Chapter 20: Confidence
Sulking over the Mac situation at least distracted me from the Ed situation. When Saturday rolled around, though, and I was introduced to my hair and make-up stylist for the awards show, the nerves barrelled into me.
"Any preference with your hair?" she asked.
I thought back to my conversation with Camille. Whatever changes I made to my usual appearance wouldn't render me disguisable, but I could still become less instantly recognisable.
"Up," I said. "Also, could you cut me in some curtain bangs? But then when you style my hair, can you pin them back or something so it doesn't look like I have any?"
Even as the words left my mouth, I realised how daft they sounded: give me a fringe, but then hide the fringe. If she felt the same, though, she didn't show it. We discussed different styles and then she started snipping.
When we moved onto my face, she took the lead, explaining that my skin tone allowed me to get away with much heavier make-up than I'd usually wear. Perhaps she'd cottoned on to my strategy; after all, wasn't that part of her job, to know what I wanted before I knew myself?
By the time she'd finished, I could have cried with joy. I didn't, of course, because that would have ruined the make-up. With my hair scraped back, smoky eyes and darker lips, I looked different enough that it gave me a surge of confidence.
And with one of the biggest nights of my life ahead of me, I needed all the confidence I could get.
*
When my new eyes landed on Ed waiting at the lift, some of my nerves faded away—and not just because my role as his girlfriend suddenly seemed much easier when he looked like that.
Dressed in a black jacket and trousers, with a white shirt and black bow tie, he leaned against the wall, eyes on his phone as his thumb flicked at the screen to scroll. His suit hugged the lean contours of his tall body, the crisp white shirt contrasting against his golden skin.
His gaze briefly darted up from the phone when I approached, then lifted again more slowly to sweep over my body.
Upon leaving my stylist ten minutes earlier, I'd felt like a supermodel—or, at the very least, someone worthy of standing next to Teddy Stone on a red carpet. She had truly worked a miracle on my face and had picked out a flattering dress that I already wanted to steal for my own wardrobe.
But now, as Ed's dark eyes roamed over the emerald lace of the skin-tight bodice, down to the flared skirt that finished just above my knee, eventually reaching my chunky heels before retracing their path all the way back up my figure, I felt more self-conscious than I had in years.
Clearing his throat, he slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and pushed himself off the wall.
"You look great, Soph."
Although his words were casual, almost detached like he'd said them out of politeness, sincerity brimmed in the blueness of his eyes as our gazes touched.
"Thanks. So do you," I replied.
"Are we ready?" Helen reached past me to press for the lift. "Does anyone need any refreshers on what's to be expected?"
By 'anyone', she meant me. Helen could have given me all the refreshers in the world and I'd still be nervous.
I'd memorised the length of the red carpet, how many times we'd have to stop for photos, and what poses I needed to pull, but that wouldn't prepare me for seeing my face all over the internet tomorrow.
I also knew how long the ceremony would last and how to ensure my face remained polite and engaged throughout it, for the sake of any cameras that landed on us without our knowledge. But no matter how many times I'd perfected my expression in front of Helen, the emotions behind my poker face still churned at the prospect of hearing Ed's song during the reading of the nominations and then again during his performance.
Throughout the car journey to the venue, Ed kept his head bowed towards his phone. Although we weren't on great terms, I needed a distraction, and his silence did nothing but amplify my fretting thoughts.
"Nervous?" I asked him.
He didn't look up. "Not really." A pause, and then, softer, "Are you?"
"I'm as prepared as I can be."
His eyes flitted towards me in acknowledgement before returning to his phone. So, I tried a different tactic.
"Are you playing the piano later for your performance?"
"No. Just singing."
Okay then. The first time I'd heard the song, there'd been no backing track—just the piano and Ed's voice. Maybe this time around it wouldn't be so intense.
"Helen renegotiated with the organisers."
His words, spoken unprompted for the first time since we'd got in the car, startled me.
"About the piano?" I asked.
"No. The cameras. She said I'd only perform if they kept the cameras on me. Said something about it being distasteful to capture my current girlfriend's reaction to a song about an ex."
"I see."
He locked the phone and dropped it back into his jacket pocket. "I know the song will be difficult enough to listen to. Thought you'd like to know that you don't need to stress about your reaction—nobody will be watching you."
Nodding, I finally looked away from him and towards my window. With the sun already well below the horizon, only my unfamiliar face stared back at me.
"Sorry." He cleared his throat, voice suddenly husky. "I meant to tell you that earlier. Then I got... distracted."
