When up-and-coming model Isabelle meets talented but jaded photographer Milo, sparks fly despite their age difference. Their romance becomes the talk of the New York City fashion scene, fueling rumors and speculation about their scandalous affair. A...
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"Wow," Isabelle let out involuntarily, gasping at the perfect, loft minimal, skyline view of Manhattan. "This is your studio?"
Isabelle turned to look behind her shoulder, doing her best to keep herself collected and calm, or at least trying her best to do so.
"I live here," Milo reported promptly, checking all the settings on the cameras and lights.
"Aren't you supposed to have assistants to help you with that?" Isabelle dropped her bag on the floor, and slowly took off her top layer cardigan.
"I started out as an assistant myself, so no they're not supposed to," Milo said to her and she couldn't help but blush slightly, feeling like she offended him in some sort of strange way. But he softened the blow by turning to her and saying, "besides, I wanted you to do a test shot outside of the regular structure of these things. That's not how you bring out someone's truest self. Something more...intimate."
Isabelle didn't have time to blink, before he turned away and pulled out the rack of clothes from behind a wall. Much to her dismay, it was a rack of ... wedding dresses.
"Oh, I didn't know.." Isabelle's mouth came into a little o and she followed Milo with her eyes as he pulled the rack out, counting out the dresses, looking at his phone for some sort of notes. Nodding to himself, he pressed play on the phone and speakers started to blare sounds seemingly out of nowhere. Exactly the kind of music one would expect Milo to listen to, a mix of progressive and lyrical.
"Should we get started?" Milo looked up at her and smiled, causing her to have to look away before she gave away too much of herself.
Milo hopped on a window sill, to crack one of the upper ones open. Standing, he looked back at her, "for some air."
She wondered how he could stay so stable when inside she was nervous, but in a different way.
Actually, she could start to see it. It was a simultaneous nervousness and soothing of the nerves by being in his presence. Somehow, around him, she felt that everything was going to be okay. She felt...safe.
Maybe he was right, maybe doing photoshoots surrounded by assistants and models and the whole noise of the industry fails to excavate something deeper inside of the - artists.
"I'll go get changed," Isabelle, Tok the first dress of the rack and looked around, she wasn't sure where to go.
Milo was still fiddling around with the window, but he nodded, looking away from her. There's a bathroom around the corner, but we also have this changing room divider here," he pointed across the room, "for quick changes. We have a lot to get through today, but first, let's do some test shots."
Isabelle put the dress back on the rack, careful not to damage the delicate fabric or think about the cost of these things, or if she herself would ever get to wear one for real - all disappointing topics. Instead she went to stand in front of him, nothing but he camera in his hands [beautiful hands] dividing them in space.
She flashed back to the first time she stood like that, just a few days ago, and she felt that same strange but familiar pull. She wondered if he could feel it too, but she couldn't see that well past the light or the camera. She focused on the lens, giving it her thoughts and his hands holding it. She knew she could tall a lot by a man's hands. His were a paradox, strong and soft. Muscular and artistic. That no doubt helped her posing, and as the songs continued to get better one by one, they worked mostly in silence and she felt herself relaxing into it.
"I like to work this way," Milo would say between the sots, "because believe it or not, I'm an introvert. Helps to focus," then looking up and making eye contact with her, "for everyone." He smiled and before she could think of something to say back, he stopped clicking the button and said we got it. You can go get changed."
She looked t the part of the wall that was mirrored, and realized those were doors. She grabbed the first delicate dress and slid into the bathroom, which was the size of her whole bedroom.
