Stop Me (Brooklyn Beckham Fanfiction)

Chapter 4: (B)

As soon as she got in the lift, Lola's face was in my mind. What was wrong with me? I've only just met this girl! To be fair, she was gorgeous. Her smile, her sparkly eyes.

I probably seemed so stupid jumping forward to shake hands with her. I actually shook hands with someone. Who does shaking hands these days? She probably thinks I'm really immature. She shook my hand back though.

We ate at the hotel, sitting on a circular table in a huge glittery restaurant.

There was about six knives and forks per person. I mean, I've been to plenty of Mum and Dad's events, but I don't think I've ever been anywhere this posh. During the meal Mum talked about fashion and the interior decoration of the hotel lobby and Dad talked about how busy it was and how helpful the staff seem. I wasn't really listening. All through my starter of caviar, my main of risotto and the scrumptious profiteroles they served at the Mayfair, I couldn't stop thinking about Lola. I picked at my food as her unforgettable face ran through my mind.
She seemed so weird, and cold with me though. As I looked into her eyes they had looked frostily back. Even though we'd only just met. I hope I get to see more of her. We did say see you tomorrow, right? It was like she hated me from the offset. I wonder whether-

"Brooklyn! Did you listen to a word I just said?" My mother snapped at me, her ferocious tone bringing me straight back to earth.

"Sorry, what?" I croaked stupidly as we got up from the dinner table.

"Urghhhh, I give up!" Mum growled at me and stormed off towards the exit doors with Harper on her hip. The boys followed suit, and I made for the exit too but Dad was on my tail. He put his hand on my shoulder and spun me around.

"Brooklyn," he said calmly but firmly, "as you have probably noticed, your mum's been getting really stressed over this week."

As he said it, I heard Mum despairing over Harper, who had the tiniest bit of chocolate on her little white dress. It took all my self control not to say 'ya think?'. I nodded calmly instead.

Dad sighed and turned back to me.

"Look, just keep out of her way for a bit, unless you're helping her out, she really needs as much help as she can get with unveiling this new line and everything else at the moment."

"Hmmmm." I replied, not really listening as we walked together towards the door.

"Which is why we're giving you your own suite. The boys can share and Harper will be in with your Mum and me."

"Thanks, Dad." I said, thinking that I can at least choose what tv to watch while I'm stuck in this hotel for a week.

"Now, come on," he said, patting my back and strolling towards the door, "or Mum's gonna start shouting again."

As we walked Dad started talking again.

"Listen Brook," he said gently, walking at the same pace as me, and I could tell from his tone that he was going to say something I wasn't particularly going to like.

"I know you don't really want to be here, and that's ok. I know you wish you were spending half term with your mates playing football and all that. I understand, when I was a boy I was just li-"

"Dad. Please." I interrupted him. "Just get to the point."

"Yeah okay, I'm getting to it. Your Mum wants me, you, Harper and your brothers on the front row with Anna Wintour. You know that Vogue editor woman." He said all of a rush.

"Seriously? That boring old-"

"Brooklyn! That's enough!"

"Sorry!" I protested, "But I thought he deal was that I just come to the hotel and I don't have to actually look at the clothes!"

"There wasn't a deal." Dad reminded me forcefully, "You come, watch the opening of your Mum's Spring Summer Collection, and then just go to the parties in the evenings. And she wants us on the front row. All of us. For the press."

"But Dad-" I started, thinking of the dull fashion people talking about their tennis courts and Sebastian at the regatta or whatever it was last time.

"Don't but Dad me." Dad snapped at me, the stress of Mum's work obviously getting to him too. "We let you have your own suite, but all you can think about is not turning up to this, not coming to that, and-"

"Fine." I said quickly, expecting a lecture. "Fine I'll come. But I'm not sitting next to that ridiculous woman, she smells of pepper and her hair-"

"I'll sit next to Anna. You just focus on getting up in the morning." Dad turned to get in the lift and I followed.

"Oh and one more thing." He added as the mirror covered lift began to rise, "Don't insult your Mother's colleagues, this would look awful in the papers."

Ah. The papers. The press, photographers, journalists, all sorts of magazines I don't care about and wouldn't ever read. I mean why do they put me in there anyway? I know I'm David and Victoria Beckham's son, but there's nothing special about me. I mean, Mum had her band, and now her clothes, and I can play football ok, but I'm not my Dad. I'm just - me.

"Alright?" Dad asked in a lighter tone as we reached the second floor. I nodded solemnly as I slipped my hand into my pocket, taking the key card from next to my cold metal phone.

"See you in the morning. Eight o' clock in the lobby? Then we can go to breakfast together." he said as he stepped out of the lift and turned left.

"Yeah. See you there." I replied, as I got out of the lift and turned right.

It's not even day one yet, I thought as I got into the cool sheets in my hotel room bed, and Fashion Week has already turned out to be worse than I bargained for.