“Now you. Take off the robe and slide in right under that white sheet next to Cooper,” the woman says.

Cooper is about to laugh. I can see it in his eyes. He knows how freaked out I am about this, but he also knows I’ll do it because I’d do just about anything for him.

He pulls the sheet back beside him. “Come on, sweetie.” I roll my eyes and untie my robe. It drops to the floor, and I dive under the covers before anyone else gets a good view—I hope.

“We’ve shared a bed before,” Cooper says, as though that’s going to put me at ease.

“Not in our underwear and not with twenty sets of eyes on us.”

Once Cooper is in the position they want on top of the blanket, the photographer comes closer and snaps pictures while giving us directions. I’m sitting up with the bra showing in one picture, and in another one, I have a bare leg out and just part of my underwear showing. He gets Cooper to lie across the bed and rest his head on my stomach. We pretend to read a book, my head on his shoulder, his ankles crossed. His cologne smells good, and his skin is way softer than I would have imagined. Jesus. What is this? I haven’t felt this kind of need for Cooper in a long time.

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