My heart was pounding inside my chest, echoing in my ears, feeling as though my ribs would crack at any minute, fragments projected into the rest of my body. My fingers were twitching against my leg, becoming all clammy with nerves and apprehension. Kit squeezed my hand and I clenched my shoulders, trying to contain myself by tensing my body all over.
The limo was still, but I could tell that the second we left the vehicle, we would be overwhelmed with fans, his fans. The cameras and the journalists would launch themselves at him, and I as a result, and I didn’t know how one was meant to prepare for that. I felt the part, if that helped, the hair and the makeup and the dress. Being all in black made me feel older, more sophisticated, it helped me to pretend that I was strong enough for this. Then I began to think, of what a minuscule detail this was in comparison to the world as a whole. People were starving, dying, suffering, and here I was, worrying about how I would look in a few photographs.
“What are you thinking about?” He whispered.
“Nothing much,” I lied.
“It will be okay,” he uttered into my ear, the silence of the limousine deafening in comparison to the inevitable screams of fans and reporters.
“What if it’s not?” I replied, a shiver traveling all the way down my spine, which could be seen through the skintight material of my dress.
“We can handle it,” he replied, “now, look at me,” he instructed, tracing his fingertips along my jaw, tipping my head up until I was looking directly at him.
“Kiss me, Christopher Ainsworth,” I smiled, curling my fingers over the back of his ear and waiting until his lips touched mine, softly. His breath tingled against my skin and I began to smile, pulling away before my lipstick got too messed up. There was a gentle knock on the car window and Kit looked at me cautiously, stroking some of my hair behind my ear and kissing my cheek.
“Are you ready?” He asked, and I nodded soundlessly. “I’ll go out first,” he offered, walking across to the door, crouching so his head didn’t smash against the roof of the vehicle. I followed after him, scooching along the leather seats until I was next to Kit. He opened the door and noise immediately rushed into my ears, making my heart skip a beat. People were shouting Kit’s name the second they saw him emerge from the car, but he waited, and lent back into the car, giving me his hand.
“Come on, it’s going to be fine,” he smiled, and for a split second, I believed him; but then terror overcame me once more. I gripped hold of his hand and ducked as I climbed out of the car, as elegantly as I possibly could. I didn’t feel like I was getting enough oxygen to my lungs, as if I would collapse at any second. “Are you okay?” He checked, squeezing my hand reassuringly. I nodded, pursing my lips as I thought of what to say.
“This is the first time anyone’s going to see me properly, your new girlfriend,” I reminded him.
“I know,” he nodded.
“I’m Christopher Ainsworth’s girlfriend,” I smiled.
“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” he whispered, “come on, I think they’ll want some pictures.” He led me over to the red carpet and I had to try to ignore the constant flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. People were shouting Kit’s name, begging for a photo, for an interview. We stopped in front of the backdrop which had been put up for the premier and posed for a little while, changing angles every now and again. I smiled up at Kit in disbelief.
It was overwhelming, the numbers of fans screaming at the celebrities from behind the railings, and it felt wonderful, to be here, in my hometown, on such a life changing night as this. Leicester Square looked beautiful, the lights of the Odeon beaming down on us. It wasn’t raining for once, and the stars were shining, not distorted by the layers of cloud normally looming over the city.
“Kit!” I heard someone shouting, and there was a woman waving us over to where she was standing with a camera crew and microphone.
“Come on, it’s for E!” He started towards the presenter and I followed, holding onto him as to not trip over and embarrass myself.
“Christopher, great to see you!” She grinned, giving him a hug; I recognized her then, it was Rumer Cooke. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognized her sooner, I was such a huge fan of her and the clothes she always wore. “You must be, Lana,” she turned to me and gave me a hug too. “It’s so great to meet you,” she grinned.
“I must admit, I’m a little star struck,” I giggled, holding my hand, the one which wasn’t clasped in Kit’s, up to my face shyly.
“With me!” Rumer laughed.
“Yes,” I exclaimed, “every time I watch you on TVI wish I had your clothes,” I confessed.
“Aww, you’re sweet,” she giggled, beginning to blush. “Okay, shall we start running?” She asked and I just nodded. The cameraman started to signal to us and then Rumer began to speak, half facing us, half facing the camera.
“I’m joined now by Christopher Ainsworth and his beautiful girlfriend,” she gestured to me and I began to grin. “This is her first movie premiere, Kit do you have anything to say?” She offered.
“Sure!” Kit widened his eyes, putting an arm around me. “This is the incredible Lana O’Rourke, she is my girlfriend, but she is also an amazing musician and one day she is going to be famous.”
“A musician?” Rumer said excitedly.
“Kit!” I gasped, nudging him and looking up with incredulity.
“What? It’s true!” He chuckled at my reaction. “She plays guitar and sings and writes beautiful songs.”
“Is there anywhere we can listen to those beautiful songs?” She pressed.
“No,” I said quickly.
“She has a youtube channel under the name lanalovestosing, go give her some views and nice comments, she really deserves it,” his eye contact pulled across to the camera lens and I started to blush again.
“Well, I have to say, you’ve made quite a debut,” Rumer admired, looking up and down at my outfit. “What is Lana O’Rourke wearing this evening?”
“This is a vintage,” I explained, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind my ear. “Prada I think.”
“It’s beautiful,” Rumer said sincerely, “and you two look amazing together, you really do. You both look stunning,” she grinned, motioning for the camera to cut. “That was great, thank you,” she gave Kit and I a second hug, reaching out and touching my arm gently. “It would be great to meet up some time, I’m in London for a week before heading back to LA?” She suggested, and I just seemed a little starstruck.
“Yes,” I choked out, “yes, that would be really cool,” I grinned.
