Black Diaries

37. Fabulous Goldfish

A camera. Right in front of me, ready to take mugshots. Instinctively, I took a step backwards. "I thought you said there were no photographers in here!" I hissed at Elliot.

"I said there weren't as many. Only a select group have been granted entrance into the hotel itself. Don't worry. They'll all behave."

"Smile, please?" Giving us a smile, probably as a sample he'd like us to emulate, the photographer raised his camera. Instinctively, I tried to step aside, but Elliot's arm came around my waist and drew me close.

"It's you he's really interested in," I murmured, trying to wriggle out of his hold. "I'd better get out of the way."

His grip didn't relax. Lowering his gaze to my level, he looked deep into my eyes.

"Cassidy, I want you at my side—on and off the photos. Always."

My breath caught. The need in his eyes, the desire to shout our relationship out to the world, it was clear as glass. How could I have ever been unsure whether or not he loved me? In that moment, it seemed so obvious.

What could I say?

"Of course, Elliot." A warm smile spreading over my face, I sank against him. "I'm not going anywhere."

What? Have you forgotten the cameras? The cops? Stupid, romantic, sentimental idiot! Your lovey-doveyness is going to get you killed!

"Oh, I forgot!" Elliot's face fell. "You don't like the flashes."

"That's right!" I seized the lifeline right away. "That's right! Silly me, haha. I almost forgot. So if you'll excuse me..."

"Sorry," Elliot said to the photographer. "She has sensitive eyes. The flashes, you understand."

"Oh, that's no problem." The photographer's face, which had already fallen, lit up with a bright smile again. "It's more than bright enough in here. I can turn the flash off before I take her picture."

The moment he heard this, Elliot's grip on me tightened again, just before I could slip away. "Did you hear that Cassy? Thank you, Sir," Elliot nodded at the photographer. "That would be very kind."

"Yes," I groaned, trying to smile at the man as he lifted the instrument of my doom to his eye. "Very kind indeed."

The camera went off.

"Smile a little more brightly, please, ma'am? Your facial expression just looks a little off for some reason."

Gee, I wonder why that is!

"Better?"

"Yes, that's more like it. Thanks!"

No problem! We want to look great for all the nice policemen, don't we?

The camera went off again.

"Thanks! That's all I need."

I forced a smile on my face. "May I ask what paper you work for?"

"The New York Times, ma'am."

Great! Just great! My secret identity was going to be revealed in style, nationwide!

"That's great!" I lied. "I always read the Times! I—oh, look!" Suddenly, I clapped a hand over my mouth. "Look, over there! Isn't that the actor from that Superman movie?"

The photographer whirled around. "Where? Where?"

Elliot stepped forward. "I don't see him. Which actor do you mean?"

"The one who played that bald guy who's always trying to slip a bit of kryptonite into Superman's drink and stuff like that," I said, pulling the knife out from under my dress and grabbing the photographer's camera strap. "Over there! Don't you see him?"