In the reflection of the glass, I watched his gaze travel over my body again before he folded his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead. I shifted in my seat and crossed one leg over the other. Tension hummed between us: hostility mixed with detachment, and a subtle hint of attraction thrown in for good measure. Somehow we had to make everyone believe that the only thing we shared was deep devotion towards one another.
The car pulled up to the curb, and Ed had hauled himself out of the vehicle before I'd even released my seatbelt. When I reached for the handle, though, the door swung open. Ed stood on the other side and extended his hand towards me. For a brief second, our eyes touched, and a silent commitment passed between us. No matter what was happening in private, we were there for each other in public.
I took a deep breath, then reached for his hand.
*
Never before had I seen so many famous people in one small space. Escala was a hot spot for celebrities, but not to this scale. Besides, you were never quite sure if the face you recognised belonged to someone famous or if you were imagining things in the darkness of the club. But here, I easily identified the guy ten metres ahead of us because I liked his music—and I could safely say it was him because this was a music event and he'd been nominated. Up against Ed, though, I didn't fancy his chances of winning anything.
"If you could look at your boyfriend as much as you're looking at the other people here, that would be greatly appreciated..."
Ed's dry tone drew my eyes back onto him. Since leaving the car he seemed to have cheered up. We were on his turf now, though. This sort of stuff was second nature to him, and perhaps having that advantage over me had boosted his spirits. Or maybe it was all for the cameras.
"Can't help it," I said. "It's strange seeing people in the flesh when you're so used to seeing them on a screen."
His hand withdrew from mine to settle on the base of my back as we briefly paused for a photograph. Warmth from his fingertips burned through the fabric of my dress, scorching my skin, but I concentrated on smiling into the camera.
After the photographer gave us a thumbs up, we moved along to the next section, Ed's hand remaining on my back.
"Is that what you thought when you saw me for the first time?" he asked. "That it was strange seeing me in the flesh?"
"No," I said. "Unfortunately I hadn't cared about your music enough for you to distract me in the same way."
"Really." He lowered his voice as we edged nearer to the next group of photographers. "I seem to remember something about me distracted you that evening, or maybe you were scrutinising my body for an entirely different reason."
We paused again, and I shuffled closer to him like we'd practised, leaning my head against his own. Flashes exploded in front of us, the photographers mere silhouettes behind their blinding lights.
Unwilling to let Ed have the last word, though, I tilted my face away from the cameras after a few seconds to bring my mouth to his ear. For anyone watching, it would look like a loving girlfriend was whispering sweet nothings into her gorgeous boyfriend's ear. Helen had suggested it as a way for us to communicate privately, and while this kind of conversation probably wasn't what she had in mind, I appreciated the tip nonetheless.
"You're right," I said to him. "I was distracted by your body for a different reason. I was busy thinking, it's great this guy happens to be famous, because I can go home later and Google what he looks like without a shirt on."
The hand resting on my back stiffened, fingers digging into flesh. I leaned more of my weight into the hard muscles of his chest and traced my nails along his spine. Fuck, he smelt amazing. And he looked amazing. And he felt amazing. Playing this role was the easiest job in the world.
Then, in a move that wasn't choreographed, Ed kissed my cheek before ducking his head behind my own to block the photographers' view of his face. At first, I thought he was trying to hide his reaction to my provocative words, but then his mouth found the shell of my ear, breath sultry as he parted his lips.
"Funny..." he said, "I spent that meeting imagining what you looked like without a shirt on, too."
My stomach somersaulted and my heartbeat lurched, sending my pulse scattering at an uneven rhythm.
Fucking dick.
I didn't give him the satisfaction of a visible reaction, though, continuing to smile into the bright lights until we were given the go ahead to move on.
As we continued down the carpet, Ed's hand dropped from my back. At first I wondered if my taunt had pissed him off more than I'd intended, but then his warm fingers threaded through mine and squeezed—a warning, perhaps. Or even a challenge.
The couple ahead of us were still having their photos snapped at the final set of photographers, so we slowed our pace to let them finish. Or, rather, Ed knew to slow down, and I followed his lead. As the pair came together for a kiss, Ed squeezed my hand again.
"Shame we didn't practise that pose with Helen. One way to stop you running your smart mouth."
And just to prove I couldn't be rattled, I upped the ante.
"Maybe, but if you want to keep my tongue occupied, there are other parts of your body I'd prefer to have in my mouth."
This time he didn't even flinch, almost like he'd expected it.
"I'm sure there's a bathroom nearby if you're that desperate," he said.
"Ah, blow jobs in public bathrooms. Your favourite." I squeezed his hand and flashed him a smirk.
