Model Behaviour

Going Crazy (29)

"If you don't pick anything in the next thirty seconds Gracie I will pick the fattiest dessert and you will eat every last spoonful-"

I winced at the threat, mentally counting how many calories are in one scoop of gelato. The smartest idea is to get peppermint tea, 2-8 calories per cup I believe.

An orange? Approximately 87 calories. I looked at the richest cake on the countertop, and felt bile rising up to my throat as the mental numbers began to rack up.

I hate this. I hated counting my daily intake, and I hated worrying if I 'made the cut'. For the first time in my life, I wanted to quit modelling and never return to the industry.

And the fact that it looked delicious was the worst part.

"Can you blend the peppermint tea into a slush?"

The server gave me a look of distaste before beginning to blend the tea and ice. "Got it." I smile at Tom, knowing full well that he didn't realise why I ordered the strange food.

We were currently sat outside a quaint bistro, in a square of a small town somewhere in the Bay of Naples. "What did you order?"

"Peppermint tea slush."

His eyes cloud with disappointment, showing the flecks of Amber in his iris. "Gracie-"

"It's temporary. I'll return to normal after Paris." I quickly interrupt not allowing Tom to begin his god awful speech.

"As long as you promise to eat normally after."

My heart warms at his concern over me. "I promise."

We carry on eating in the bistro for a good fifteen minutes before we slowly rise to walk about and utilise more of our free time. The shop venders smiled at us when we walked past them, offering free samples of their goods.

"D'you want to go on the beach?" Tom asks me pointing to the volcanic beach. It's about 25 degrees centigrade, with the June heat warming my bare shoulders. "We can't actually swim Tom-" Which is a shame because I haven't been to a beach in forever.
Beaches in the United Kingdom are either pebbly and rocky or a gritty sand combination. And of course, very, very cold.

"Then we will dip ourselves knee-deep and dry off when we walk about." His smart-ass mouth remarks and draws attention to his perfectly shaped Cupid's bow, which consequently allows me to marvel at his lips.

"Sure. Just don't get us into trouble." My lips pucker forming the word trouble and Tom's eyes move down towards something- I'm no eye reader.

While we slowly are making our way towards the almost black sandy beach, I allow my hair to be un-knotted from the braid I knotted in the morning. The bruntette-blonde waves still smell of my perfume I sprayed in the morning, and I slide my wayfarer ray-bans down to my eyes.

"My lips look almost as good as yours, Gracie." His comment catches me off guard.

I splutter at his before catching the ability of forming a coherent thought. "W-what?"

His only reply is a trademark smirk.

I stop my walking, with my sandals sinking into the scorching sand. He smirks and slowly unbuttons his white oxford shirt all the way, yet leaving the material on his back- hopefully protecting his skin from sunburn. And not protecting me from seeing the excess of the tanned, muscular planes of his torso, seeing 'the V' slightly peeking out from underneath his navy Capri shorts.

"How much are you willing to bet that you're gonna scream my name in the next few minutes?"

"I beg your pardon Thomas?"