Page 6 of Dearest Protector
What woman wanted to tell her best friend that she was allowing herself to be bruised in order to keep her job?
Ian’s younger brother, Ben Blackwood, had been there on the patio. Had he told her about what had occurred?
God, I really hope not. I’d rather tell her myself. I’ll try to make it sound like it’s no big deal.
Katie’s life had been an even bigger tragedy than mine. She was finally happy, and I’d do almost anything to make sure she stayed that way.
She’d come back home to Florida after college, not long after I had returned home from New York due to the abrupt end of my dancing career.
Luckily, Katie’s misfortune hadn’t lasted long. She’d managed to find her dream job here with Blackwood Technologies, and her dream man in one of the two owners of the mammoth tech corporation.
Maybe Ian Blackwood’s courtship had been more than a little weird, but the end results had made my best friend happier than she’d ever been in her entire life.
The last thing she needed was to worry aboutmeright now.
I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
No more stalling. No more making excuses. I have to tell Katie the truth.
Because I lived in a tiny studio that wasn’t much bigger than many people’s bedrooms, I didn’t have to take a single step to see that Katie was still gazing at my photos, her eyes glued to the screen of my laptop.
“Ariel,” she said absently because she was still focused on the computer. “These other portfolios of yours are amazing. How in the hell do you create this kind of work?”
One glance told me that she’d gotten through the regular photos I’d taken of New York City and was now perusing my hobby files.
Digitally altering my own photos of wildlife, flowers, and objects was something I’d done to alleviate the stress of my dancing career, and I’d gotten plenty of practice at it over the years.
It was myonlyhobby, and the one other thing I could focus on when I wasn’t dancing.
I had thousands of those unique images in many different portfolios, but in my opinion, they really weren’t worth studying so carefully.
Yeah, I shared them on a few anonymous social media accounts, mostly to get feedback, but they were far from extraordinary artwork.
“They’re nothing, Katie. It’s just a hobby,” I told her dismissively as I took a few steps into the kitchen to make some coffee, grateful that I still had some to brew.
I was out of almost everything elseexceptcoffee.
“They’re fabulous,” she contradicted. “The colors are so bold and the creativity and emotion is all there in every image you create from your pictures. I love these, Ariel. Obviously, your huge social media following loves them, too. Sorry, but you didn’t close the window to your social media accounts where you post these.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew that Katie wasn’t allthatsorry. She was a computer nerd, a programmer and a software designer. She was curious about anything that involved technology. Obviously, she’d trolled around a little in my portfolios while I was showering.
Honestly, I didn’t mind.
We’d been really close friends since grade school. There was very little we didn’t share with each other. Okay, maybe I didn’t want to reveal the fact that I’d screwed up again, or that I was in dire straits because Katie had just come out of a tight financial spot herself. But I knew Icouldtell her anything and she’d never judge.
I hadn’t really beenhidingmy photography hobby. We’d been physically separated for years except for occasional visits, and we were still catching up. It just hadn’t seemed all that important to mention a useless hobby.
“It’s more than just a hobby, Ariel,” Katie admonished, finally raising her head to look at me. “Why aren’t you monetizing your success with this? You obviously love creating these pieces, and you must put your heart and soul into them. You have a huge following on social media that seems to be clamoring for more. You could easily make this into a business. Sell this work.”
I shook my head. “I was a ballet dancer, Katie. I was trained in dance from the age of four. I have no formal education or training in photography or art. That’s never going to happen.”
“It doesn’t matter. You have a gift. This work is part photography and a lot of creativity that you use to make these into works of art. And who says you have to formally study photography to be good at it? You’ve obviously done self-study, and you’ve been taking pictures since we were kids.”
She was right. I had studied photography on my own whenever I had any downtime. Other than dancing, my only additional passion was my hobby. I’d never had the time for anything else.
I posted my work on social media simply as “Ariel.” The only thing I posted on those accounts was my digital art. No personal pictures. No personal posts. It was something I’d always kept separate from my real identity. No one knew who I really was on those social media pages, and I liked it that way.
Honestly, I was surprised that I’d amassed such a huge following over the years, but it was probably more about curiosity than admiration.