Let's check in with Lacey on Mykonos - where she might be set to cross paths with somebody significant, for the first time in the modern-day storyline ;) ...

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Scene 10: Flawless

A.D. 2015

In all honesty — setting aside the fact that she was very rarely honest with herself, but if she ever were to be, in theory — Lacey Weaver Campion hated beaches. But she habitually pretended to be fond of them, of course, because society expected it, especially when she'd been 'blessed' with a body that lent itself well to a teensy bikini. There were prominent quotes around 'blessed' in her head. Firstly because this supposed 'blessing' had come at the great cost of sacrificing carbs and sugars, and secondly because in effect, it usually felt like more of a curse.

Thanks to her looks and the life they had afforded her, every light in the world struck her like a spotlight on a runway or a floodlight at a photo shoot: invasively bright, unforgiving of all flaws, no matter how few or how slight. The shadow of every shortcoming was starker, the brighter the light. Even when the lights were off she found no solace in the dark. For no light was needed to see, to feel, the flaws beneath the often flawless skin, within, where every lie and every sin had left its mark.

In any case, Lacey inwardly grumbled — while lounging on the sun-soaked coast of Mykonos with her beloved husband and pretending to be comfortable — she seriously hated beaches. Always had. The way the ocean spray and briny air mussed up her well-conditioned hair. The specks of sand that never failed to get stuck everywhere. She hated how every other model she had ever met was essentially a mermaid with legs — able to frolic on the shoreline, even venture out into the waves and magically emerge from them looking more gorgeous. And to manage this as if it were effortless. Which for Lacey it never was. Those bıtches.

It didn't matter if professional photographers effused praises whenever they snapped pictures of her on the beach, insisting that she looked perfectly fine; she knew it was a lie. The only reason these photos came out half-decent was due to a certain form of sorcery known as the airbrush. Proof of this pathetic fact was in the tabloids, in which she'd appeared a few times — much to her mother's chagrin, albeit for nothing scandalous. The problem was that these candids, of course, were not airbrushed. And they tended to cast Lacey in an unflattering light that made her look like something of a platypus.

Not that she looked flawless when she was anywhere other than the beach, by any means — even if others sometimes described her that way, she knew better herself. Whether on the beach or not, she never actually looked perfect. At best, just less platypus-esque. But all the stray sand and saltwater definitely did not help.

And the only soul on earth beneath whose grey-blue gaze she had always felt truly beautiful was... lost to her, and thus not worth thinking about anymore.

Well, at least now her modeling days were behind her, and she was finally married to Matthew. Er, Ryder. Once in a while she still slipped, which always irked her. But whatever she called him, their matrimonially bound togetherness was all that mattered—

"Lacey — Lacey Weaver?"

She looked up to see the man who had greeted her, figuring that he was probably a stranger, one of the admirers who occasionally approached her even after the abrupt failure of her career, and — oh. Far from an admirer. Rather, her former agent. Emphasis on 'former'.

Throughout the industry in the months leading up to the end of Lacey's career, there had been many whispers, among agents and even fellow models who had once been friends of hers. The consensus was that her Barbie-doll beauty was too cookie-cutter, that she lacked 'edge' and 'sass' and 'pizzazz' or whatever, couldn't pull off sexy if her life depended on it, and all manner of other lovely things that Lacey had long since tried and failed to forget.

So her demise as a model wasn't entirely due to this one former agent. But, in addition to voicing his agreement with all of the negative gossip swirling around Lacey Weaver, he was the one who had ultimately decided to give up on her.

She had gone to great pains to convince herself that none of this mattered, but nevertheless, she really wished that he hadn't done this. How could he not have the common sense and courtesy to just pretend that he'd not seen her and continue on his way?

In reply to her own silent inquiry, Lacey then reminded herself that common sense and courtesy were not always common among the people in her industry. Her former industry. For better and for worse. A blessing and a curse.

In response to his greeting, calling her by an outdated maiden name, her unfiltered inner voice snapped 'no; it's Lacey Campion now' — but her inner voice didn't get out much.

So the despicable greasy-haired middle-aged dude kept on talking before she could say anything. "Well, aren't you as lovely as ever!"

Which was apparently never. He had held her entire career in his hands and flushed it down the crapper — didn't he remember?

The dirtbag gestured curiously toward Ryder. "This your new beau?"

