‘Sleep well, Sie.’ He pulls me towards him and presses a kiss against my forehead. There’s a camera flash somewhere, and I turn around just in time to spot the paparazzo taking his camera from between the rails in my gate.
‘You know what you’re doing,’ I whisper.
‘I was about to say this isn’t my first rodeo, but it absolutely is.’
I laugh, a soft laugh which would’ve come from my belly if I wasn’t so tired. If I had more energy to give him the reaction he deserves. He waits next to me while I fish my house key out of the bottom of my small bag. He smiles and waves one final time when I’ve crossed the threshold. I press my hand against the door, listening to his shoes clicking against the marble steps on the way down.
If it wasn’t fake, it would’ve been perfect.
I’m out of bed as soon as the sun rises the following morning, after a night of tossing and turning, throwing the duvet on the floor and picking it back up again, my own sweat soaking through my sheets. I drag myself out of bed, leaving my phone on the bedside table, as soon as the first peeks of sunlight penetrate the curtains.
They say a watched pot never boils, but I stand and stare at the kettle while it bubbles, seeing if I can guess when it’ll pop.
There are birds in my birdbath, in the small Hampstead garden I never get use out of, flapping their wings against the dried-up stone. They soon fly away when a fox crawls out of the bushes.
I curl up on the sofa, cup of tea in hand, in the suffocating quiet of the house. I’ve always liked my own company, maybe a little too much, but today it feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. I play the vinyl, a new debut from an artist called Ruby Rain, already sitting in my record player. The songs ring out in the dead space, doing their best to distract me from my own thoughts.
My songwriting notebook is on the coffee table, but all I can think about are the pap pictures on my phone upstairs. I’ve been avoiding picking up my phone all night, just in case they’re there. A small percentage of me wants to see them, but the majority hopes everyone has miraculously lost interest, or that none of the pictures were good enough.
But I know better than that.
I know that Jess contacted the tabloids in advance with a quote, ready for when the pictures landed in their inbox. That she told them the real story about Xavier, Benji and Jonny. That I would be going on a date at Down Lowe’s that night with someone who has been in my life for a long time but has recently crossed the line between friends and more. That I was really happy and couldn’t wait to see where it goes.
I look at the courtyard outside the front of my housethrough the tilted shutters. A few people walk past the gate in suits with briefcases. Others with backpacks and wearing trainers. I wonder what it would be like to have somewhere to be five days a week every week.
When I can’t take it anymore, I pad back upstairs, abandoning my mug to get cold on the coffee table. My phone is face down on my nightstand, the charging cable hanging out the end of it. There are no missed calls and, while it’s still early, it’s a nice indication that I didn’t set Mimi’s plan on fire last night.
I open the apps and there it is. Top of theDaily Mailhomepage. Three pictures of me and Luc at varying stages of last night andSIENNA’S NEW MANwritten in capital letters, white writing on a black background. The picture on the left is of us leaving dinner – we’re walking towards the car, my hand in Luc’s. He looks at me while I look off into the distance, and we are both grinning from ear-to-ear. My heart rattles and I bite my lip, chewing at the dry skin and ripping it off with my teeth. The second is of us getting into the car. Dennis holds the door open while I climb in – quite ungracefully, now that I’ve seen a photo of the experience – while Luc waits his turn.
I rub my hands on my pyjama shorts. They immediately feel sweaty again.
The final one is the picture taken on my doorstep. The one I’ve been most nervous to see. The one where Luc pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead, the door blurred behind us.
Thankfully, the headline is approved by Jess:SIENNA MARTIN CAN’T HIDE HER SMILE IN NEW ROMANCE WITH MYSTERY MAN AFTER COSY DATE AT EXCLUSIVE LONDON RESTAURANT.
There are already iterations of the same story across other national UK newspapers as well as various US digital magazines.
I open Instagram and look at the comments on my most recent photo, a lot of them sharing their happiness at ‘my news’. They seeming to buy the headlines that this is real, that this is something which will last a long time. I try to ignore the ones which are calling out that it can’t be real, that they’ll believe it when they see it, that I’ll be with someone different next weekend. But they settle in my brain.
I have to prove them wrong.
We’re really doing this.
There’s no going back now.
Sienna Martin’s new relationship… thoughts?
If she thinks we’re gonna believe that…
What is this, the third of the week?
Fourth of the fortnight.
I think they’re beautiful together! Can’t wait to see more of them. I hope she’s happy
CHAPTER 6
GLITTER AFTER PARTY
