Chapter Twelve Paris, France
Alexia Maria shot a look of disdain at Angel. “No way, I’m not posing next to her! The point of this exercise is to promote my creation, not the beauty of the model.”
Thinking on his feet, Angel tried to remedy his gaffe. “But, Alexia, you are a beautiful woman, too. I don’t see the problem.”
“Let it be, Angel, and do as the photographer says.”
The man, wielding a top-of-the-range Canon, issued rapid instructions. Angel bent over Alexia’s hand, which held the satin tail of the dress and raised his head as instructed.
“Try to look impressed,” came the curt command.
“I’m impressed, alright?” Angel replied. And so he was, not by the sleek sash, but by the glamorous creature wearing the dress. As for his recklessly pounding heart, had he not had the football
