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Summary
At a loss for words, she simply nodded. He kept watching her, moving his fingers on her picture. “There’s nothing true in here. The light is made to flatter you. Colors are studied. There’s styling. Make-up is used to mask. This is crafted.” He followed the line of her face on her picture, lingering just above her eyes. A shudder crept along her back. “These are not.”
[In which Squall, renowned black-and-white photographer, sees something raw and true he can't ignore in Rinoa's eyes; and Rinoa, musician turned silent, knows his gaze shifts the feel of her skin.]
