the 1 | chaennie

31. The Lucky One

Now it's big black cars, and Riviera views,
And your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you
And your secrets end up splashed on the news front page

And they tell you that you're lucky
But you're so confused,
'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used And all the young things line up to take your place

Another name goes up in lights
You wonder if you'll make it out alive

-

"Ah, Loren Lee. The first of the PR stunts, I'm assuming?"

With a quiet chuckle, Rosie nodded, staring down at the arm of her seat and running her fingers over the leather and stitching. There was a clouded look on her face, despite the smile twisting her lips, and her blonde hair spilled around her head as she hung her head slightly.

"Yes, he was the first. Old money, deep political roots. He was the perfect candidate offered up on a silver platter to help dissuade any rumours. And it was a good plan. I mean, with the society we're in, who would even consider the fact that I was in love with the woman at my side and not the man?"

"Loren Lee's quite a, uh, few years older than you."

Inclining her head again, Lean raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Yes. But he was trying to further his own political career, following in his family's footsteps, and I guess a young popstar with a large fanbase was attractive enough to try and bring him into the spotlight ahead of campaign season. We were over before it even started, so that was something I didn't personally have to go through."

Pausing for a moment, Rosie looked up, a pensive expression on her face as she cocked her head to the side, taking in the grey day outside the windows. The air inside the room was just cool enough to be comfortable, even with a dozen people generating body heat, yet she was feeling a little warm beneath the collar of her shirt. This was where it was going to start getting tricky, because this was where more people started getting involved in the tangled web of secrecy and lies, and Rosie was hesitant to throw anyone under the bus with her honesty.

But she'd reached out to set up the interview with the intention of being honest, and she knew that she had it within her to be cold and ruthless in the face of telling the truth. She'd done that more than once in her songwriting, and this was just a more in depth look at everything she'd ever written about. It wasn't that much different really. It was just a way to shed light on all the ways the media had misconstrued her words or what they perceived to be the truth. With a deep breath, she let out a frail sigh.

"Was it your decision?"

"I had a say in it, but it was my team that set it all up. It's something they'd tried to coerce me into before, and it hadn't seemed worth it at the time, but I proposed it this time around. I think they finally understood how serious I was about Jennie. Finally."

-

It was nearing lunchtime the next day and Rosie was mulling over the night before as she picked at a red plum salad prepared by a chef and delivered to her house that morning, along with some pre-planned meals for the week, in line with her dietician's plan. Spearing a piece of chicken on her fork, she watched sunlight shine through the clouded lilac mixture of lavender lemonade that was trying its hardest to chase away a headache brought on from fretting all night.

She'd come home from the movies giddy and high-strung with nerves, tossing back and forth between burning excitement and frantic worry of the repercussions of their little excursion. Pacing back and forth, first the length of her bedroom and then the patio outdoors in the early morning chill, Rosie suffered through a sleepless night with the itching desire to call Jennie and see if she was awake, just so she could quiet the nagging urge to see her again, to hear her soft voice and the way her tongue wrapped itself around words. There was something about her American accent that was thrilling to Rosie, set her soul on fire and made her want her all the more.