Julie leaned closer to Samantha, the warm hum of music and chatter masking their voices.
Roman and Lazarus were deep in their own world, their words low and edged, but her friend's mischievous glance pulled Julie out of it.
"Don't look," Samantha whispered, her lips barely moving as she lifted her glass of champagne.
"But tell me if you noticed the queen's makeup tonight. She looks like a porcelain doll that's about to crack."
Julie stifled a laugh, hiding it behind her hand. "Samantha… you're terrible. I did notice though. It's so heavy—like she dipped her whole face in powder."
"Exactly," Samantha muttered, sipping slowly, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, anywhere but the queen's direction. "And those lashes… if she blinks too fast, someone might mistake it for a fan."
Julie bit her lower lip, her shoulders trembling as she tried not to burst into laughter.
She knew the art of gossip well—the number one rule was never to glance toward the person you spoke of.
