Adler | The Aces of St.Sinclair BOOK 1.

Shutter | A TWENTY THREE

I was mostly blindly nodding my head along when Ms. Dion started throwing around these terms I presumed were the norm in the fashion world. Though I quickly put my foot down when she tried to take it further with visiting a salon. It took some arguing, switching back and fro from languages but eventually she yielded and settled with accessories. She said it would play the part of a camouflage from my hideous bangs.

She purchased a hairband with 'complementing' earrings which I was amazed at how my hair suddenly did seem disguised by the two simple items. Then my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when I saw the price tag.

When I tried to refuse them, Ms. Dion threatened me with a pair of scissors to my bangs. I didn't question why she had those in her purse.

I decided not to ask what the rest of my outfit cost, also partly because I really liked it. Especially the plum colour the staff used to describe the cropped vest I had on over the black silky top hugging my arms and torso. It was snug and now a close second to my favourite, turquoise.

I prayed that the next destination the driver was steering us to was the exhibition when Ms. Dion had gotten very insistent on her suggestion to head to another store to buy a handbag that was allegedly a must for my outfit. Here I'd thought my mum was pushy when it came to shopping.

I peered through the window for a look at the venue. My mouth fell open at the resides barricaded with ten feet tall iron gates swarmed by an army equipped with cameras, firing the shots at what seemed to be anything or anyone in their circumference.

"Those are paparazzi, right?" I asked, astonished.

"Unfortunately, yes." sighed Ms. Dion.

"Um why are they here?"

"Because many big shot artists along with ones debuting are going to be here, of course."

"Oh right."

I had assumed the exhibition to be in an gallery or museum, not a residential looking area. Although, the nearly pruned shrubs were pretty artful. I couldn't concentrate on it however with the herd by the pathway.

I'd never been so close to the paparazzi in real life. It was both baffling and fascinating. Like a naturalist observing animals in the wild, in their elements.

It only took a young cub from the pack to stray their gazes onto the car, for every other set of eyes to comprehend us and instantly, they went into hunting. I jolted at the rapid movement and in seconds, they had us surrounded. They didn't seem to be taking pictures and I recalled that the windows were tinted, too dark to capture clear shots. So now they were waiting— no, egging us on to step outside.

"Vincent," Ms. Dion called to the driver. "Glasses."

He proceeded to fish a gauntleted hand through the glove compartment and when it reemerged, he had a pair of sunglasses identical to his boss's, handing it over to her.

"Put these on," she ordered, placing them in my hands. "And as hard as it might seem, just walk and act like they're not there. Okay?"

Regardless of how far too impossible that looked, I nodded, slipping on the specs and followed her lead out of the car.

The instance there was no longer a protective roof over my head, I held my breath. I'd never seen such a boisterous mass and it included that one winter back home where I was snowed in; one little school girl stuck with thirty blokes who had left the pub after watching the game.

Irrespective of the intimidating numbers, Ms. Dion walked through with a gait as proud as a peacock. Like the masses were nonexistent. God knows how many occurrences she'd had with the scenario that it didn't even faze her. The same went for an elderly couple right in front of us; a leisure walk in the park was how they made it all seem.