My story

Growing up lost in classic films and timeless literature, I was the girl who believed Audrey Hepburn movies were documentaries and Jane Austen novels were instruction manuals. While other kids played video games, I choreographed elaborate tea parties and wrote love letters to fictional characters. My mother worried I'd never survive in the "real world". She was both wrong and right.

College brought my first devastating lesson in reality versus romance. Three years with someone I thought was my soulmate - late-night conversations about building a life together, plans sketched on café napkins, the kind of love that made me understand why people write poetry. Until I discovered he'd been living a completely different life with someone else for most of our relationship. The betrayal wasn't just personal - it felt like proof that everything I'd believed about love was naive fiction.

After graduation, I threw myself into wedding planning, determined to create fairy tale moments for others since mine had crumbled. For two years, I orchestrated elaborate ceremonies, believing I was helping couples celebrate true love. But slowly, I realized I was facilitating performances. $200,000 celebrations where couples barely looked at each other. Brides who spent their receptions texting ex-boyfriends. Grooms who treated their wedding day like a business merger. I was creating Instagram moments, not genuine connection.

The final straw came during a lavish garden wedding where the bride confided she was only marrying for financial security. As I watched her walk down an aisle scattered with imported rose petals toward a man she felt nothing for, I realized I'd become complicit in killing the very thing I treasured most.

That night, alone in my apartment surrounded by wedding magazines and vendor contracts, I made a decision that surprised even me. Instead of letting the world's cynicism destroy my capacity for wonder, I would protect it fiercely. I would create the authentic romantic experiences I'd always craved - not for people who'd forgotten how to feel, but for those who, like me, refused to settle for connection without magic.

What I discovered in this work amazed me - my romantic nature translated beautifully into every aspect of intimacy. The anticipation I create through lingering glances over dinner. The way I touch someone as if they're precious rather than simply available. The genuine pleasure I take in their pleasure, whether that's through conversation that makes them feel brilliant or physical connection that makes them feel utterly desired. When someone realizes you're not performing but truly present, truly wanting them, the entire experience transforms into something transcendent.

I approach physical intimacy the same way I approach everything else - with genuine warmth and romantic intention. There's such a beauty in watching someone surrender to pleasure, in feeling their body respond to touch given with real affection rather than obligation. The moment when performance drops away and authentic desire takes over - that's when the magic happens, whether we're sharing wine-soaked laughter or skin-to-skin connection that leaves us both breathless.

Now I curate encounters that feel like stepping into the films that shaped my childhood dreams. Surprise picnics in hidden garden corners that lead to kisses under flowering trees. Conversations by candlelight that stretch until sunrise, followed by mornings where we explore each other with the unhurried attention real lovers take. Moments so beautiful they restore faith in the possibility of enchantment, in all its forms.

Not everyone wants to believe in magic anymore, but for those who do - those who remember what it felt like to have their breath catch at a perfect sunset or a perfectly timed touch - I create experiences that prove romance isn't dead. It's just been waiting for someone who refuses to let it die.

Some call me naive. I call myself necessary. In a world determined to reduce everything to transactions, someone has to remember that the most incredible connections happen when we allow ourselves to be enchanted - completely, beautifully, and without reservation.