"Moreau fell and slipped on the ice, Mr. Lincoln. I don't know whether to call her your daughter or your girlfriend, but she hasn't been careful lately. Our coach just scolded her. That's what happened." Damn Juan. It looked like the guy wanted to make his mouth drop open. It was too obvious to state their confusion in the training hall. Moreau glared. It felt like she wanted to give Juan a warning so that the man would understand and stop meddling in matters of interest. However, the most striking action among them was Abihirt extending a hand. It gave Moreau a moment of hesitation to simply accept. She remained silent for a long time, though she eventually hobbled over to get closer. One pure action left a slight nervous impression. Moreau said nothing as she felt Abihirt's gentle touch on her hip. She looked at Juan briefly. The man returned the hollow eye contact, then alternately dropped his attention there. On one arm that was lightly intertwined. Obviously there was no p
Ever since setting foot in the studio. Moreau never took her eyes off the few clothes hanging on the poles and the various devices angled everywhere as a man led her and Abihirt through the various rooms. They would be introduced directly to the owner of the studio, or not really: Abihirt was certainly not involved. Only Moreau, as the man obviously already knew who he was meeting. The bit of information that splashed across the top of her head gave Moreau a slight affirmation that 'perhaps' Abihirt was being too bold in his defiance. She didn't know what the man was thinking, but she shouldn't have allowed them to be linked together with one forbidden person. "So you know Mrs. Smift is my mother's rival in the working world. Why still bring me to this place?"
An obvious question that almost made Moreau blush. She looked at her stepfather and Mrs. Smift in turn, trying hard to maintain a calm expression on her face. "Yes, Mrs. Smift. Nice to meet you." It was said almost in a nervous tone. Moreau still did not understand what Mrs. Smift was looking at her for, so the woman seemed to have been swallowed up by civilization. Perhaps pensive... or something else Moreau dared not confirm. Such a luxurious woman could not possibly be admiring her. An impossible act, which she should have known would not end here for long. "I didn't expect you to look so much prettier than you do." A solemn statement
Several people were making preparations in a room full of draping curtains. Faintly, Moreau knew; there would be a photo shoot today. Models were on their way, then later, once the process was complete, they would begin. There was no denying that she was a little intrigued to observe more. Sometimes would quietly peek in the distance. Asking, what does it look like, and has the model arrived at the destination? Moreau was a little impatient. Quite curious. Could it be fun to be a clothing model? Perhaps it would be like that. There would be a wide variety of fabric stitches, whatever, that she would want to try on—try wearing, then standing in front of the camera to be immortalized in digital images, or if printed on the cover of a magazine... didn't sound too bad either. Moreau snorted faintly. She was creating an overreaching thought, while her instincts would probably say no.
Beyond Moreau's expectations, everything they needed had been carefully prepared. Several camera sets were positioned in various directions. She should not have been surprised, especially when she found a flood of light overhanging the area where the shoot would take place. Sia slowly guided Moreau to stand in one spot while occasionally fixing her loose hair to look more natural. With a light make-up look, she was a little relieved that she wasn't overly transformed. About the wound on the knee. Actually, Moreau had consulted that it would spoil the result a bit. However, Mrs. Smift gave a brilliant solution. The technological development and the editor were ready to take care of the rest. There was still one thing though. Until the first session was about to begin; dressed in semi-revealing fabrics in some parts. Moreau was not told when the male model would arrive at the location. This part was probably not a couple portrait. She was jus
It wasn't too bad to find a place that was spacious, but also had barriers around it. Moreau was transfixed by the shape of the iron nets in front of her. Everyone would surely relax here, enjoying a long day by throwing the ball into the hoop or kicking it into the wicket. It was a complete package. A far cry from the ice sheet and worn-out building where se'd made her choice. "It's Abi." Mrs. Smift's voice pulled Moreau to the surface. She blinked briefly, then rushed to follow the woman's gaze. A body sat quietly, leaning against the mesh of the fence. The man's face was almost upturned—no—it was some kind of uncontrollable need to sleep that it was upturned there. "What is he doing in this place alone?" Mrs. Smift must have seen clearly, as she deliberately asked the question and stepped faster. Morea
"Position your hands closer, Abi. You can't possibly feel awkward with your stepdaughter, can you?" Mrs. Smift had repeatedly said the same thing, but Moreau still felt that her stepfather's tension would not come between them. This was indeed the limit of tolerance that the man had worked out. It was not a good thing to be in an intimate position in front of several people, even if Abihirt's request had been approved. For single shots, the man only showed a quarter of the body. Meanwhile, in a two—person pose... their relationship was made so close, especially Mrs. Smift had to think of ways to minimize the chances of Abihirt's face being caught on screen. It's hard to negotiate with a decision that is so absolute. At least it went almost without a hitch. Mrs. Smift seemed to have deliberately added a new request. Abihirt's arms were required to cling tighter to Moreau's flat stomach, while the man hid his face deeply
It was now almost impossible for Moreau to detect her stepfather snatching at Mrs. Smift's question. Abihirt was too cold. There was no match considering the man was not in a very good mood either. "Relax, Abi. Your furious wife won't know." Moreau shook her head faintly, desperate to deal with the woman who liked to call Barbara that. Who knew how her mother would react if she found out about this. She didn't want to overthink things. Didn't want to think about whether Barbara would turn around and give Mrs. Smift an additional, appropriate name or end up furious if she found out Moreau was on the cover of a magazine representing the brand underneath the clothes on her body. "Madam, everything is ready." Fernandes emerges from the back of the studio. The man with glasses and a plain hat on top of his head immediately waltzed to the shooting point. They had to