Chapter 1: The Yoga Meltdown
The shutter clicked, a soft, precise sound in the quiet room. Lucas watched the world through his viewfinder, a rectangle of soft focus and sharp edges. In it, his mother was a study in warm light and confident curves.
Lisa lounged in a velvet armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, a silk robe the color of burnt amber falling open. The late afternoon sun gilded her skin, catching the delicate chain at her throat and the fine hairs on her forearm. She wasn’t posing, not in the traditional sense. She was simply existing, one knee drawn up, her gaze somewhere beyond the glass where the city hummed a distant, muted song. The scent of her perfume—cardamom and neroli—hung in the sun-drenched air, intimate and intoxicating.
“You’re staring,” she said, her voice a low, amused murmur without looking at him.
“I’m working.” Lucas adjusted the focus ring, the mechanism smooth under his thumb. Her profile came into crystal clarity: the strong line of her nose, the full curve of her lip.“It’s what you pay me for.”
A soft laugh. “I don’t pay you.”
“Exactly. So you get what you get.” He fired off another few frames, the camera a familiar, comfortable weight in his hands.This was their language. It had started years ago, a way to bond after his dad left, a shared project. Her confidence in front of the lens had always stunned him.It still did.
She shifted, the robe slipping further from her shoulder.The silk caught the light, liquid and shimmering. “Enough with the camera, Luca.Come sit.Talk to me.”
He lowered the Nikon, letting it hang against his chest. He crossed the room, the Persian rug soft under his socks, and sank into the armchair opposite hers.The warmth of the sun soaked through his shirt.
“I was thinking,” she began, tracing a finger along the rim of her wine glass.“We should do something.Together. Something… active. You’re always hunched over that camera or a screen.”
“I’m an artist, Ma. It’s the job description.” He smiled, taking a sip of his own water.“Your body is part of your instrument too. You should feel it.” Her eyes met his, bright and direct.“There’s a new studio.Couples yoga. I signed us up for a class.”
Lucas choked.“Couples? As in you and me?”
“Who else would I go with?” She arched a brow, a challenge. “It’s about trust.And balance.It’ll be fun.Maybe funny. You have the flexibility of a steel rod.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.The image was absurd. Him, in stretchy pants, trying to contort himself while his mother, who moved with a dancer’s grace, effortlessly folded herself into a pretzel. “I’m going to embarrass you.”
“I’m counting on it.” She finished her wine, a satisfied gleam in her eye.“Tomorrow. Four PM.Don’t be late.”