‘Kareem, you can call me Sienna,’ I tell him, with a mock sigh. ‘Hi, Dennis,’ I say, and he nods in return.
‘Let’s keep the destination a surprise for Miss Martin, please, Kareem,’ Luc smirks. Kareem laughs and nods his agreement.
‘Don’t you start,’ I warn, and Luc’s eyes glitter.
We set off and, after a few minutes, I notice Kareem’s eyes keep flickering up to the interior mirror.
‘We have a pap behind us,’ he says calmly. ‘On a motorbike.’
I breathe in sharply, and hear Luc do the same.
‘Is he following us, Kareem, or chasing?’ Dennis asks.
‘Hard to tell at the moment because he’s trying to catch up to us.’
‘Achase?’ Luc gasps. ‘Isn’t that how Dianadied?’
‘This kind of thing happens a lot,’ I tell him, trying to reassure him but also knowing that this isn’t very reassuring at all. ‘Kareem is an expert at losing them.’
Kareem narrowly makes a left-hand turn as the traffic lights turn amber, leaving the motorbike behind us as we go down some residential streets until we can be sure that he’s no longer following us.
We aren’t in the car for much longer, maybe about thirty minutes, before we pull up outside a shop on a high street. There are people going about their business on both sides of the road, rushing and squeezing in between gaps of slow walkers. It’s a high street I’ve never seen before, but it looks quite similar to my local high street growing up. Stains on the pavement, litter strewn across the road. I wonder whether this is what all high streets look like nowadays, or whether we’ve ended up somewhere a bit destitute, unsavoury.
‘Luc…’ I start, but he’s already opening the door.
There’s a pang of disappointment deep in my belly, ready to tell Luc to get back in the car so we can turn around. There’s no way I can get out of the car here. It isn’t the dirty high street, but thenormalcyof it. I can’t show up somewhere with my driver, my bodyguard and my fake boyfriend and cause chaos for their business.
Luc seemingly reads my thoughts. ‘It’s okay, Sienna. It’s all arranged.’
I manoeuvre my body across the seats, ready to climb out onto the pavement. ‘Do you trust me?’ he asks, taking my hand.
I hesitate for mere seconds. Is it him I don’t trust? Or myself? The world? Most of my trust is placed in Mimi. In Jess and Rory. Kareem and Dennis. Dina, James. Mauve, even. Is there some left over for me to trust Luc, especially this quickly?
I open my mouth to speak, my hand still in his as I sit in the warmth left over from his body. ‘I’ve got you,’ he says, and it’s the way he nods his head, my eyes captured by his, that makes my body move again.
Dennis is already out of the car and standing by the door of the shop. Luc takes my hand and, as I step my heel onto the pavement, I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for something to happen. For the world to shift on its axis.
But barely anyone even looks in my direction.
I manage to walk from the car and into the café without a single camera flash. My stomach turns and drops, like the car at the top of Stealth rollercoaster. It’s not public enough for us to make the most of it.
‘Welcome!’ The lady behind the café’s front desk welcomes us in. ‘I’m Leanne.’
There’s cream pottery lining the walls, paint, brushes, palettes on all the tables. Something I’ve always wanted to do but never had the opportunity.
We follow Leanne to a two-person table in the back corner and hardly anyone looks up, oh-so-focused on their own projects to take notice of what’s happening around them. Only two people look up, one man who gapes slightly, his head following me when I walk past, and a young girl who simply looks up at me and Luc and smiles. I smile back. Dennis stands against the wall next to our table. I hang my jacket on the back of my chair and hook the apron Leanne hands to me over my neck.
‘Have either of you been pottery painting before?’ Leanne asks.
‘I haven’t,’ Luc tells her. ‘Not sure if you have, Sie?’
I shake my head.But I’ve always wanted to, I don’t add.
‘No trouble at all. I’ll let you both get settled and then I’ll come back to explain how we work here – all pottery studios are different!’
My eyes dart around the room, trying to spot phones pointing in my direction, but everyone is quietly working on their own thing, chatting to their table-mate. We’re tucked in a back corner, so I can’t see through the windows. I hope my location doesn’t leak online so fans come in their troves and queue out the door. When I first started out, I loved supporting small businesses: boutique clothing, family-run restaurants. But my life ran away from me, and now it only causes them more trouble.
‘How did you pull this off?’ I ask.
