Perfect facde

CHAPTER ONE: EMMA Many believe a talented photographer captures not only images but also the truth in her photos. On that night, I realized that I was tired, the bride's gown was too flashy, and my heart hurt because I had fallen for someone else. The couple moved onto the floor during the first dance. Shimmering chandeliers, music from the piano, and huge sums of money made the ballroom at the Langham shine in gold. The bride's beautiful diamond-decorated gown reflected the light moment the groom dipped her. Click. The design of the album cover would be that one. Inside, I was excited by what had happened. Things were as wonderful as possible for a long time—and then they changed. Going along the edges of the dance floor, I picked my way through the waiters and guests to find unplanned shots. Grandmother's face was full of tears and happiness. The bow tie of the flower girl is not pointing in the same direction as the groom's. The groom tells his bride something that makes her shy and smile. Those moments became prized images to everyone. After that, I noticed something from outside. Three men were standing on the terrace just next to the French doors, close to each other. Not laughing. Not drinking. Someone gave a glimmer of silver or white to a person in the audience. They wore suits that were dark and too stiff since this was required by tradition, not the latest fashions. I saw the jagged trace of the scar on his jaw as if I was reading an unfinished tale. My camera went up in my hands. A network setup only takes three clicks. Scarface's eyes moved up to look at me on the other side of the pane. I felt a sharp dip in my stomach circulations. I escaped the gaze and started to fiddle with my camera strap. Only a few work colleagues were walking around the place, I said to myself. I sensed another truth because of the feeling running up my back. "Miss Taylor?" Right next to me, a waiter suddenly came up. For the mother of the bride, it is important to have photos with the grandparents before they retire. I was grateful for the change of topic and I nodded. "On it." At midnight, I was uncomfortable with all the high heels, sad from so many false smiles, and I had photographed endless pictures of expensive party moments. Olivia, my hyperactive assistant, received the backup equipment, and I walked out of the hotel with a big bag and tender feet. As soon as I got inside my little one-bedroom apartment, I let myself drop onto the couch. The store had the smell of vanilla and dust. My office walls held the pictures I enjoyed the most: one had a kid blowing bubbles, another was of a bride in the rain, and another was of a grandfather fixing his tie. Little bits of other people's happiness had turned into something I felt belonged to me. They didn't. I was careful not to damage the memory cards that I had not backed up as I removed them from the camera. These small pieces of plastic were responsible for my career. Yet, as soon as the laptop encountered this image, the screen was dark for a few moments and then the image flickered on my screen. Not featuring those at the wedding. A black business card was displayed in the middle of what I saw on my screen. Lettering made from silver gave the sign its sense of grandeur. Alexander Romano You can only make a private appointment for consultation. There is a small note that says: Your coffee is getting cold, Emma. I froze. The card did not have a red dot on it, which is always my reminder. I had no personal ownership of this. I lifted my head to check around my apartment as if someone was spying on me. Nothing. I just hear a soft murmur from Chicago coming in through my window. The next morning, I headed to Visionary Brews because I needed coffee to stay awake and get my projects done. I went to the counter where Marcus worked and asked for my typical coffee drink. I then picked up a seat at the window. I got my camera bag and took out the case again. The red dot has not been seen yet. It is still the wrong choice. I set up my device using it so I could prove to myself. Same image. Same card. Same name. I noticed that danger was close by without seeing anyone. I stared at the surroundings and scanned every part of the café. And there stood Gary in the center of the room. A man was watching me from the booth in the corner. No coffee. No book. The calmness in her face and the unblinking look in her eyes. His face didn't change to a smile. His eyes did not move. He patiently waited for something to happen. Emma's drink is the vanilla latte! Marcus called. As I got up to get my drink, my camera came off my shoulder. I went forward, but someone else managed to get the ball before me. A hand. Steady. Precise. With a low and smooth voice, a person said, "Watch out." This device costs three thousand dollars. Catching my attention was someone on the other side: a man sitting in the booth by the corner. Near his audience, he looked extremely intelligent. Not only attractive. Striking. Shaun has a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a perfect suit. Every small detail about him showed how much control he had. I was able to say, "Thank you." He gave the camera back to me in a slight hand gesture. Common advice is that your reflexes become better when you practice regularly. He waited for me to shake his hand. "Alexander Romano." I was trying to keep my voice calm as I looked at him. You misplaced my memory card by mistake. "I simply borrowed it," was how he explained it. "And I left you a voice recording." This isn't how loans or borrowing are meant to function. I hope to meet you. The card let me use a plausible reason. You should have only said hello instead of getting mad. He barely moved his lips as he gave a hint of a smile. Doing that wouldn't have been successful. I would have figured you'd say no. By doing this, you find out more about the world. "I'm annoyed." "You're here." What made things worse was that he was right. He asked to have a meal together. "Tonight. Eight. La Fontaine." "I have to admit, the response is a big no." As he came nearer, he was like a gentle storm in the air. "You took a picture at the wedding of Donovan and Pierce. A piece of fiction that is not meant for public consumption. The men. The scar. The handoff. I was filled with surprises. I take out comments that go off-topic. I didn't catch it at all. "I did." The way he spoke was now composed of unhurried but darker words. There will be dinner at six. We'll talk. I'll just give your card back as the two of us promised. What if I refuse or cannot do it? The way he looked didn't change, yet there was a noticeable difference in the mood. The room became icier, as if the temperature had dropped. Thinner. They also keep your card vigilantly. However, you won't get to participate in an interesting conversation. He put an elegant white card into my hand. A reservation. An address. After that, he left the café without ever looking back. I looked carefully at the card. The performance by La Fontaine will be at 8 PM. The second choice should have a private dining room. I should have contacted the police because I felt threatened. Franklin lamented that he never shared his feelings with Olivia. I should have stopped participating. Rather, I touched the place where his hand had comforted me. Momentarily, I closed my eyes and pictured him there, placing his hand on my shoulder again. And for reasons I still can't fully explain, I knew I'd be there.