The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. "We've got something in common, then, haven't we?"
When the couple moved on, we took their place. I smiled for the cameras, body angled towards Ed's, hoping nobody would be able to see the dirty thoughts running through my mind.
Bright shapes swam in my vision for a few seconds as we finally left the carpet to head inside. They faded away as we stepped into the well-lit building, and Ed released a dramatic sigh. I should've known better, but I fell for it.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"I'm glad you're with me, that's all," he said under his breath. "Sometimes these things can be tedious, but now you've put the idea in my head, I'm going to imagine you on your knees whenever I start to get bored. That will keep me entertained."
Something pleasurable squirmed in my stomach. Now I'd be thinking about that, too, which was probably half his intention.
Pasting on a smile, I squeezed his hand again. "You do that, Teddy. Your vivid imagination will provide the only action you're getting tonight."
*
So much of this awards ceremony was not actually awards-related. Thanks to Helen's thorough briefing, though, no part of the evening came as a surprise. In fact, each time we completed a task—the red carpet, the photography, the security checks—a shot of confidence surged through me: Helen had prepped me for it, and it had unravelled exactly as she'd described.
But as we queued for the obligatory three-minute video interview with Radio 1, some of that fresh confidence wavered. One wrong word from me, and it would be all over the internet tomorrow. I rehearsed my answers over and over in my head as we waited, praying that the nation's most-loved DJ didn't throw a curveball that Helen hadn't anticipated.
When we were waved forwards, Ed held out a hand towards Alisha Patel.
"Alisha, great to see you again!"
Alisha ignored Ed's outstretched hand, reaching for me instead with sparkling eyes that instantly put me at ease.
"Teddy, I've met you hundreds of times. I'm more interested in your beautiful companion."
Smiling, I shook her hand. "Really nice to meet you."
"Really nice to meet you: the person who's finally locked down Teddy Stone. You're obviously a very special woman."
Helen's words rang in my ears. You'll hear everyone say that he's never had a public girlfriend.
"Oh, I don't know about that," I said with a small laugh. "It's early days."
"Beautiful and humble." Alisha tossed Ed a grin. "Don't know what she's doing with you, sweetie."
Ed smiled good-naturedly, as if used to this banter with a top Radio 1 DJ. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulled me closer. The way I leaned into him was entirely instinctive and nothing to do with choreography.
"Well, she's not bored of me yet, so I'm clearly doing something right."
I raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn't part of Helen's pre-approved script. No doubt he'd come across as charming and lovable to the audience, who'd miss the smug insinuation behind his comment.
I shifted my gaze back over to Alisha and pasted on an easy smile. "Like I said, it's early days."
Her eyes lit up. I hadn't explicitly said I'd get bored of him, but the suggestion hung in the air, ripe for interpretation. Perhaps it was a risky thing to do during a recorded interview, but Helen couldn't exactly berate me for it. After all, "it's early days" was part of our script—just not necessarily in the context I'd used it the second time round.
"I like her already," Alisha said to Ed, reaching to squeeze his free hand.
His smile was relaxed and unruffled. "Did you want to ask me anything related to my music, or just talk about my girlfriend?"
Grinning back, she rolled her eyes. "Fine. You're nominated for five awards. Congrats. I was hoping to get some juicy insight into the inspiration behind Friends, but..." She made a point of shooting me an exaggerated wink. "...Maybe we'll skip that question today."
"Alisha, if I ever do have anything juicy to share, you know you're the first person I'd call."
"You're a liar, but we all love you anyway. Now get going—I'm running a tight ship here."
A pair of security guards ushered us into the main auditorium. I could almost feel the weight of anxiety lift from my shoulders. Was that it?
"She seemed nice," I said to Ed as we took our seats.
Right next to the aisle—very easy for Ed to slip in and out of the row to collect each award he'd inevitably win. The spaces around us were empty, and I was already imagining who might end up occupying them.
"She is. One of the good ones." He unbuttoned his jacket and threw one arm around the back of my seat, thumb gently brushing my shoulder.
Ignore it. It's only for the cameras.
"You know her well?" I asked.
His lips pressed together, curious eyes sliding over me. "Promise you won't laugh?"
"No."
"I asked her out once. Years ago. She turned me down."
***
Thank you for reading :) xx
***
Poor Ed. I'm sure his luck is about to turn, though ;) We'll pick up again with the awards ceremony next chapter to see how he gets on. In the meantime, I'd love to know your thoughts on this one. Did you like their banter? Is Helen going to be annoyed they went off-script with Alisha? Who's enjoying this arrangement more?