Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Seven

Aurora

"Rory, are yer gan tell me where we're gan?" Harlow asked frustratedly as the two of us made our way down to Tynemouth.

"Ya'll find oot in a minute now," I laughed, patting her arm that was interlinked with my own.

"You've forced me to play dress up, the least yer could do is give me a fuckin' hint like," she huffed.

"This is payback for the time yer forced me to dress up to go to the Low Lights!" I scoffed playfully as I bumped my shoulder against hers.

"That worked oot in your favour!" she protested.

"You'll thank me soon," I grinned deviously as we came to a stop outside the Surf Cafe, Harlow shooting me a look of confusion.

"God, this really is payback, ain't it?" she groaned, allowing me to pull her through the entrance. "Dean?"

"Whoa," the man in question gaped as he laid eyes on his girlfriend who was dressed to the nines, her makeup meticulously applied and not a hair out of place. "Yer look... whoa."

"Thanks," she flushed darkly, shying into me as he crossed the room to meet her. "Hi."

"Hi," he smiled whilst grabbing her hand and pulling her away from me and into his arms. His hands came to rest on her hips, her arms snaking up around his neck as pink dusted across her cheeks.

"What's all this?" she inquired, nodding to the table that had been set up in the centre of the room, decorated with a white tablecloth and candles, adding to the ambience created by the fairy lights that adorned its surroundings.

I sent Dean a discreet wink before quietly making my exit out to the back room, which hid Sam. My stomach flipped nervously as my eyes fell on him. It was the first time I had seen him since the Daily Mail article had been published and neither of us had spoken since then either.

"Y'areet?" he asked gently, looking as handsome as ever dressed in a black suit that took my breath away, all ready to play waiter.

"Y-yeah, yer?" I stammered, hating the way my legs felt like jelly and would collapse at any given minute but it was the effect he had on me, especially in that suit.

"Aye," he nodded. "Er, yer look gorgeous."

"Are yer taking the piss?" I laughed softly as I looked down at myself. Whereas Harlow had been forced into her prettiest dress, I was left wearing a simple pair of jeans and a jumper to stave off the cold, October air, not an ounce of makeup blemishing my skin.

"I'm serious," he frowned. I knew he hated how critical and self-deprecating I was of my appearance, even before the whole eating disorder fiasco, which only exacerbated his worries. I couldn't help it though, it was ingrained into my head. "Yer always look stunning, lass."

"Cheers." It was my turn to flush darkly, ducking my head to try and avoid his firm gaze but it was futile. "Er, about the article..."

My words snapped him from his stupor as he blinked several times trying to process what I had even said. "I forgot about that," he muttered, turning away from me as his hand rose to his mouth, probably to chew his nails. It was a nervous habit of his that I hated but I couldn't complain because it was a nervous habit of mine too and it wasn't my place anymore. "I wonder who blabbed."

"Are yer bothered?" I mumbled, my eyebrows furrowing in question. Did he really care that much if the world knew?

"A little," he shrugged as he turned back towards me, leaning against one of the counters.

"Ouch," I murmured. I averted my eyes to the floor, keen to escape his invasive gaze but it was no use.

"I didn't mean it like that, Rory," he interjected quickly. "I'm bothered that someone we know sold our private life to the Daily Mail like it was some sort of cash cow." I wrapped my arms around myself, refusing to meet his gaze as he crossed the room. "It's not like I can be bothered about the world knowing I'm the ex like. It's my fault they know in the first place."