Chapter 1.
Another AU. Isemay helped me a lot with the character shaping and the general theme. G'head and check out a few of her stories, you won't regret it. Reviews are nice.
"Toris, hey, Toris!" As the man being called jerked around, he caught sight of a small hand waving to him amidst a crowd much taller than the owner of the hand.
As Toris wove between people to the outstretched hand, he dragged his friend out and heaved him onto a higher surface as people swarmed and scattered, twittering like birds. The boy dusted off his jeans and smiled shakily, his light brown hair stuck up at an odd angle and his blue-green eyes still darting around nervously, like someone might elbow him again.
"Uhm, the plane'll be here soon, and we'll go around the back. I dunno why Eduard sent me of all people to come and tell you and brave the paparazzi, though." He smiled nervously, and Toris, his green eyes crinkling in affection, helped his friend down.
"Thank you, Raivis. I know that this won't be easy for all of us, and why they had to choose our country of all of them to do their photo shoots is beyond my-" Toris was cut off mid-sentence as someone cried about her arrival, alerting the other reporters and photographers, who all converged to one spot.
"She's here? Here now?" His voice was drowned out and people screeched and cameras clicked and people swooped towards a small tunnel where a few people had just emerged. One, the one he'd been supposed to escort, was turning her head this way and that above the sea of flashing cameras, looking for him, her designated translator, who should have been at her side by now. Not having enough time to even give his friend a proper goodbye, he fought his way through the ocean of jabbing elbows and bodies fighting for space, finally emerging beside the woman, her icy beauty and icier personality hitting him instantly.
"You're late," she snapped, her voice thick with a Belarusian accent, her long, platinum blonde hair sweeping across her shoulders as she tossed her proud head back and removed her sunglasses, tucking them safely in a pocket of her trenchcoat. Her eyes were as cold and distant as a sky before winter. Natalia Arlovskaya, the supermodel who held the power to awaken the green monster in every female with one bat of her perfect lashes.
Toris was smitten instantly. He muttered an apology, but she held up her hand to stop him. "Yes, yes, that's enough. Quit your yapping, you do not need to apologize when I know you had to through them." She cast a dirty look at the flashing cameras and microphone being thrust in her direction.
Toris clamped his mouth shut, unsure whether she was being rude or forgiving. Natalia unbuttoned her trencoat, enough for him to barely glimpse the three-thousand-euro top that was lucky enough to grace her perfect chest. She pursed her lips at the crowd of media surrounding her, and snapped her fingers for Eduard, who would be her manager for the month or two she'd be touring and doing photoshoots and interviews in Lithuania. Eduard scurried forward. "Y-yes, Miss Natalia?"
She allowed him one single moment of her attention, before tossing him her coat and fluffing her hair as she prepared to brave the media tide. She cleared her throat airily and turned to Toris. He scrambled to her side, and she held out her elbow for him, and he took it as he led them through the crowd. He cast a glance at her face just once, then forced his eyes back down again. He was taller than she was, barely, but he was hunched over. Sure he knew she'd be beautiful, but there was something different held in her blue eyes. Proud and haughty but filled with cold fire. They could look through the most impenetrable of people and scorch the skin with a glance. It was what differed her from other famous models, the sweet Belgian Emma, the forceful Hungarian Elizabeta, mysterious Vietnamese Lien, and her bubbly sister Mei. That's what all the magazines said, anyway.
Toris tried to pull himself together as his hands kept slipping from her elbow. God, it probably looked like he was the damsel in distress and she the supposedly street-wise, experienced translator. He straightened immediately, and kept only one hand on her elbow as he led her to her car. He opened the door of the sleek black limousine that awaited her, and was about to close the door when her long, slim fingers stopped him. "Come here," she said stiffly, and he did, making sure he was still outside the limousine.
"Yes, Miss Natalia?"
"The driver is Lithuanian, idiot. You accompany everywhere, no? Now get in. Jesus, now, Translator."
Toris stepped into the spacious vehicle immediately, cursing his luck to be at the end of this celebrity's wrath, and, beautiful how she may be, she was keeping him as mentally and emotionally far as she could. "My name is Toris, Miss."
She groaned. "Don't call me Miss. It is Natalia. Now, tell him where the hotel is. This damned country's languageā¦"
As Toris muttered instructions to the hotel, he closed his eyes for a minute and stored his beauty behind his eyes. He would focus on her loveliness, and do his best to try not to get killed.
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