The Definition of Insanity
PAIGE
Now…
Itake a deep breath in through my nose and hold it for a beat before slowly letting it out through my mouth. My husband, aware of my nerves, gives my cold, clammy hand a squeeze.
“You have absolutely nothing to be stressing about. They’re gonna love it.
Everyone who matters already loves it. There’s no one else who could’ve played this role better.
No one who could’ve delivered it with the depth of emotion you have.
” He raises my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “And you look fucking stunning.”
“Please don’t make me cry,” I order him. “Charlotte did such a good job with my makeup. I’d hate to ruin it.”
“As gorgeous as you look right now, you’re never more beautiful to me than when you’re bare-faced and bare arsed, your hair piled on top of your head, waking up in our bed, all bleary-eyed in the morning.”
My nose tingles, and I close my eyes in an attempt to stop my tears from escaping.
After handing me a paper napkin from the mini bar of the limo, he leans in and gently presses his lips to mine.
“Makeup perfect, makeup messy, no makeup at all, you will always be the most beautiful, most talented girl in the room, and you will always and forever be the only girl I love.”
“There are two little girls at home whose hearts would be broken to hear you say that,” I remind him as I carefully dab under my eyes.
“They’re our babies. That’s a whole other kind of love.” His own eyes are now shining with tears at the mention of our girls.
Turning in my seat to face him better, I reach over with the hand he’s not holding and brush my fingers over his cheek.
“You know all of this means nothing without you. Without your love and support, without your patience, I probably wouldn’t even be here.”
“Don’t. We saved each…” he starts to say with a shake of his head, but I gently press my fingertips to his lips.
He closes his eyes and draws in a breath through his nose.
Wrapping his hand around my wrist, he moves my hand away from his mouth, opens his eyes, and looks deep into mine as he says, “I fucked up so many times, in so many different ways. I fucked up and pushed you away, but you kept coming back, and thank fuck you did, because now look at us. We’re here. I love you, you love me… we made it.”
“So many times I question why,” I say.
His thick, dark brows pull down towards his blue eyes as he tilts his head to the side. “Why, what?”
“Why you love me. I know it can’t be easy, loving me.”
“That’s not how love works. Love isn’t easy.
Love doesn’t give you choices. It just is, and you have to learn to live either with it or without it, depending on the other person.
Even when I thought I was better off without you, I still loved you.
My worst days with you have always been a million times better than my best days without you. ”
This time, it’s me who has to close my eyes. He’s too much! Looking into his blue eyes, at his gorgeously handsome face, all while processing the perfection of his words is just too much.
“Do we have time to fuck? Where are we? How long till we get there? Will the driver notice if I ride your face the rest of the way?” I lean my forehead against his. “You keep saying things like that, and you are seriously gonna get yourself some tonight.”
“Babe, we both know you talk a good talk, but three, maybe four glasses of champagne in, and you’re gonna start getting messy.
After six or seven, I’ll be tucking you into bed with your makeup still on, and you’ll be waking up tomorrow with one of those fake eyelash things you’re wearing stuck to your arse cheek. ”
Before I can respond to his very accurate depiction of how the night is likely to go, our car slows to a stop. Cameras flash all around us, and my husband, once again, gives my hand a squeeze.
“You’ve got this,” he attempts to reassure me.
The door opens on my husband’s side.
“I love you,” he says before stepping out.
A cheer goes up, and I watch as he waves to the crowd before holding his hand out to me and helping me slide out of the car in the most dignified way I can manage.
A second cheer goes up, this one almost deafening, as lights flash all around us. Bella, my assistant, is at my side in an instant.
“The press are on the left, TV ahead on the right. Answer five questions, then move on to the crowd. They’re twenty deep, so I suggest zigzagging to keep as many as possible happy. I’ll let you know if and when we need to move things along.”
With a smile plastered to my face, I nod while keeping my eyes to the cameras.
Still hanging on to my husband, I spend a few minutes posing with him before he steps away so they can get a few snaps of me by myself.
When Bella steers me away, I quickly find his hand again as we move towards the television and online presenters.
Amongst them is Andrea Zepp, my least favourite presenter, from my least favourite gossip show.
To say we have history is a massive understatement.
“What the fuck, Bells?” I hiss at my assistant through gritted teeth while still maintaining my smile.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll shut her down if she pulls anything. Please don’t punch her.”
I hear a snort from beside me—my husband—before he says against my ear, “Cunt punt the bitch. I’ve gotchya.”
And suddenly the smile on my face isn’t fake. I’ve got this. With him at my side, at my back, all around me, I’m ready to take on the world.
Stopping at the first reporter lining the red carpet, I’m asked the easy questions: Who am I wearing? How did it feel to appear in my first major big screen role, and to be playing a part so personal? I answer my well-rehearsed lines with a smile and move on to the next.
After three more quick interviews, I arrive at Andrea.
“What an amazing night this must be for you. How are you feeling?” she dives straight in while switching her big, overly-white, toothy smile from me to the camera, but I don’t miss the quick flick of her eyes over my shoulder to my husband.
“I feel great,” I tell her with my own smile still in place. “Everyone who matters has seen the film and not only approves, but they actually loved it.”
“It’s widely known you worked closely with your aunt throughout the production. How weird was it to play the role of someone you know so well?”
At least her questions are interesting, I’ll give her that. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to slap the veneers right out of her mouth, though.
“No secret has been made of the fact that I only agreed to take the part because my aunt Georgia, my parents, and my other aunts and uncles were involved. I would never have taken the role if it was another sensationalised version of events surrounding the band and my family’s relationships.
Enough lies have been told over the years.
Whereas, this is an honest depiction, as true to real life as possible, but without revealing every personal detail of my aunt’s life. ”
“And what about the personal details that have been revealed? Was it news to you that your own parents started their relationship when your mum was so young? Underage, in fact?”
I knew her professionalism would slip, and she’d try to get a reaction out of me, so instead of smacking her, I stare at her in silence for a long moment—long enough to make her feel awkward, while really hoping this is being broadcast live, and viewers will see her for the cunt she is.
“Not at all. My parents have always been very honest and open with us about how and when their relationship started, and like they’ve always told us, when you know, you know. The fact they’ve remained happily married for almost forty years is a testament to that.”
Realising I’m not going to bite, she tilts her head and gives it a strange little wobble.
“Indeed, their marriage is something of a legend in the music industry, and to which many aspire. Including yourself, I would imagine?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you appear to be settled now, but you’ve led quite an interesting and dramatic life in the past. Has playing the role of your very own aunt had you thinking about who you’d like to play you if a film were ever to be made about your life story in the future?
I mean, you were the obvious person to play the role of Georgia.
Not just because of the obvious familial connection, but because of how much you two look alike.
She went through a few minutes before you, and it’s uncanny just how alike you two are, and both of you have lived such…
eventful lives. So, who would you have play you?
Georgia’s daughter Tallulah would be my pick. The three of you are just—”
“Is this an interview, or just you giving your opinion? Because it appears to me to be the latter,” I interrupt and say, my mind now whirring with the thought of a film ever being made about my life.
If Georgia’s story was about to grip the nation, then fuck me, what would mine do to them? And whose side would they be on?