Chapter 69 Caught In His Frame (1)

• The golden light was slipping lower now, brushing the edges of the chaise with a warm glow that Alessandro couldn’t help but admire. He set the lens cloth down and picked up his camera, peering through the viewfinder to frame a test shot. The click of the shutter echoed faintly, a sound that always grounded him. He tilted his head, studying the preview on the screen, then muttered, “Perfetto… quasi.” (Perfect… almost.)
• He straightened up, pacing a slow circle around the set, boots tapping against the hardwood. The anticipation was getting to him—Francesca was definitely late now. 4:53 PM. He tugged his phone from his jeans pocket, thumb hovering over her contact. No message. No call. “Che cavolo sta facendo?” he grumbled under his breath. (What the heck is she doing?) He wasn’t mad, not really—just restless. The shoot was too important to wing it, and he hated feeling like the day was slipping out of his control.
• The studio door creaked faintly, and he froze mid-step, head snapping toward the sound. A shadow moved beyond the frosted glass panel, and his pulse kicked up a notch. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, smoothing a hand over his shirt as if that’d somehow make him look less like he’d been stewing for the last twenty minutes. “Finalmente,” he said softly to himself, a smirk tugging at his lips. (Finally.)