Copyright Andyhm. 2018
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.
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Alisha: A Dark Romance.
It's a tale as old as time, of love found, lost and found again. It's the oldest plot in literature.
This is my take on this tale. It concentrates on the 'found again' part, and looks at the difficulties people have in rebuilding a relationship, and for one, regaining trust after it has been lost. Is it a loving wife's tale or a Romance? I started out writing a lost love romance but as it progressed it became darker and darker until it seems to me to have slipped into the LW category.
This is the second part (of 5). All are finished and I'll be submitting them on consecutive days. it is not a BTB tale - if that's what you are looking for then I'd suggest you stop reading now! I've left voting and comments on. I will delete any non-constructive or abusive comments.
Review and editing was by the wonderful Blackrandl1958. All of the remaining mistakes are mine as I can't resist that final tweak.
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Alisha - Chapter 2
Eighteen months later:
I dropped my bag just inside the door of the flat, and my backpack on the table. I collapsed on the sofa in the lounge, sick to my stomach. I glanced at my watch, 12 hours since I'd walked out of the hotel room, and I guessed Ali still hadn't noticed I'd left.
I'd flown out to Antigua five days earlier to join Ali on her latest assignment, I hadn't seen her for several days, and our reunion was as passionate as ever. I was glad that absence made the heart fonder, as she'd been somewhat distant for the past few months.
On her last couple of assignments, she'd barely made any time for me, yet she'd been the one who'd wanted me with her. She'd blamed it on the pressure of work, so when she was offered this contract we'd arraigned that I would join her and we'd have a week's vacation at the end. I was looking forward to a relaxing vacation and the chance to reconnect with my wife.
I got a renewed taste of reality the next morning. Alisha was scheduled for a swimwear shoot at dawn on the hotel's exclusive beach. She had woken me up with a kiss as she'd left the room.
"It's very early," she whispered. "You stay in bed, I'll be finished in a few hours, and we can have a late breakfast. You can come and collect me later."
I tried to sleep but I couldn't, I showered and stood on the balcony and saw the lights of the photographer's crew on the beach below. What the hell, I thought; I might as well go and watch the shoot.
As I stepped onto the sand, a security guard stopped me. "Sorry, this section of the beach is off limits to the public," he told me.
"That alright, I'm Alisha's husband."
"And she's?"
"The model," and I pointed at her as she stood ankle deep in the surf 50 yards away.
He shook his head, "My instructions are to let only let people with a pass onto the beach.
Fuck it, I thought, I'd always been allowed to be with Ali on a shoot, and this wasn't going to be the first time it happened. I called over to her.
She paused and gave me a wave and a few moments later one of the numerous assistants came walking over. Good, I thought; we'll get this solved quickly.
Before I could say anything, the woman spoke. "You need to leave; you're disturbing James." The assistant spoke in an American accent.
"And who the fuck is James?"
"He's the photographer," she said in a shocked tone.
I shrugged dismissively, "Fair enough, but it's not him I want to see, it's my wife, so if you could just tell this nice man to let me pass everything will be fine."
"I can't; it's a closed set."
I gave her an incredulous look, there had to be at least 20 people on the beach, and I could tell that at least half of them had no discernible role in the shoot.
"Ali," I shouted, "This idiot won't let me on the beach."
She stopped in mid-pose and then headed in my direction. She was stopped by the photographer, who I assumed was the famous James. I could hear the harsh tone of the conversation from where I was standing. James pointed back at the surf, and Ali just stood there shaking her head and pointing at me.
A third person joined them, and to my surprise, after a moment Ali walked back into the surf. This third person headed over in my direction. As he approached, I recognized him from Ali's agency. Tony looked after Ali for the modeling agency.
"Ben, I'm sorry, but James won't have another photographer on any of his shots." He said as he approached me.
"I'm not here as a bloody photographer; I don't even have a camera on me. I'm here as Ali's husband, and I seem to recall her contract specifically states I can accompany her on shoots as a chaperone."
"Christ, Ben, please don't push that. He's a temperamental bastard at the best of times. He just about had a hissy fit when he saw you."
"Then he needs to grow a pair. Get Ali over here; I want to know what he said to her. Then tell this wanker," and I pointed at the security guard, "That I can access the shoot whenever I want."