the spoonful I held to his mouth, an amused smirk on my face.
In another photo Charlie was sitting in my lap as I reviewed The Book, my glasses on making my eyes comically larger than they are, the boy was leaning against me as he tried to get a glimpse of what I was doing.
Then there was one of me with Caroline, we were both in the kitchen, making lunch. I remembered there being a photo just like this one but from years ago, taken by Andrea as I was teaching Caroline to cook without burning the food. I wasn't one to admit feeling nostalgic, but if Andrea had asked me right then, I might have said yes.
There was also another photo of me with Edgar. It was from the day they arrived. He had asked to sit with me and, not long later, he had fallen asleep with his body buried against my side. I smiled, then I stood up towards Andrea, leaving a kiss in the edge of her mouth.
***
I had been taking Andrea to events with me for a long time already, our relationship hadn't been secret for years, and it wasn't like what these ignorants could say about love mattered to me.
As if they had ever gotten to know a thing about love.
The headlines weren't scarce, the press ate up all of it until there were no crumbs left. Yet, there was barely any truth to them— if any at all.
There had been a whole page on Page Six about The poor Andrea and her dragon lady of a wife. It featured a photo of her and I, my hand on her face, keeping her at arms length, as she tried to reach for me. I was glaring at her, and it almost seemed like we had been arguing.
The truth was Andrea had kissed me earlier and smudged my lipstick, I fixed it and hours later she tried the same stunt in a slightly inebriated state. I wouldn't have minded if she had tried it in a more private place than a random hallway, or if I didn't know she would surely pull another stunt.
Page Six had claimed I was a cold, frigid partner, they even insinuated me being aggressive.
Yet, as they got together a whole page with such nonsense, I lay in front of the chimney in the third floor lounge room. I felt warm even when my body was covered by nothing but a flimsy silken sheet that hid only from my hips to my knees.
Andrea brought me water, insisting I stay hydrated. I lay there with my wife right behind me, the fire of the chimney the only source of warmth and light.
I heard a quiet click and when I looked over my shoulder I found Andrea with her camera in hand, I simply snickered as she kept taking photos of me, one hand leaving the camera to trace devout lines into my skin.
***
My eyes drifted from Andrea to her desk and then back to her. It was a late Thursday night, the book laid in my lap, a red pen in my hand as I sat on the couch at Andrea's home office. I lowered my eyes to The Book and then came the distinct sound of the camera.
Click. Click.
I lifted my eyes to find Andrea taking photos just as I had expected. I raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on my lips before I shook my head incredulously.
“I am yet to understand what it is you find so fascinating, Andrea.” I muttered, looking down at the worn cashmere cardigan that I had gifted to Andrea some years ago and that she refused to get rid of.
I found Andrea glaring at me when I lifted my face to meet her gaze.
She clearly wasn't fond of my previous statement.
My eyes settled on one of her shelves and I set the book down before starting to walk towards it. “What are these? Old drafts?” I asked as I grabbed three heavy binders filled to the brim with what seemed to be papers of some sort.
Andrea didn't answer, she merely looked at me as I took the binders to the couch with me.
I raised an eyebrow at my wife to inquire for an answer, yet she didn't seem to be interested in saying a word.
I opened the first binder and found photos. Many, many photos. All of me. They seemed to be from years ago, all seemingly taken by Andrea. I skimmed through the pages thinking I'd find something other than photos, but the whole binder was filled with photos alone.
I opened the second binder, then the third.
Photos.
Thousands of them. More than I had ever realized Andrea was taking.
No galas. No events. No Runway shows. No award ceremonies. No photos like the ones taken for the public.
Just us.
Just me.
At home, in the kitchen, the backyard, in private vacations, at bed, asleep, half naked, eating, drinking, with the girls and our grandchildren, with our friends, with everyone that mattered, taken over the years with something only she could capture.
A certain something only she saw in me.
“Andrea, how many of these have you taken?” I said with a slight frown. “Lord, there even are blurry ones, why would you print photos that look like they were taken during an earthquake?”
When I looked at Andrea I didn't find the sheepish smile I expected. Her face was blank, perhaps even a little… melancholic? It was an expression I couldn't quite place, but I knew it wasn't one I enjoyed seeing in her face.
My eyes remained fixed on my wife as she stood up from her desk and walked towards me. She dropped to her knees in front of me, her arms wrapping around me as she pressed her forehead against my stomach.
I didn't move. I didn't know what was happening and that was putting me on edge.
“I'm scared I'll forget.”
Andrea's voice was barely more than a whisper, quiet and small in a way it had never been before— not when she'd been in her worst moments, not when she was angry, not when she was sad, not when she was consumed by regret. It was quiet in an almost resigned way.
“You're scared you'll forget what?” There was nothing else I could ask, I was lost and, even if I hated the feeling, the desire to comfort my wife was stronger.
“You.” I frowned. Why would Andrea forget me? I found myself even more confused than I already was. I took a deep breath and let my hand rest on Andrea's head, my fingers sliding through brown strands.
“Why are you scared of forgetting me, love?” Andrea's face sank further into me and I leaned back, letting her find a more comfortable position as her arms clung tighter to my hips.
“I will outlive you, Miranda. I will spend the last years of my life without you.” I could barely make her words out, but I did hear her, my heart nearly halting to a stop.
I myself had always had a certain insecurity in regards to how much younger Andrea was than me. These feelings had eased, still, they always remained in the back of my mind, occasionally surging to the surface only to be smothered by my wife with all of her adoration.
As I sat there, Andrea's warmth pressed against my body in a way I had grown familiar to over the years, I realized I had never thought of how Andrea might feel about it herself.
She wasn't insecure.
She was frightened.
She had her reasons to be so, I myself had outlived people that I held in a special place in my heart, but never had I lost someone I adored as much as I did Andrea. Nor someone I adored as much as she adored me.
It would be devastating at best.
I thought of how I myself would feel if something were to happen to her. Of how despairing it'd be to realize I started to forget her after the years passed.
I looked down at the woman that clung to me as if I were a lifeline.
To her perhaps I was.
We didn't speak further, I just ran my hands through her hair and up and down her arms until I finally coaxed her into coming to bed .
***
“Andrea! Come here!” I said from the backyard of our Hamptons house. The flowers were in full bloom, painting the whole place with warm and bright colors, petals bathed in sunlight.
I sat on the grass with nothing but a light robe, when Andrea walked out into the backyard I smiled at the sight of her wearing a robe just like mine.
She stood a couple meters away from me, quietly gazing at me with eyes that spoke for her.
I smiled at her in the way I did only when there was no one but her and I. “Go for your camera, love. Help me take some photos of the flowers.”
My wife stood in place for a moment. “What are you waiting for? For winter to come? These flowers won't photograph themselves, Andrea.” Her own smile widened and she ran away excitedly.
When the sun started to set we were still in the backyard, a blanket on the ground with some food around, flowers surrounding us and the gradually disappearing sunrays giving the last of its warmth until it rose the next morning.
I turned my head to the side and looked at Andrea and even when the camera and her hands covered her eyes, I knew they held as much love in them as mine did.
I gave her my biggest smile.
Click.