Distortion

The chandeliers, casting a cold light downward, carved faces with shadows, turning them into grotesque masks, making familiar faces vanish into strangers. Camera flashes, like gunshots, sparkled here and there, transforming the hall with its marble floor into a battlefield where victory was the right smile. James thought he was ready for this after all the meetings it took to secure his place in parliament, but now, after a break, it all left him bewildered. “Simplify your expression,” her voice was closer than he expected. Bucky looked up, meeting Lauren’s gaze. She held a champagne flute by the stem with two fingers, as if afraid she might accidentally break it. He realized she was better prepared—her dress revealed nothing excessive, didn’t stir the eye, but certainly stirred the imagination. A deep burgundy, like an unhealed, throbbing scar, it perfectly complemented her cold, seemingly frozen-in-time skin. Lauren gave a soft smile, nodding toward the lenses aimed at them like pistol barrels, but he only noticed the waves of her dark hair swaying, cascading over her shoulders onto her back. “Who are all these people?” James asked quietly, tightening his grip on the water glass like a final anchor. “The press, a few patrons, an actress who turned to charity, a couple of politicians caught in mischief. And you,” she paused, pressing her lips together, fixing her lipstick after a sip of champagne. “And me.” “You clearly belong on that side,” he smiled with the corners of his lips, looking at the faceless journalists hidden behind camera flashes. “I’ve outgrown that,” Lauren shrugged, trying to listen to the organizer’s speech. “Besides, I never liked chasing after anyone.” “Had to?” James emptied his glass in one go, placing it on the tray of a passing waiter. “Occasionally,” the girl circled the buffet table, studying its contents, though she knew eating under cameras was a bad idea. “Want to say a few words for the evening? I can arrange it with the organizer.” “Sometimes, looking at you, I wonder exactly how you achieve everything,” James smirked, finally turning away from the cameras, but Lauren raised an eyebrow, still not looking at him. “That’s only your problem,” she said quietly. “Right now, character and a silver tongue matter, not bust size. Though, if you head out of the city center, you’ll find the kind you’re talking about.” James didn’t respond, pondering her words. Not a single muscle in Lauren’s face twitched, and he couldn’t tell if his words had struck a nerve. Bucky wasn’t even sure if anything could rattle her, throw her off balance. The only thing that gave her away was her sad eyes, but they seemed always like that—just a feature, capable of transforming in a split second into a heavy, thunderous gaze. “So?” she asked again, placing her empty glass on the table. “Don’t want to?” “No.” “Right,” Lauren smiled, and James, turning around, realized they were back in the crosshairs. “The worst thing is an unprepared speech.” “All your dialogues are a prepared speech,” the man gently took the girl by the elbow and led her to a large window overlooking the city. “It’s as if you’ve planned everything. The smile, the walk, the manners. I wouldn’t be surprised if the name too.” “I was just taught manners from childhood,” she freed her arm from his fingers, which were tightening around her skin with each passing second. “I was taught to always keep a straight face, no matter what happens. That’s the price of being born into a privileged family.” “Is anything real left in there?” he tapped a finger between her collarbones, and Lauren glanced back. “Don’t touch me like that, unless you want rumors in the papers about something between us,” she whispered, her fingers touching the velvet curtains. “It would ruin everything.” “I don’t know what would ruin my reputation more. This gesture, or the fact that I’m about to leave here,” James looked into the girl’s eyes, where a flash of fear appeared. “Right now.” “This is blackmail,” she spread her hands as if seeking support from the surroundings. “You can’t.” “I can,” he was about to turn and leave, but Lauren caught him by the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait,” she tightened her grip on the blood-red lacquered clutch. “Better rumors than being labeled a hypocrite. I’ll go with you, but I need to go to the powder room first.” “Champagne acting up?” Bucky laughed, relieved to see something human in Lauren, even if it was just basic needs, but she said nothing, heading for the hall’s exit.