Just Beautiful

Lacey Banghard sits on the arm of an oatmeal sofa in a sun-filled Mediterranean sitting room, her jet-black hair parting at the centre and falling like ink past her shoulders. She wears a black bodysuit with a sheer mesh panel across the chest that shows the outline of everything underneath without revealing a thing, the opaque lower half cutting high on her bare thighs. Terracotta tiles warm the floor, linen curtains soften the French doors, and the afternoon light that pours through the wooden frames turns the simple room into a Vermeer painting. Just Beautiful is a title that could sound like hyperbole for anyone else. For Lacey, it reads like understatement.

She lies back on the sofa and the camera drifts overhead, catching the black mesh against her skin and the way her dark hair fans across the cushion. The bodysuit slides from one shoulder, then both, and Lacey rolls onto her side with her knees drawn up, one bare breast pressing into the oatmeal fabric as the warm window light traces the valley of her waist. In the closing frame she stands and eases the bodysuit below her chest, and the full, pillowy weight of her breasts settles into view, impossibly round and perfectly spaced, while her green eyes catch the daylight and her lips curve into a smile that makes the room feel smaller. Three words, and Lacey proves every one of them true.