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Fitting Dress
The unexpected training schedule was a little different from what it should have been, as Anitta suddenly said that they would be going for wardrobe measurements. Moreau and Juan needed something that fit well, as well as something that was relevant to the concept they were bringing to the tournament.
At first, their coach asked for opinions, even offering Barbara as the first choice from a list of designers, which Moreau obviously couldn't accept. She knew her mother. If an argument like yesterday's were to happen again in the future, there would always be a threat from that woman's mouth. Moreau didn't want to be put at risk, and eventually submitted Mrs. Smift as an alternative proposal. It was quite a relief that Anitta did not refuse. Previously, all deals had to be discussed with the management. It was not that complicated this time, as permission was immediately obtained to be here. Moreau wRelated chapters
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The message could not be delayed when Abihirt had magically read it. It was too short, if they were trying to be inconspicuous. However, this had been done to keep the profile safe. [That will be your business.] It seemed that Moreau was starting to feel challenged from Abihirt's short string of sentences. She was about to add a reply... when realized that several pairs of eyes were staring at ger. Mrs. Smift's face was most significant, harboring an overwhelming curiosity towards what Moreau was doing with her cell phone. It was hard to add the man to the contact list. She wanted Abihirt's cell phone number to remain anonymous. Woefully, the problem was not just about that, for now. "You'd better not be busy yourself while we're here, Moreau." Anitta's reprimand instantly anticipated Moreau to completely abandon any intention of adding insult to injury to her
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"I won't get the right size if you're still wearing your clothes." Moreau immediately looked down at the fabric on her body. These long clothes with the high neck collar were Abihirt's gift. She didn't know where the man got the initiative to give her all-covering clothes. It was not tight enough, nor was it excessively loose. It fit true to size, as if Abihirt had been so adept at handing out constant assessments, when it came to comparing directly with Mrs. Smift... the real dasigner. "Can't we take measurements with me dressed like this?" "Of course not. You and Juan will do the fitting several times until I get a stable result. So, we won't miss the first one." Attempts to negotiate seemed futile. Moreau hesitantly grimaced while staring at the device in the woman's hand. She would not cross the finish line if just starting out had so mu
Forbidden Agreements All She Wants
"I thought you had forgotten the way home." Moreau had just stepped into the living room, but she had to find her mother there, waiting as if the woman's time was dedicated to only one thing. "Where were you last night?" This time the direct question was left floating around in the air. Moreau didn't know if it was necessary to be sure of the moment - the right moment to say the answer. Perhaps he would never get the chance if he ignored everything here. "Anywhere, as long as it's a place where I can sleep comfortably." The boldness behind Moreau's voice seemed to set Barbara's reaction in motion. The woman immediately got up and folded her arms in front of her chest. "You can just say specifically where you were last night. I know you didn't go to Juan's residence, but that doesn't mean you have to let me think too much," the woman said. The sour expression
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It was not surprising that it would end up like that. Moreau could guess the truth. A correlation between Samuel and Barbara. A sudden curiosity arose; she half thought of who was most important to blame. Her mother obviously had a covert relationship with Samuel. Was he also the same person she saw on Abihirt's cell phone? It made sense that the thought actually faced a barely distant approach. Moreau shook her head vaguely... that was all she had to say. "I don't know what you're thinking, Mom. But you're not kidding, are you?" The corner of Barbara's lips twitched slightly, almost a snicker to be precise, but still held back a little. "No, I'm not. I'm not joking. If you agree, I'll arrange for you to meet." "You don't need to bother arranging our schedule. I will never agree," Moreau argued firmly. This was what Barbara wante
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"One more shot." Moreau had been dealing with bad press all day. Her ex-boyfriend had unilaterally made the choice to end their relationship. She had been asking for a definitive reason since that sad moment, but Froy and the man's angry gaze were clearly refusing to talk. What an irony. Tomorrow was her mother's wedding day, and Moreau had no idea what the groom looked like. They were not introduced. Her mother was planning a silent necessity. There was even so much other pressure to leave serious blotches that it felt like they were punching holes in Moreau's heart. She was almost desperate to figure things out. Moments ago, she decided to go to a bar with the intention of calming down. The striking red dress was perfect on Moreau's slim body. Apparently, in front of the bar counter, Moreau was sitting alone. Staring at a few empty glasses—the wine was gone. Thus, her throat was like ashes with the remains of a fire. It was completely barren. Moreau never thought that she would ge
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Abihirt Lincoln woke up to find a young girl wrapped in thick blankets in his bed. He blinked a few times, trying hard to remember the remnants of last night's bet. The bastard Roki had brazenly added stimulant powder to the last cocktail glass—which had to be gulped down—to celebrate the upcoming wedding day. "Asshole!" Abihirt cursed while rubbing his rough face. This morning was the blessing. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 30 minutes to go, but as the groom-Abihirt had yet to make any preparations. For a moment, the gray eyes scanned the innocent face, which slowly began to frown to avoid the light streaming through the white curtains. Abihirt picked up the cloth scattered around the edge of the bed. Putting his white shirt back on, he raised one eyebrow high when he noticed that the bright blue iris had completely opened and were staring in complete surprise. "Who are you?" Moreau's breath caught. No one would have expected that in front of her a full-grow
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A futile attempt at escape. Moreau's breath caught at the reflection in the mirror. A person with a pale-even completely disheveled-face was trying to compose herself. Moreau didn't know what else she could do after this. When Barbara noticed such a slow arrival at the wedding, her steps immediately left the people around. There was no better place to hide than the hotel bathroom. Moreau was still at a loss as to what to do after accepting the fact that last night's forbidden act had crossed the line. Literally-the incident with the strange man would not have fallen into the most complicated rut. They were not related by blood. He would just be Moreau's stepfather, though there was one important thing... she would feel awkward when they were under the same roof. Moreau was sure she could have become independent, had Barbara given her permission. It was just that she considered Moreau an asset and would not allow her to take one step out of the building left behind by her biolog
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"You should get along better with my new husband, Moreau. But you must remember to behave yourself. Don't wear sexy clothes while Abi is home." So early in the morning Barbara had said a series of words, which had not even crossed Moreau's mind. She found it odd to think that since when would Barbara care about how she dressed? Never. Only after she had remarried. All the anticipation was there and the slightest hint of a cornered tone as if Moreau had been prepared, or perhaps Barbara had a hunch? Moreau would make sure that what happened that night. Would never happen again. "Did you hear me, Moreau?" Barbara's question again - the song filled the room, pushing Moreau back to the surface. She blinked, then glanced at her mother's stern face. "I dress openly only when performing on stage or at important tournaments. Even then, it's still within polite and normal levels. The rest of the time, as you've always seen, my clothes are ordinary," Moreau snarled as she pulled the
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