Benecio
There are two distinct versions of Dove.
There is the Dove I get to wake up to in the quiet, dim light of the morning: soft, tangled in cotton sheets, rubbing his eyes while he mumbles something sweet and makes a nest out of my pillows.
And then there is this Dove.
The moment our SUV pulled up to the curb outside the glass-and-steel rooftop venue in Ipanema, the energy outside was electrifying. The palm-lined avenue was packed. Paparazzi strobes were flashing in blind bursts against the dark ocean sky, security guards were holding back velvet ropes, and a crowd of fashionable partygoers and fans were waiting along the barricades.
When Dove stepped out of the vehicle, the air practically shifted.
