A faint light comes in through the window of the bedroom in the luxurious Paris flat.

You are sitting on the bed in the room with a sketchbook in your lap, sketching the man asleep next to you, Miles Maitland, who is sleeping peacefully like a kitten. Drawing was something you had always had a knack for but had never done anything about.

For years you thought it was simply because you weren't very good at it, but now you realise that you simply lacked inspiration.

Inspiration you found in the angelic, makeup-free face of Miles Maitland. You watched as Miles stirred under the covers and opened his eyes slightly.

"Good morning, love." Miles murmured, in a sleepy voice. "What time is it?" he asked