Three.
Two.
One.
The flag came down, and we were off.
CHAPTER 46SCARLETT
I hated the paparazzi with a burning, acidic passion.
I thought I hated them when they first ambushed me and Asher at RAB, but that didn’t compare to the loathing I had for them now.
They were everywhere—at the school, in front of my house, at the local café Carina and I used to frequent every weekend before it became a press hellscape because apparently, people wanted to see Asher Donovan’s girlfriend drink tea and scarf down scones.
It’d been two weeks since news broke of our relationship and one week since we checked out of the Ashworth. Thankfully, the security team Asher hired did a good job of keeping the paps at bay around my building, but I drew the line at having a bodyguard shadow my every move.
I already lacked privacy in the public eye; I didn’t need to lose it at home either.
“Look on the bright side.” Carina smeared another glop of plain yogurt onto my face. “At least they haven’t said anything nasty about you. Most of the coverage has been pretty positive.”
Carina, Brooklyn, and I were having an at-home spa night at Brooklyn’s flat. It was our first girls’ night since my hospitalization, and we were keeping it low-key so 1) we didn’t have to deal with strangers, and 2) I didn’t risk overexerting myself.
I’d more or less recovered from my collapse, but I had to be very careful about how and where I spent my energy.
“They’ve been positive so far,” I said. “But you know how the press is. They’re more fickle than the weather. Plus, it’s not just the press that’s a problem.”
While the tabloids had been surprisingly restrained in their coverage, there was a certain vocal segment of the internet who was upset because they thought I’d “stolen” Asher from them. I tried to block anyone malicious who’d slipped through before I privated my social media, but I’d learned quickly not to look at my message requests folder. It was wild in there.
“This will all blow over soon,” Brooklyn said optimistically. She sat in the armchair opposite the couch, her own face lathered with honey. “I heard a certain movie star couple is on the brink of divorce. Once that battle erupts, everyone will move on.”
That seemed to be my mantra these days. Everyone will move on.
“I hope so,” I said.
I’d never been involved in any sort of celebrity scandal. Despite my brother’s public profile, I stayed out of the limelight, so to have complete strangers scrutinizing every aspect of my life was disconcerting, to say the least.
Everyone had an opinion on my looks, my clothes, my diet, and whether a ballet teacher was “good enough” for England’s star athlete. They hounded my brother too, given his famous rivalry with Asher, but I received the brunt of the scrutiny. Even Asher didn’t get as much attention as I currently did.
I was the unknown quantity, the shiny new thing they could pick apart and dissect. I loathed it.
“Is your mum still threatening to move in with you until this all blows over?” Carina asked. She reached for the bowl of cucumber slices and slapped two of them over her eyes.
“More or less, but I’ve convinced her to stay in Birmingham for now. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have my mother running around, trying to plan our hypothetical wedding while dodging the paps.”
My parents weren’t thrilled with the endless press coverage, especially my father, who considered any public attention unwanted attention. My mother was cautious, but she was also over the moon about the fact that I was finally dating someone. I was sure she already had a scrapbook filled with cake suggestions and lace samples tucked in her bedside drawer.
Ironically, hospital fistfight aside, my brother was the one taking my new relationship most in stride. I’d apologized for lying to him, and he’d assured me he was over it, but I still felt a bit guilty.
“Too bad. I would’ve loved to see your mother take on the paps.” Brooklyn laughed when I kicked my foot against hers. “I mean, she has to come to London eventually, right? For the staff showcase?”
I winced. If my mother was over the moon about Asher, she was ecstatic after I told her I was dancing the lead in Lorena.
I was still conflicted about performing in front of her and, well, everyone else, but at least Lavinia hadn’t kicked me out of the showcase.
The director had been furious when she found out I’d collapsed because I hadn’t listened to my body and pushed myself too hard, too fast. After a twenty-minute lecture on the importance of proper self-care for dancers, she threatened to kick me out of the show altogether and bring in a last-minute replacement for Lorena. It was a risky move, considering the show was in only two months, but she’d been that furious.
Luckily, after much begging and cajoling, I convinced her to keep me on as long as I produced a doctor’s note every week clearing me for rehearsals. I’d learned my lesson. I got plenty of rest during my non-rehearsal days, and I’d started seeing a physical therapist weekly again to ensure my body got the care it needed.
So far, so good.
Asher even bought me a new custom heated mattress that was specially designed for people with chronic pain. I’d balked when I first looked up the price, but it helped so much I stopped resisting.
Speaking of Asher…
I checked my phone. I texted him half an hour ago to see how his night out with his team was going, but he hadn’t responded yet. He was usually quick to reply, but I assumed he was too caught up in whatever they were doing.
A smile touched my lips. I hoped he was having a good time. He didn’t say it, but I knew he wanted a stronger sense of camaraderie with his teammates.
“So we all agree that the paps are annoying and invasive, but you have to admit, what Asher did was pretty romantic,” Carina said as I put my phone away. She removed the cucumber slices to look at me. “No wonder the public is eating it up. The nation’s star footballer ditching a big match so he could race to your bedside after you got hurt? Swoon. It’s the stuff movies are made of. Not that we wanted you to get hurt,” she added hastily. “But you get what I mean.”
“She’s right.” Brooklyn stretched her arms over her head. “You snagged one of the few good footballers. You must’ve accumulated a shit ton of good karma in your past life.”
I laughed. I still felt a little guilty that he’d skipped the match for me, but my giddiness outweighed the guilt. When was the last time someone cared about me enough to put me first?
Never. Rafael certainly hadn’t done it, nor had any of my boyfriends before him.
