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“Lips?”
“Neutral, maybe a mocha gloss.” Oscar pulls back. I know why. Everyone is so used to seeing me with red lips, but I fancy a change tonight and say as much to him.
“Knock yourself out. I think you will look fucking hot with a gloss.” He is ready to go. He has been for the past ten minutes, but I didn't want to smudge my eyes. I highlight my cheeks and add the gloss I ordered earlier this week. Oscar hands me my dress, and I slip it on. With the bronzed glitter and neutral makeup, I look young and carefree, a regular party girl, nothing like the red-lipped elegant model I feign to be daily.
Oscar wolf-whistles.
“I know you don't want to hear this, but that man is going to kick himself.” That man. It has my stomach clenching, and I throw a wane smile.
“It’s not meant to be.” Callan and I would never have worked. “So I’m not letting it matter,” I declare confidently. I sound genuine. Inside, I’m shaken to the core and desperate for Callan to attend tonight. I’m petrified to see him and witness his indifference, yet being out of his company for this short time has left me feeling bereft. I want to lay my eyes upon him and feel the residue of calm he somehow offers me. I’m a mix of nauseous emotions, but tonight is about Oscar. He is looking suspiciously at me, but I ignore him and open my drawer on my dressing table.
“Right, before we head out, Happy Birthday.” I twist and hold the ribbon-tied box up high for him.
Gasping, he takes it and grins excitedly at me.
“You spoil me,” he smirks, untying it and lifting the lid to laugh out shock, “fucking hell, Z!” He throws himself at me and hugs me tight before pulling back to look at his gift. “I love it! It’s sexy as fuck. You angel. Thank you.” He litters my head with kisses whilst I flinch at his endearment.
I force a smile onto my face.
“You're welcome.” His excitement is infectious, and soon, we’re both grinning like a pair of fools. I latch onto his emotions—too afraid to deal with mine. I watch as he puts it on and lifts his wrist, staring happily at it. “I can’t wait to meet Chloe,” I say, clipping my own jewellery on and spraying myself.
“She’s nervous.” He laughs.
“She has no need to be,” I say. I hope she doesn’t think I’m a diva?
“I said that,” he mutters and checks his watch, “oh, look, it’s time to go.” He grins, and rolling my eyes, I collect up my clutch, and we depart, dolled up and ready to party. The ride to Nexo is quick and full of laughter. I don't want my nerves to ruin Oscar’s birthday, but throughout the journey, I keep wondering if Callan will be there. It would make sense for him to be, yet how I will be when I see him is a whole other story. These feelings are all very new to me; new to feel, experience, and process. I thought running from danger was hard, that the modelling industry and the press were, they still are, a constant emotional and physical demand, but this feeling I have weighing me down is taxing, grim, and explicitly intolerable. How I will be able to face him and smile with anything akin to indifference is beyond me—it will take every ounce of reserve I have. I remind myself silently I was able to stand up and walk away from him, and that is a feat I didn't think I was capable of. He was at his weakest, and that was exactly why I could do it, I remind myself glumly. He was unusually vulnerable. I, for once, had the upper hand, but here, tonight, I know Callan will be a formidable force.
“Holy shit!” Oscar exclaims as we pull up slowly. I stare out of the window, and not only is there a stream of people filing in, there are bouncers and press along with waiters just shy of the entrance handing out a free glass of fizz. Callan has really gone all out. I’m surprised because he can’t stand Oscar. Or is it just that this party is supposed to have been arranged by me that he has ensured everything is on point?
“Ready.” I grin, my mind whirling with those thoughts.
“Fuck, yes. I know you don’t drink, but can you maybe have one glass with me, just one?” He pouts. I did last year. It’s the only time I really allow myself the one slip up, and one drink is more than enough. It usually lasts me the evening and makes me feel heady as hell.
“Sure.”
“There’s Chloe.” Oscar nods to the petite brunette making her way in with the throng of people. She’s queuing, and I feel bad for not suggesting she meet us at mine.
“Let’s go and save her,” I offer, following Oscar out to a chorus of hellos and flashes. He beelines for Chloe, and I’m hot on his heel.
“Chlo!” he shouts. Her nervous glance comes up, and her face relaxes slightly. I smile at her, and we head over, helping her out under the rope. Oscar swoops down and pecks her lips. “You look amazing.” He beams. I melt at them—how sweet. She really does look lovely; her cocktail dress is floaty and demure. Her hair curled to perfection, and makeup simple. With their heads of dark hair, they look gorgeous together.
“You look stunning!” I add. Oscar turns and pulls his girl to me.
“Chlo, this is Zara. Z, this is Chlo.” He looks ready to burst, and I feel so happy for him. Chloe seems unsure what to do, so I lean in and hug her tight.
“It’s so great to meet you!” I greet her warmly, feeling Oscar’s hand squeeze my arm gratefully.
“Hi, the queue was huge.” She laughs lightly, looking back at all the people Oscar is waving and grinning at. He loves the attention. Grabbing his phone, he pulls us in, capturing all the guests behind, and snaps a picture.
“Thank god we turned up when we did. Otherwise, we might not have seen you,” I tell her as we head inside. We all grab a flute of champagne as we enter. The foyer ceiling is thick with balloons, and an upbeat song is playing in the background. I give a little sashay as we head to the elevator, and once inside, we soar upwards, but rather than stopping on the level marked N, we go to level R. The doors swoosh open, and the upstairs bar is already a maze of people. The bank of windows is open, leading out to the roof garden, bringing air and the night sky indoors. Lights twinkle overhead, a champagne fountain stands centre to the room, and music plays floating out over London’s skyline. It looks incredible. If I do, by any chance, bump into King Callan, I will be sure to say a heartfelt thank you. As we move through the room, I lose Oscar and Chloe to his guests. I come across a server with canapes and see against the main wall adorned with the word NEXO is a four-tier, black and cream cake. He really has thought of everything. I knew he would have it all under control and no doubt delegate some poor sod to rush about, but I really wasn’t expecting this amount of effort.
I hope I don't need to make a speech to say thank you. Shit, I bet I do. I didn't even consider it, nor have I prepared anything. Hopefully, Oscar will do one, and I can avoid it. I’m circling the room when I clock Tony, standing ramrod-straight, face a mask of displeasure. I bet he didn’t want to be here. His face tilts, and our eyes meet, and I give a brief and barely visible smile and take myself off to find Oscar. If Tony is here, the likelihood is that Callan will be here too. I find myself searching for him discreetly. If he isn’t out on the floor, he will be watching from his office. Unlike on the lower level, his office doesn’t have window access to the rooftop. I’m glad, as I’m finding it hard enough to not seek out any cameras, but avoiding looking into the bank of one-way glass would crucify me. After circling the bar and greeting various people, I happily deduce he isn’t out here. My shoulders, that I didn't know were taut, soften, and I begin to relax a little. I finally find Oscar, hand-in-hand with Chloe outside. He is lapping up the attention and chatting with a group of people I don't personally know.
“Here she is! Zara. This place looks insane. Thank you,” he gushes, pecking my cheek.
“I’m glad you love it.” I can imagine within the next half hour, all the guests will have arrived. It’s still early, so most are milling around, chatting and drinking.
“Did you see my fucking cake?Well,of course you did!” he chuckles. “Z, this is just the best and my present.” He holds his arm up to the group, grinning like a fool. I sometimes forget how young he is, how young we both are. Chloe’s eyes bug at his watch, and she chews on her lip, seeming distracted.
