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Chapter 9 - The Suave Spanish Son of A Duke

  • ~ Daniella ~
  • One hour and a half later, I am still in my position. My bottom had started to feel sore and my nose had begun to itch, but I remained as still as possible. I didn’t want the artists and Vincent to think that I am uncomfortable in my spot.
  • Actually, I am kinda having fun like this. It is just amazing to think that my face is being copied and immortalized in a canvas. I am honestly excited what the club members and Vincent’s students would create. It would be great if I get to ask or buy at least one of it so that I can have a souvenir during my stay here in the château.
  • Aside from my bottom and my nose complaining, I have this dilemma right now which I can’t seem to shrug off. Have you ever experienced not being able to move yet you have this urge to look at a certain direction? It is a nagging sensation in the back of your head that would never leave you alone. That’s exactly what I’m feeling right now and that direction for me apparently is the door of the studio where Vincent had left open. My head was turned away from it so I can’t see what was in the gallery that made me want to look.
  • Surely there’s no interesting thing that was happening there. I can’t even get a single wave of sound from the airconditioners. But, when a certain man stepped inside the studio, it was only then that I realized the reason for this weird urge of mine.
  • In the periphery of my vision, I could see Erik in his regal self, one hand tucked in his black jeans pocket while the other was dangling in the side. His slim jacket was a royal blue, partnered with a white shirt. It seems that he and Vincent had the same taste of clothing - simple but elegant -, but at this moment, Vincent’s jacket was a bit edgier than his.
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