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20
SKY
Dylan liesthe full length of the lounge sofa, legs crossed at the ankles on one chair arm, his head resting on the other.
“Tell me again why you agreed to this?” he mutters.
I glance over at where the female journalist stands with the photographer, who is scrolling through photos on his laptop. They talk in low voices. The slender woman with her sleek black hair glances over with a small smile, then back to the laptop. From the moment she stepped through the door, the woman flirted with my husband.
“I thought an interview would help.”
“Help with what?”
“Allowing the public see who we are and satisfy their weird desire to know everything they can about us.”
I wrinkle my nose, the make-up heavy on my face. When I agreed to a “Dylan and Sky at home” interview, my naivety took over. How the hell was I supposed to know this involved a full on photoshoot and an attempt at invading every corner of mine and Dylan’s London apartment? Once Cerys told me the real deal, I almost cancelled, but Tina recommended we go ahead.
“Huh.” Dylan props his hands beneath his head, his T-shirt riding up revealing his tattoos. A light flashes as the photographer catches his unintentionally sexy pose, and the scowl photographed next helps with the brooding Dylan persona the press like to talk up.
“Dylan, sweetheart!” The saccharin sweet Jenna flicks hair over her shoulder. “I hope you’ll smile in some of the pictures.”
Her response is a false smile from Dylan.
“We want to see the blissful newlyweds!” she continues.
“I thought this was about the apartment?” he asks. “And all the fancy shit Sky’s filled it with.”
I cross my arms. “I have not filled it with fancy shit, as you so delicately put it.” I look to Jenna. “The place looked completely impersonal. I added colour.”
Dylan throws a new cushion at my head. “Like I said, fancy shit. And you put my awards on the wall, Sky. How bloody pretentious do I look?” He sits and gestures towards the hallway, where framed gold and platinum records line the wall.
“You should be proud about what you’ve achieved. I’m proud.” I cross to sit on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his forehead. The camera flashes again, and I blink at the light blinding me. Dylan’s right, this was stupid idea.
“Love the natural Sky and Dylan! You really are beautiful together.” Jenna claps her hands. “Okay, so we’ve checked out the kitchen, taken some shots in here. Amazing view by the way.” She waves a hand at the panoramic window through the floor to ceiling windows in our lounge room. “Where next? Bedroom?”
“No fucking way,” mutters Dylan.
“Something to hide?” Jenna giggles. “Which Blue Phoenix member tried to get me into his bed a few years back? You? Or Jem? I have problems recalling.”
Rhetorical question judging by her coy smile. Dylan’s face switches to an angry frown. “Listen. Sky agreed to this charade, not me. I’m only taking part because she wants me to. You write anything about my past in this article, and I’ll sue you.”
“Okay. Calm down, it was a joke.” Jenna shakes her head and taps onto her iPad instead.
I inhale. Stupid cow. If she wanted an open and friendly interview with the pair of us, implying her and Dylan have a dubious history isn’t a good move.
“Dylan’s studio next.” I stand. “I’m sure he’s happy to take you in there. Aren’t you, Dylan?”
“I guess,” he mutters.
“Then I’ll show you the bathroom,” I say to Jenna.
“Bathroom?” Dylan frowns, still lying on the sofa. “Why the hell would people want to see our bathroom?”
“You have no idea how excited people get about bathrooms!” enthuses Jenna.
“You’re joking?” Her face remains impassive. “Huh. Okay.” Dylan inclines his head. “Sure, let me show you the studio.”
“Dylan’s sanctuary! How wonderful.”