Ugh! How dare he! Apparently the idiot didn't follow any of the news sources that had covered her recent wedding. Which, on second thought, she realized made sense; none of those sources were very prominent. In any event, his misconception had to be corrected. "Husband, actually."

"Ah, would you look at that! Timing worked out nicely then, didn't it? I mean, you know, professional life, personal life, the whole balance. Hard to make it as a supermodel when you're sporting a bun in the oven, am I right? Gonna be popping out a litter of little Laceys soon, I bet! Big congrats, babe."

'Babe'? Honestly? Every word from his hateful mouth triggered Lacey's gag reflex, and she was in no mood to hurl up the two bites of grapefruit that she'd had for breakfast. She wondered if maybe Ryder would come to her rescue...

The notion did not last for long, because as it turned out, Ryder didn't have to. Next thing she knew, her former agent was scuttling off down the beach as if Lacey had never existed, let alone been within a mile radius.

She looked in the direction he was headed and spotted... one of those bıtches. Except not really, as this particular bıtch transcended all reasonable bounds of human beauty in a way that triggered Lacey's gag reflex all over again, from a toxic mix of inferiority and envy.

Was that even hair, or was it silken sheets of the night sky itself, shining with all the luster of starlight although dusk was hours away? And how had this bıtch been born with molten bronze infused in each cell of her skin, as if she'd never had to try to tan a single day? And even from this distance, Lacey could somehow tell that those eyes were the most stunning shade of pine green, which in turn probably rendered her own face a similar shade, shamelessly jealous of what had to be the absolute most flawless female creature she had ever seen.

"Would you get the fυck away from me?" she heard the flawless bıtch shout at the agent who was now chasing after her across the sand and literally drooling at her heels. "I said no. I don't want your contracts and your money, and I sure as hell don't want your rabies."

"Just one wee second of your precious time, honey — please..."

"Look, creep. My fυckbuddy is right over there," she pointed at a hunk of chiseled muscle standing at the bar a bit further inland, waiting for refills, "and he could seriously butcher you with a flick of his pinky. Which I will have him do if you don't get the motherfυcking fυck away from me. I would do it myself, but I think you'd derive some sick pleasure from that."

The creep persisted still, against all courtesy and common sense.

"If you need the business so badly, go harass someone else who might take pity on your desperate ass. Hey—" Lacey heard the stranger say, as she suddenly happened to catch sight of the blonde eavesdropper and gestured her way, "—she could totally be a model, couldn't she?"

The agent didn't bother to spare so much as a glance at Lacey. "She used to be. But you, babe — you've got just the look we need..."

Unfortunately for him, the stunner's fυckbuddy was finished at the bar and heading back in their direction. The guy didn't even need to whip out his pinky; Lacey couldn't see from this angle, but his silent glare sent some sort of serious message, apparently. The agent was scampering off in a matter of seconds. Probably peeing his pants.

"Wow," Ryder uttered, having wordlessly witnessed all of these recent events, from where he sat beside his wife. "That was intense."

Lacey prayed that no part of that 'wow' had been directed at the raven-haired knockout. Especially now that she was done thanking her lover, or fυckbuddy or whatever, for his assistance with a passionate French kiss and was now walking over toward the Campions.

"Honey, how—how about you go grab yourself a drink?" Lacey presently suggested to her husband, flashing him a sugarcoated smile, and beyond relieved to see that there genuinely seemed to be no hesitation on his part, as he stood up and headed toward the bar. Trying to convince herself that it was because he only had eyes for his wife — rather than...

If there was any train of thought less pleasant to Lacey than the gorgeousness of this emerald-eyed goddess, it was that one bright-eyed brunette. Cloe Turner, as Lacey had learned her name was, after some quick online searches. So in some strange sense, she was sort of grateful and glad when the goddess cut off her thought process.

"Hey — just wanted to, uh, say sorry about that whole mess, and for trying to dump the creep on you instead — that was a bıtch move."

Yes, it was. Bıtch. "Oh, no worries! It all worked out just fine. I'm glad it did."

The beauteous bıtch nodded. "Yeah. So, um... I guess that's it."

Lacey flashed another of her sugarcoated smiles. "I guess so."

As the goddess got back to her lover and Lacey got back to her honeymoon, though, she somehow couldn't shake off the strange sense that it wasn't it. That this wasn't the last they would be seeing of each other. Not even close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What'd y'all think of the first encounter between modern-day Lacey and Atria? ;)

Next scene, we'll revisit Atria and Akhel in B.C....

** And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :) **