The chef arrived a short time later with a cart of food. Mr. Weston nodded to him briefly and took the cart. The chef returned the nod with one of his own before turning around and leaving without a word.Mr. Weston pushed the cart over to the fireplace, placing it between the two armchairs. He looked back at me and gestured towards the chairs. I was still a little nervous about this whole setup, but I shuffled over and sat down like he wanted. He took his own seat, turning the chair to face me."Help yourself to anything you’d like,” he said, grabbing some kind of pastry himself. “But onto more important things. Please, ask me anything that you’d like to know about me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer everything, but I promise to do my best to answer honestly.”I thou

The distant chiming of the clock in the hallway told me it was eight in the morning. I opened my eyes to the early rays of light. True to his promise, Mr. Weston had touched nothing but my hand. Even in his sleep. I carefully untangled his fingers from mine so I didn't wake him.The cool air of morning touched my exposed skin and sent a shiver through me. I blushed remembering the way he'd stared at my body, but there was no time for that today. There was no third day. "Jack Weston" would not be appearing again and I had to prepare for whoever might come down the stairs later.I got dressed and went downstairs to wait for Thomas. I went to the lounge and sat in a chair near a large window. I stared out at the rose garden nostalgically. In just a few short days how many important things had happened here? I came here to escape being homeless and broke. How did I

I followed Thomas downstairs and out to the garden. The chef had laid out a table as requested. However, Mr. Weston was far too busy setting up his equipment to notice the spread. Thomas gave me another amused look."You got him outside. Now, how will you make him eat?" Thomas chuckled.I thought about it for a second. It would be a lot harder to convince him eating was photogenic. My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp whistle. I turned, Mr. Weston was waving at me."Ms. Walton! I'm trying to center this scene. Go stand by the roses so I can use you as a marker," he said, pointing at them.My last experience with stopping to think taught me it was better to follow his orders immediately. I walked over to the bushes. He waved his hand to the right. I moved in that direc

Suddenly, I heard a crash come from somewhere upstairs. The studio? Mr. Weston’s face flashed through my mind. Panic immediately replaced any personal conflicts I was having. I ran up the stairs and burst into the studio. Mr. Weston was dusting himself off."What happened?" I asked, panting.He seemed shocked to see me so out of breath. "Huh? Oh, I tripped over a tripod. That's all. Are you okay, Ms. Walton?"I looked next to him. A tripod was, in fact, turned over on the floor. That was probably the crash I heard. I let out a deep sigh of relief. My heart started to slow back to its normal rhythm. "Don't scare me like that again," I almost begged."I'm sorry?" His confusion made it sound more like a question than

Though Arthur was just as careful as ever in setting up his equipment, I noticed he was moving a little quicker than usual. I guess he was afraid I might change my mind about these pictures if I was left alone for too long. As if to prove my theory, he started forcing conversation.“I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to take these photos. I am very sorry for being so pushy about it before though. I suppose I see now why you were so reluctant to agree. These pictures aren’t exactly your standard postcard image. A lot of people might be hesitant to jump straight into them. Especially with no previous experience in this area. I certainly would be,” he admitted. “I got over-excited about having you as a subject and forgot to consider your