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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Isabelle looked down at her hand in his, on her lap in the car as they were driving to his house.
"Your hand swallows up mine," she said, looking at them touching again in bewilderment.
"Is that a god thing?" He asked, using his left hand to make the occasional stick shift changes. She always thought it was so hot that he drove stick shift.
"It's good," she said, looking up, tilting her head and looking from him to the window, as if in a trance.
He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it, before gently dropping it back on her lap.
They were pulling up to his apartment.
She was so tired, she didn't realize how truly tired she felt until they got into the apartment and both fell on the couch. She lay on top of him, closing her eyes.
"Let's go to the bed," he said.
They did, and there they lay together, just lying. Body to body, and she swore some cosmic interaction was happening between the both of them.
She was so close to him now, she almost forgot that the first time she saw him, outside of herself, she was so pulled in by him, so enthralled. Now, it just felt so natural. And that same electricity was still there after all.
It felt like an impossible tenderness. The softness of it, like a balm to her ragged soul.
Then, finally he found her - reaching down to the depths of her sould - in a way that only he knew how.
She slept through the first alarm clock.
"What time is it?" He asked sleepily.
"I don't care," she said, her face in his neck, eyes closed. Taking in his smell, taking in him, and her, together again.
He chuckled and pulled her in closer, as if that was possible. Nothing was ever going to be close enough, she thought. She wanted to memorize him, in a carnal way, almost as if she could climb inside his skin and live in it - shw would.
They fell back asleep, it was Sunday anyway, they had nowhere to be.
Later, when they were up after having taken a shower, she saw a certain worry in Milo's face which made her a little nervous.
"Should I let you go now soy ou can havea productive day?" He asked her, as if he wans't really sure what to do with her.
"No!" She exclaimed, almost too passionately. "No," she repeated softly, "here, let's make coffee."
She got up and by muscle memory walked to the Nesperesso machine in the kitchen.
Milo, sliding in behind her, grabbed her elbow gently, "I'll do it," he whispered. That feeling at the pit of her stomach flared up again, that need for him - it was far beyond a want now.
She observed him, moving around in a way where he managed to make his simplest movements look graceful, and she didn't know-how.
When they were sipping their coffee in silence, beyond words, she looked at him a little bit longer than necessary before turning to look at the city skyline, on the couch beside him.
She wondered if it was possible that he made her a better person. She heard that that happens sometimes, in relationships between man and women....and she wondered why it was that with him he felt like a woman, like her own person. Like beside him, something finally clicked in her. She no longer felt like a little girl in her parents' house or a young model who was trying to learn things. No, beside him she felt truly herself.
"What are you thinking about?" He finally asked her, "I can't read your mind you know," he Sid gently, "I want to know what you think about...last night."
Isabelle blinked, looking at im. She felt nervous. On one hand this was her chance to say everything she was thinking and worried about, but sitting beside him, on the other hand she didn't know how.
"Can you give me a 'complete the sentence'?" Isabelle finally asked, a little cringy, but it was the best she could do.
Milo looked up, " 'I see this going...'" he said looking back at her, searching her eyes.
Isabelle took a moment, then finally said, "I don't know where I see this going."
Something flashed in his eyes, and she wondered if it was too much to confess her love for him right there and then, and why that was all she could muster.
"What I mean is," she continued, "I like you - it's obvious - and I want us to keep seeing each other. But sometimes, it is almost best not to know."
Milo nodded, "I see."
They went on a walk and before he let her go, he asked her when is the next appointment. Referring to them seeing each other.
Isabelle scanned her week in her mind's eye. Between classes and work and appointments, she knew she'd rather see him over any of those, but she simply said "Wednesday."
He nodded, "Wednesday." He said back in return.
She gave him a long kiss which he reciprocated when his car pulled up in front of his house.
Back on her own, she felt a strange sense of being high. Even hours after leaving him it was this strange levitation, numbing feeling almost. Liek she was light in the head. She wondered if she was losing her mind or just in love.
She also worried about how she responded to him. She didn't know how else to make it clear to him that she was - for all practical purposes - in love with him.