“Lovely,” she smiled, “do you have my number?” She asked Kit.
“I think so,” he nodded, “somewhere.”
“Okay, text me your number and we’ll sort something out!” Rumer urged, before she caught the eye of another celebrity and we were hurried on to a further interview, and pictures for various fashion magazines or TV shows.
“How are you enjoying it, is it all okay?” Kit asked, looking down at me with concern.
“I’m having a great time,” I admitted, “I really am.”
“You are?” His eyes lit up, “I’m so glad, I was worried you’d hate it, and never want to be seen out in public ever again; the paparazzi do that to some people you know? I couldn’t be sure how you’d react.”
“I’m fine,” I stopped him from rambling, squeezing his hand, “I really am, I’m getting used to the whole, ‘dating a celebrity’ thing.”
“You’re amazing,” he said simply, but I didn’t really know how to respond.
We continued to walk down the red carpet, stopping at various points for more interviews with various journalists. We bumped into a few of Kit’s costars along the way; all people I’d watched in movies since I was fairly young, all of whom seemed extremely nice, and happy for Kit that he’d moved on from she who must not be named. I hadn’t admitted it to Kit, or myself really, but I was nervous about seeing her tonight, worried that she would be more beautiful than me, and steal him back, just as before.
“You didn’t mind, did you?” Kit asked, as we were posed for yet another set of photographs. “What I said back there, about your music?”
“Oh, not really,” I shook my head.
“Because I didn’t do it out of spite, I think it would be great for you to get more feedback on your songs on youtube and it might put you on the map a little,” he explained.
“I don’t mind at all, Kit,” I smiled up at him, brushing away a tiny smudge of pink lipstick which had rubbed off of Rumer Cooke’s lips, “in fact, I’m sure it will be worth it one day, and I’ll have you to thank for it.”
“You’ll only have you to thank for it,” he corrected me, “you’re the one with the talent.”
We started walking again, getting closer and closer to the entrance of the cinema, where we would take our seats for the viewing of the film. I could tell Kit was getting nervous, because he scratched his jaw when he was, not to mention how embarrassing it must be to watch back a sex scene you filmed with your ex girlfriend with fifty or sixty other people in the room, including your new girlfriend.
“Kit!” Someone was yelling his name again, but it wasn’t coming from the direction of the journalists, this time it was from somewhere behind us, and there was a sense of urgency which made us both turn around abruptly. “Kit!” They did it again, but neither of us seemed to be able to focus the sound.
“Oh God,” Kit muttered, as my eyes fell on the desperate figure which had just emerged from the limousine. She had been instructed by the producers of the film to arrive at least ten minutes after Kit, or else he wouldn’t show; those had been his conditions.
“It’s fine,” I whispered, smoothing my hand across his shoulder, trying to relax him.
She started towards us, hurrying over the red carpet in her five inch heels, walking with long, broad steps, and immense purpose. Her dark brown hair was down, hanging in limp waves past her shoulders. She had a smoky eye, which made her dark eyes glisten beneath the bright flashes of the paparazzi cameras. I had been worried about seeing her, all this time, facing the girl whom thought she was still desperately in love with my boyfriend, but in person, she wasn’t all that scary. She was just broken-hearted, and desperate, and I felt bad for her.
“She doesn’t look as beautiful as you,” Kit mentioned, before she was close enough to hear, as if it would make all of this marginally better for me.
“That doesn’t bother me,” I lied, although I wasn’t keen on the dress Isabel was wearing. It was dark blue and tight against her legs, reaching halfway down her calfs. She was a couple of meters away now and I knew that there would be thousands of shots of what was about to happen, broadcast across the internet.
“Kit,” she sounded so hopeless.
“Isabel, don’t do this here,” Kit said impatiently, and I knew then that all feelings for her were gone, they would never get back together. “I’m still incredibly angry at you.”
“I understand, and you should be, but I’m sorry, and I love you,” she was speaking in hushed tones, so none of the journalists could hear her.
“You’re only making an embarrassment out of yourself, Isabel, leave it alone,” Kit turned to walk away but she grasped hold of his shoulder, yanking him back round.
“Please,” she begged.
“Never,” Kit snapped, although his face remained soft, almost kind.
“Is this her, is this the new one.” She said snidely, and I had to resist from rolling my eyes.
“Her name’s Lana, and she’s my girlfriend, yes, now please, leave us alone.”
“She’s not the same,” she spoke, as if I wasn’t even there, “she’s not as beautiful, it won’t be the same as it was with us.” Kit lent forward then, closing the distance between them.
“She is twice the girl you could ever be,” he uttered, his enunciation sharp, “in every way you could possibly think of.” Kit crouched down and whispered something into her ear, and her eyes just became even sadder than before. “Please leave us alone, Isabel, you’ve already made a fool out of yourself.” He turned away then, and he reached for my hand, holding it up to his lips and kissing it tenderly. We began walking away, nearly reaching the steps leading up to the cinema. I went up on my tip toes and kissed his cheek, knowing that she was probably still watching; it wasn’t out of spite, but I wanted her to see that it was serious between us, I wasn’t just another girl.
“Are you okay?” I asked, watching his face carefully.
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, wiping his brow and sighing.
“What did you whisper?” I wondered, “Just then, into her ear?” He chuckled then.
“I just,” he paused and began to grin down at me, “I told her that you were better in bed than her, I think it was something she was always secretly proud of.”
“Is it true?” I began to smile, modestly, not wanting to be caught on camera with a huge grin on my face.
“Yes,” his eyes gleamed mischievously and I lent against his shoulder, letting him encase me as we entered the large entranceway of the movie theater. “You’ll watch us doing it soon enough,” he said with mock enthusiasm, “you can see for yourself.”