Beautiful Lie

Episode 2

She was so focused on the task at hand that she completely misjudged the passage of time. Her current project for National Geographic was a freelancing article in which she was required to photograph sand crabs. It was probably not very thrilling to some people, but for her, it meant the world. She cherished the quiet serenity of the outdoors, and it thrilled her beyond all reasonable expectation to always have a camera within easy reach, no matter where she went. She was instantly transported to another era and location simply by holding that insignificant piece of metal in her palm.

It made all of her concerns vanish, and from that point on, the only thing that concerned or worried her was the person or thing that was on the other side of her lens. She didn't care that she wasn't racing out to war zones or chasing news trucks since it didn't matter to her. This was the kind of person she was. Her ambition in life was to work as a photographer, and she put in a lot of hard work to make sure that she was able to fulfill that ambition. She paid for her own education and did whatever it took to graduate from college on her own. And as a result, his respect for her became even deeper.

As he made his way over the sand to her, the push and pull of the ocean and the click of her camera rang around the beach. He was getting closer to her. After moving a few steps away from her, he stopped and stood still with his hands tucked into his pockets so as not to startle her. He liked watching her work. When he watched her walking around with that camera in her hands, it filled him with a sense of immense satisfaction because of how good she was. And as each wave of water swept over her body, he refused to linger on the other parts of himself that grew larger at that very point in time. Or ever.

She was considered to be one of the most talented freelance photographers in the United States, and during the course of her career, her work was published in hundreds of periodicals across the United States. She was well on her way to being the next Ansel Adams at the time.

However, none of those successes were what won him over to Alison in the first place. She would still be the same kind, brilliant, kind, and loving person that she'd always been even if she didn't have the fame and even though she had more talent than a hundred photographers combined. To convey any of this information to him, she did not require any illustrious accolades or prominent photographs. Ever since the first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd known it to be true.

The most recent of Alison's accomplishments is the publication of her fourth coffee table book featuring photographs taken in different countries. In point of fact, "Mira Parks" had only recently released her fourth novel. He was never able to fathom the motivation behind her insistence on publishing under a pseudonym rather than her true name, Mirabel Alison. He was pleased with her and believed that she needed to be bragging about her achievements to the highest possible audience.

She whispered, "You're obstructing my light," as she cranked knobs and adjusted the settings on her Nikon F2 35mm camera. "I'm trying to take a picture," she said. Even though that camera was as old as she was, she insisted on using it because it belonged to her mother and she wouldn't use anything else. She maintained her authenticity by sticking with the usage of a film camera and developing her own photographs, in contrast to the majority of photographers who have made the transition to digital photography.

Because of this, she was able to experiment with her photographs and turn them into masterpieces in her own dark room, as opposed to shipping them off to a lab and entrusting her work to complete strangers. This made her a very valuable commodity in the world of photography. It was clear that she had put her all into each and every one of the breathtaking photographs that she took since she took great pride in the fact that all of her work was entirely original. It didn't matter whether you owned the most expensive and advanced camera that was available on the market, she would always remind whoever was trying to persuade her that digital was superior whenever they tried to argue the point with her.

No matter how much money you spent or how many positive reviews your camera received, the quality of the photographs you took would not improve if you had the ability to create them or the desire to do so. Because you were able to take your photographs through every step of the process, from their inception to watching them come to life in the trays of chemicals under the haze of the red safe light, you were compelled to examine your work under a microscope, literally, and figure out how to best convey a narrative through the absence of words.

"And you're going to put us behind schedule for supper," she said. Again," he chided her with a sarcastic tone.

She took a couple more shots with the camera before raising it above her head so that he could take it from her. She lifted herself up just as another tiny wave splashed up around her feet, placing both of her hands in the wet sand and placing both of her hands in his palms once it was safely in his possession.

She then gazed up into his face after brushing her hands together a few times in an effort to remove some of the sand from her palms. It was clear to her that she was the source of his irritation. It appeared as though he were expecting an answer because he had one of his eyebrows up.

Don't begin with me, McPherson," the man said. You were aware that I needed to complete these photographs before we could go to dinner. I have no idea why we are engaging in this activity. "You know I don't want to make a big fuss," she moaned as she tried in vain to brush the sand off of her naked stomach. "I don't like to make a big deal." The only thing she was successful in doing was spreading it around.

He did nothing but stay in place and look at her. If he were to speak right now, everything he said would most likely sound like a squeak or like muttered nonsense. The moment she stood up, all of the blood that had been in his head immediately began to pour down to his d**k.

She wore a light blue bandeau bikini top and bottoms that matched, both of which were tied around her neck. The fact that she was wearing a wet, see-through wrap-around white skirt that clung to every inch of her hips and thighs and stopped just above her knees was the only way he was able to determine that they were a matching set. As he observed her, she had a habit of brushing her hands across her trim and hard stomach, and it was beginning to bother him. It was as if his hands were itching to reach out and do it for her, to touch her flesh and feel the warmth of her presence.

Territories fraught with danger. He had no right to entertain those ideas in his head. Because she was his friend, she deserved more than the filthy fantasies that he routinely entertained about her.

"Alison, you need to stop complaining. You have a birthday today. What sort of a friend would I be if I didn't take you out to celebrate when you reached this milestone?"

Oh, I'm sorry, I have no idea. What about an excellent one for you? I despise having a birthday. You are aware of that. After all that trouble, I'm only one day closer to meeting my maker. It's really ridiculous! She huffed as she resigned herself to the fact that the bothersome sand would not be removed from her skin.

Wilfred said a prayer in his head for that before she unfastened the fragile piece of wet fabric that was wrapped around her waist and began to wring it out in the sand. At that point, Wilfred stopped praying.

He didn't know whether it was worse to stare at her bikini bottoms and skin through the haze of the wet material or to have her stand in front of him almost in her underwear with all that bare, golden skin showing and talk to him as if it was no big issue. He couldn't decide which was worse.

He reassured himself that there was really no reason to be concerned about it. It wasn't like he had never seen her in her bikini or her underwear before; in fact, he had seen both of those things on her before. However, I should not have done it. It had been over a year, she had been drinking, and in all honesty, it was something that could have happened to anyone.

Wilfred whispered to her, "You know why we're doing this," as he c****d his head to the side and pushed himself to look at her eyes rather than any lower. "You know why we're doing this," he continued.

She loathed it when he looked at her in that way, with those brilliant blue eyes the color of the ocean that caused her to become weak in the knees. When he gazed at her in that way, how many times did she have to make a conscious effort throughout the years not to slide her hands down the side of his face and touch his cheek? There were far too many to count, that much was certain. She couldn't help but wonder whether he was aware of the influence he held on her and if he did things like that on purpose to test his ability to provoke a response from her.