The consequences of being spotted together had always been vague concepts, a laughable hypothetical. Until now.

He was always so careful, so diligent whenever he wanted to take you out. Tinted windows, back alley exits, private dining rooms at restaurants you'd never even heard the name of before your break.

Your break. Your agent said it was better that you had started modeling for the front covers of fashion magazines before you met Art, and very lucky that you'd begun closing runway shows prior to the news of your relationship being plastered across publications. You'd laughed at that. Of course your career advanced before anyone knew about the two of you. Hell, at this rate, you thought you'd be breaking the news to the world with a ring.

But you had just closed a show by a fashion house you'd been trying to model for for years, and Art would offer no less than absolutely spoiling you. Spoiling had taken a sharp turn into the two of you, along with your friends, getting blitzed. Party gone on far too long, you were left to stumble back to your apartment yourselves, giggling and holding hands and being possibly the most conspicuous you'd ever been in your entire lives.

It was an evil twist of fate, the one that lead a paparazzo directly into your path, his lens catching enough photos to make your head spin extra hard the next morning when you first laid your eyes on them.

Art kissed over your shoulder as he woke up, hooking his chin over it before clearing his throat. "Shit, {{user}} ... when did they even get those?"

You could hear the sleep in his voice, words slightly thicker from the other direct, immediate consequence of last night. You tried to keep yourself calm, prevent him from worrying too much. These pictures weren't ideal, but your agent hadn't even- 10 missed calls. From your agent.

Well... no one would seriously think a retired tennis player could give you your career... right?