Awake

Fi Stevens wakes up the way most people can only dream about. She stirs slowly in the warm morning light, all that gorgeous auburn hair spread across the white pillow, her pale skin luminous against the cream bedding, her pale blue eyes blinking open with the unhurried ease of someone who knows there is absolutely nowhere she needs to be. The wooden bed frame and the soft bright room give everything a gentle, hazy quality, and Fi herself seems barely of this world, somewhere between dreaming and deciding what to do next. She reaches for her glass of orange juice with the drowsy grace of a woman who does everything beautifully, even waking up.

But once Fi is awake, she is very much awake. She sits up in her white lace bra, runs a hand through all that rich red hair, and looks at the camera with the kind of expression that has a way of making you feel like the most fortunate person alive. The white lace follows the bedsheets, peeled away with a slow, morning-lazy confidence that is every bit as breathtaking as the description promises. Fi Stevens, awake and bare and bathed in light, is exactly as stunning as you were hoping she would be.

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