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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When she got changed and walked into the living room area, Milo was already in the process of prepping the drinks.
Ice cubes into the glass, he was pulling out a bottle from his large collection and unscrewing it. Isabelle had to look away before he'd notice she was staring - mesmerize by his hands. She wished she could be a fly on the wall and just watch him work for a day, observing the way he does things. Not just with this hands, but everything. A sort of quiet strength, grace emanating from his movements.
Like he didn't have to tell her where he's been, but she could tel that it was almost something regal in the way that he moved. She thought, he could be a dancer if he wasn't a photographer. With the proper trainmen...
She grabbed the glass from his hand, giving him a warm smile as he handed it to her and as she was taking a seat on the chocolate leather couch, firm yet comfortable, she was brought back to her body by her body's reminder of the work and soreness she felt from a few days ago at dance class. A fitness dance class. Ever since she moved to New York, her agent had her working out almost every day. It's part of your toolbox, she'd say, your body - your main tool. So keep it in check.
She wasn't extremely skinny like some of the other girls, and she wasn't even that tall. Barely surpassing 5'7 is actually considered short-er in the modelling world. But she was fit, and even though she was gifted genetically where she could still eat and maintain her weight, she knew that if she let herself slip and stopped working out it would show. So luck on one hand, work on the other: Discipline overall.
She looked around at the framed photographs on his wall.
"Are those yours?" She asked him.
Milo smiled at the ground, "some of them. Most are inspiration - photographers I admire."
I admire you, she wanted to say but instead she turned to look at him just as he did.
She lushed a little bit, but also held his gaze steady.
He brought his glass up to hers; "hope you like whiskey."
"My favourite," Isabelle licked her lips, wetting her mouth before feeling the cold rush of alcohol burn her lungs.
She couldn't explain how one drink turned into four, and how when she was on his balcony, looking at the city from a view she hasn't been able to savour in before, she bent over backwards over the railing, and coming up he was there, in front of her. And how a stare turned into a kiss, and he was right there. And it was much too late to think about wrong or right, there was only what you wanted right now. And she wanted him. He must have wanted her, because one thing kept leading to the other, and after moving form the balcony to the living room, and alas into his bedroom, she found herself waking up at 4am and looking over to see him beside her, fast asleep.
Only then di the reality of the situation kick in, and only did she lie awake for what but have been hours, trying to work it out through in her mind.
Every few minutes she would turn over gently and quietly to look at him, to make sure it wasn't all but a dream.
When she woke up again, the sunlight was streaming in, and she scanned the room for any sign of the time.
