When An Accident Prone No One Marries A Celebrity There Will Be Chaos...

AN: This story is a sequel. However you can read it as a stand alone story. If you want the full Ollie/Izzie back story here's a link for you :D http://www.wattpad.com/1298863-when-an-accident-prone-no-one-runs-into-a

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What do you think of when you imagine the girlfriend of a film star? Go on just humour me. Let me guess, you are probably thinking of someone who epitomizes glamour and grace. I usually think of a woman reclining on a paradise beach with golden sands and a sparkling, azure blue sea. I imagine her to have the elegance of a princess, the beauty of a goddess and the legs of a giraffe. She’s wearing one of those ridiculously skimpy bikinis that only people akin to a stick insect can pull off just so she can show of her impossibly flat stomach and never ending legs. She’s running her hands through her world renowned, famously glossy locks pretending she doesn’t know the paparazzi are following her every move whilst all the while angling herself to get a good picture. Every move she makes is graceful and floaty as if it were choreographed. Most of all she’s sat next to her adoring boyfriend who is so dazzled by her that he can hardly tear his eyes off her.

Right well, now we’ve brought up the subject of the girlfriends of film stars I suppose there is no better time to tell you that my boyfriend is a ridiculously famous actor. Remember the glamour, grace, elegance, long legs, flat stomach and glossy locks? Well, forget all that when you are talking about me. I am the direct opposite of glamour and grace. Far from sand and sea I’m currently making my way through drab and dreary city streets while the clouds over head ominously threaten rain. I’m rushing along, (as I am late…again,) and getting hopelessly stuck in crowds of people. I’m not good with crowds… funnily enough it was being hopelessly bad in crowds which caused me to meet my boyfriend.

I wouldn’t exactly call myself elegant, there’s not a chance you would confuse me with a goddess and as for my legs… well they are long but they don’t give me an ounce of sex appeal all they do is give me further to fall when I trip up. I don’t do stick insect and flat stomachs which is probably why I don’t do skimpy either. As for glossy locks I’ve given up trying to make my hair obey so instead I usually just leave it to do its own thing which is almost never glossy locks. I don’t angle myself to allow the paparazzi to get a good shot of me. The reasons behind this are two fold. Number one: I’m simply not famous or interesting enough to be constantly shrouded by a cloud of paparazzi. Most die hard Natasha fans still insist that I’m a rebound and nothing more. Everyone else recognises me but there not all that enthused about my life. Mostly people either ignore my existence or try to use me as a way to meet Ollie; someone once gave me a love letter to give to Ollie which caused me to laugh… turns out she was deadly serious. Needless to say she wasn’t exactly pleased. Number two: When the paparazzi do decide to follow me I’m to dim to notice they are there which inevitably means the most unflattering pictures are taken of me, (I constitute almost half of those ‘haha look at those celebrities making a fool of themselves pages’ on a good day.) I have all the grace of a baby elephant and my movements aren’t choreographed they’re scripted… a slap stick comedy sketch script that is. But the one thing I do actually have is the adoring boyfriend. Don’t ask me why or how because I can barely answer that question myself.

There are too many people on this bloody street! I’m trying to shuffle in and out of the crowds whilst searching for Ollie at the same time which, trust me, really isn’t easy. On my tip toes and jumping up and down I finally catch a glimpse of him. Well when I say him I mean I see a crowd of girls squealing and I’m guessing Ollie will be somewhere in the vicinity. I make it to the outer edge of the circle of squealing girls and catch a glimpse of Ollie frantically trying to sign as many autographs as possible. I gently ease myself through the gathering, waving my hands trying to get Ollie’s attention until someone stops me. “Wait your turn,” someone screeches at me. I whip my head around in shock to see a teenager girl who can barely be older than fifteen scowl at me. “She’s jumping the queue!” her friend cuts in indignantly. The next thing I know a gasp ripples through a sizeable chunk of the crowd and suddenly they have turned against me. I gulp as quite a few eyes narrow at me in contempt. Seconds later I am engulfed in screeches, squeals and shrieks as I am slowly hustled to the perimeter of the circle again. The commotion finally causes Ollie to look up and he notices me drowning in the crowd. “Help!!!” I mouth at him as more and more of the crowd elbow me out. He shakes his head as if to say typical Izzie, laughs and then begins wading through the crowd after me. He decides to speed up a bit when the girls start getting more and more worked up. Eventually his hand clasps around mine and I manage to drag him towards me. Panicked, I tug him towards me a little harder than I should have which causes him to crash into me. His arms wrap around me and we almost both clatter to the floor but luckily for us Ollie has a better sense of balance than me. “Hi,” I say casually as if nothing remotely out of the ordinary has happened after he has hauled us both upright. “Hey,” he replies hugging me in closer to him. “So much for a discreet lunch-break just you and me, huh?” Ollie asks as the girls behind us continue to create a commotion. “Well why don’t we blame the idiot who thought mere sunglasses would be sufficient enough to disguise the face of the most famous man in Britain?” I answer jokingly.