Page 139 of Stolen Hearts
The way Sam Smith and Shawn Mendes have been treated for disclosing their sexualities, and the impact it’s had on their careers, reaffirms my position.
A knock snaps me out of my trance.
“Your glam squad is ready when you are.” Christopher pokes his head round the door, keeping me on track like he promised.
The house is abuzz with energy as I pass through it. My family, John, and the band are all gathered in the main lounge. I head through to the second lounge, where Laurie waits alongside two racks of clothes. The countertop in the adjoining kitchen has been turned into a hair and makeup station. Erica’s kit is immaculately laid out in front of a mirror.
“These are the three looks we’ve got for today,” Laurie says, pulling the first one off the rack. “This is a bespoke charcoal Gucci suit, which their team in Italy made especially for you.”
Laurie hands me the blazer. It fits perfectly, despite my shrinking figure. “I was thinking we keep it simple. A nice white T-shirt underneath, no tie. Keep it smart but not too formal.”
“I like it,” I say, taking it off.
Laurie runs me through the other looks for the evening. I getslightly distracted by Christopher pacing up and down outside by the pool, listening to his phone.
“Can you give me a second?”
I hand my performance outfit back to Laurie—jeans, leather jacket, and a white T-shirt—and head to the glass door, sliding it open and joining Christopher outside.
Christopher quickly stops his voicemail and turns to me.
“You, okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah. All good.” Christopher shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake his annoyance away. A smile appears on his face.
Something is clearly off, especially because over the last couple of months he’s seemed to be the calmer of the two of us. I rack my brain to work out what it might be, and land on Kelly.
“Is it your sister? Has she gone into labor?”
My heart leaps into my throat. I hope it’s not. I need him here tonight.
“No, she’s okay. It’s nothing, just my friend Stephen being melodramatic because his boyfriend broke up with him.” He slides his phone back into his pocket and motions for me to head back inside.
I pause.
“He’s the Irish one I met at the hotel back in London, right?” The name vaguely rings a bell. I sit down on the sun lounger and encourage Chris to do the same.
“Yeah,” he says, sitting down, looking out over Beverley Hills below.
“I’m sure he’ll get over it. He can’t have been with the guy for long.”
“You’re right.” Christopher shakes his head again and squeezes my leg.
“Actually, while you’re here, there’s one thing I wanted to ask.” I reach for the Grammy tickets in my pocket.
“Alexander! Alexander!”
The wall of paparazzi shouts my name as I step onto the red carpet. Lightbulbs flash as I pose briefly. Leaving the Grammy backdrop behind, I walk down the red carpet. I’m constantly distracted, with no idea where to look, who the reporters are shouting at, and in disbelief that so many of the people I respect and admire are so close to me.
Connie, who’s shown a lighter side to her since I fired Paul, guides me to one of the reporters lined up to speak to me. I wasn’t sure whether to keep Connie on board when I fired Paul, but John assured me that Connie wasn’t directly intertwined with Paul. She operated on her own behalf. But it was Christopher who sealed it for me, telling me about how she’d apologized for how everything went down in June, which was something Paul never would have done.
“Alexander, Goodness here from Spotify. You’re up for four nominations tonight and buzz is going round that you may make a clean sweep.” The reporter holds her microphone out toward me as other reporters push closer with their mics to hear my response.
Does she know something I don’t know?
Is it true?
I’ve not even properly prepared a speech for if I win.
