8
“She’s ready.” The little pixie of a photographer latched onto Tristan’s arm and dragged him out of the dressing room.
They walked a few steps away from the changing area and Tristan glanced at the other two sets, committing every detail to memory. He wanted to remember this moment with Kat forever.
“May I have copies of the photos when they’re ready?” He didn’t want the rest of the world to see, but he certainly wanted copies for himself.
The photographer glanced down at the camera, then looked up at him.
“Sure. I can send you copies after I’ve retouched them for my portfolio.” She handed him a business card with her contact information on it. “Though,” she added. “You could do with a bit of good publicity, Mr. Kingsley.”
Tristan halted. “You are not to breathe a word of this to a
