Stop Me (Brooklyn Beckham Fanfiction)

Chapter 7: (B)

I stood, watching as Dad ran off to backstage. Lola gave me an uncomfortable smile, then followed him, her peachy bottom bouncing as her heels sprinted after Dad. Wait, why was I even looking at that?

I shook the thoughts out of my head, and led the kids to outside the main entrance of fashion week, where fashion people and journalists were milling about, waiting to go in.

"Are we going in now?" Asked Harper, clearly becoming restless. Romeo answered before I could open my mouth.

"But we can't go in without Dad! We always walk in with Dad!" he complained.

"Well, I think we'll have to." I took charge, noticing that the doors had opened and people had begun to rush to their seats, eager to see the fashion at fashion week. I whipped out my iPhone and quickly text Dad to tell him we'd meet him inside.

"It's starting in a few minutes, we better get to our seats." I pushed the boys towards the doors and took Harper's small hands, as the crowds in front of us surged forwards into the grand hall.

As we drew nearer to the front, I heard someone shout my name. My head automatically spun round and I saw Dad jogging smoothly towards us.

"Hey kids, you ready?" He smiled, barely panting as he stopped as he got to us.

"Yeah," I said, as Harper detached herself from me and grabbed onto Dad instead. "Yeah, Dad," I lowered my voice, "What happened backstage?"

"Fashion people will be fashion people." he said simply.

"But what does that-" I began, not understanding his point.

"Later, Brooklyn, later." he said firmly, the use of my full name telling me this was serious. "Right kids, we're about to do our big entrance," his voice returned to a happy tone as he addressed all of us. "So serious faces on please. And Cruz, you go in front. In we go."

So we stepped, as a family, bar Mum, into the grand hall and the familiar click of cameras welcomed us from both left and right. I sometimes wish I wasn't being photographed twenty four seven, it's almost like being a hardened criminal and having a tag on my ankle. I didn't even realise how famous Mum and Dad were until people started taking pictures of me.

"Here we are." said Dad, stopping at some front row seats, where Anna Wintour was already sitting. A peppery scent tickled my nostrils as we moved closer to her.

"Dad." I hissed, trying to politely tell him that I was no way on this earth sitting next to that posh woman.

"Of course," Dad said, obviously remembering what he had previously said, and sitting next to her himself.
"Brooklyn, would you sit on my left, please?" He asked, as the kids fill up the row behind us.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I sunk into the seat and fully took in the fashion hall.
Rows upon rows of seats lined the walls, and crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, creating a dazzling effect on the walls as the light from the roof windows hit them.

After I took in my surroundings - something I do quite a lot (perhaps it is because I'm always travelling between the UK and the USA) - I looked back to the runway, like everyone else, anticipating the show.

The hall had become quite full now, fashion people and bloggers or whatever they do had crowded the seats, some photographers battling for the front row.

"And now..." a nasal voice flooded the speakers. "London Fashion Week comes but once a year, so let's sit back and enjoy the show! Up first it's Matthew Williamson's latest collection, and did you know ladies and gentleman, he actually designed this collection while he was travelling in western Sicily..."