Eva Romanova 0

Hi handsome.

I am a dreamer with a palette in hand, dancing through my second year at art college, where every stroke brings me closer to becoming the artist I’ve always longed to be.

Petite and light, I float in delicate XS silhouettes, standing gently at 162 cm—just tall enough to catch the golden hour’s glow, but not quite enough to reach the stars. My eyes? The soft green of sunlit leaves, always searching for beauty.

I crave the poetry of Italian kitchens—the way pasta twirls around a fork, the salt-kissed whisper of seafood, the rich, tender sigh of perfectly cooked meat. Every meal feels like a sonnet.

I run to feel the wind write stories across my skin, and I ride my bicycle for hours, letting the world blur into watercolors. Movement, to me, is meditation.

My beloved fragrance is Dior—the name alone is a breath of elegance. I adore it not for extravagance, but for the way it turns fabric into fleeting dreams.

I paint landscapes where the sky melts into the sea, and I capture photographs like stolen fragments of time—soft, fleeting, aching with beauty.

My heart belongs to the tropics—to places like Indonesia, where the air is thick with jasmine and the ocean hums lullabies. I long to wander where the earth is warm, and the horizons burn with color.

"Your body is my playground, baby. My lips know tricks that'll make you forget any other taste. I'll take you higher than those tropical sunsets you dream about—slow and sweet or rough like a storm, your choice. You'll get lost in these green eyes, and I'll make sure your hands remember every curve. Pay right, and I'll turn this night into your personal masterpiece."

With love, Eva