I turn to the huge mirror. The burnt orange shades James has used on my eyes bring out the same colour in the centre of the flowers on the dress, the same as Luc’s tie.
And it’s perfect.
‘It’s an honour to come on this life with you, Sienna Martin,’ Luc whispers.
I don’t know whether I’ll win any of the nine awards I’ve been nominated for, but I feel like I’ve already won.
‘I won’t kiss you, because I don’t want to ruin your lipstick,’ Luc whispers, wrapping an arm around my back and instead holding his lips near my forehead, his warm breath tickling the skin. ‘But, for the record, I really want to.’ It’s almost a growl.
Do we think Sienna will actually go to the PAAs tonight?
I’m not sure, her brother was in hospital like three days go
I think it would be really terrible if she did go. I’d be livid if my brother went to New York after I’d just got out of hospital
Guys he was never in danger danger, like he wasn’t going to die. He broke his elbow, she has to live her life get over it
CHAPTER 20
NOT A SUCCESS STORY
TRACK 5 | PRIVACY PIRACY
Everyone has always spoken about me like I’m some sort of success story. Like yes, I’m successful. Generally successful, not successful for ‘a girl from a council estate’. But, really, what’s wrong with that? Why is it so much more shocking that I’ve been successful because I grew up in a house with subsidised rent?
I wishI’d had another slice of pizza before leaving, but any more and the boning in this dress would be cutting into my skin.
‘You look beautiful, as always, Miss Martin,’ the receptionist says as I exit the foyer.
‘Thank you, Sandy,’ I reply, catching a glance at her name badge on her chest.
The New York air hits me as soon as the air conditioning is no longer protecting my skin, and I can almost feel my hair growing three times in size already.
It’s dead on half-past seven. We are leaving right on schedule, as I always aim to do in my questto be on time for everything, to not to waste anyone’s time or get a reputation of being late. In fifteen minutes, Luc and I will be walking our latest, and probably biggest, red carpet. Potentially our last… providing nothing comes up in the next few weeks.
Luc can have his life back again. The life he wanted.
The countdown is on for our fake break-up. I simply need to protect myself until then. Rory’s accident taught me I was getting complacent. Leaving myself in harm’s way.
My brain isn’t able to control my heart around Luc as it could at the beginning of our arrangement. I’m getting too involved.
The car pulls up at the end of the red carpet at twenty-to-eight. Five minutes to gather myself in the car, to make sure my lipstick doesn’t need touching up before we have to face all those people all over again.
I’m drained.
Is it the jet lag or do I actually feel burned out? It’s been nearly fifteen years. I’ve been doing this since I was a teenager. Is this how people feel when they decide to take time off?
I don’t have any real reason to feel burnt out. Lawyers can feel burned out. Nurses. Doctors. They have a reason. They’re helping people all day every day, day after day. Putting other people before themselves. Nurses taking on an extra night shift because their ward is short-staffed. Staying an extra two hours because the child who has been in hospital for three weeks will only eat if they’re there to feed them.
Not me. I live a life of luxury. Everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me on a silver platter… and here I am feeling drained?
Dennis gets out of the car at seven forty-five on the dot. Luc takes that as his cue and opens his own car door behind the front passenger seat, walking around to the other side of the car so that by the time Dennis has reached me to open my car door, Luc is already there.
Luc takes my hand as I climb out of the car as gracefully as I can in what feels like a metric tonne of tulle and chiffon. My heel wobbles on the carpet, but Luc rights my balance. I wave to the crowds pressed up against the barricades, screaming and crying as Luc and I begin walking. Dennis a few paces behind us. I clutch Luc’s arm.
‘There’s a young woman at eight o’clock desperate to get your attention,’ Luc whispers in my ear. ‘I think she’s with her daughter.’
I have a soft spot for children who are fans of my music, children who have never known a world without my albums because their parents have played my music since before they were born. For fans who grew up with me and are now raising their kids as Ghosties.
