Chapter 37 #2
She stands back to allow us a clear view of the screen, which now starts scrolling through some of the photos we’ve been posting while we’ve been here.
There’s ‘princess’ Bex floating through the misty castle grounds before going back to her room to cry; Yasmin pretending to drink champagne in a cold bathtub; Zara and Millie looking gorgeous in bikinis I now know they almost froze to death in, although you wouldn’t know it to look at them.
There’s even one of me stroking Bramble on the nose, and looking like I’m having the time of my life, when, in fact, I felt lonely and pushed out by everyone around me.
Every single photo is stunningly beautiful . . . and completely fake.
‘Can we get on with this?’ says someone plaintively from the direction of the dance floor. ‘This free bar isn’t going to last forever, is it?’
‘Although all of our influencers have produced amazing work,’ says Sabrina, pretending not to hear this, ‘only one of them can become the face of the Chrysalis. And, in order to decide who that should be, my assistafriend Luna and I have been carefully analysing the number of likes, shares and referrals they’ve managed to generate.
We’ve also been sharing some of our favourite photos and videos on the Chrysalis’s Instagram account, and the influencer with the best overall engagement will become the face of the hotel for the next twelve months. ’
‘What’s that? Is somebody getting engaged?’ asks Lord Glenmuir, holding a hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, woman. What’s she talking about?’ he adds, turning to Ian, who’s sitting next to him.
‘Don’t ask me,’ replies Ian, taking a swig of beer. ‘I don’t even know what an “assistafriend” is. I’m just here for the free booze.’
‘Luna,’ calls Sabrina, glaring at them both. ‘Could you pass the envelope, please? And Dante, you should be up here too.’
Beside me, Millie leans forward in her seat, but I just tap my fingers impatiently on my chair.
It’s obviously going to be Bex who wins the contest – and just as obvious that it’s not going to be me – and now that we’re about to find out, I really don’t care anymore.
I just want to get it over with, so I can speak to Hunter.
That’s the only thing that matters to me.
Luna gets hurriedly to her feet and hands her boss a large gold envelope. After a moment, Dante follows her to the front of the room, where he takes his place next to Sabrina, looking like he’s there at gunpoint.
‘This is just like the Oscars,’ observes Izzie, who’s somehow managed to get Stevie the dog onto her knee, and is hugging him as if he’s a teddy bear. ‘I wish we’d thought to make some popcorn.’
Sabrina takes her time opening the envelope, drawing out the moment for full dramatic impact.
‘And the winner is . . .’ She pulls a card from the envelope and holds it up to the light, only for Dante to snatch it rudely out of her hand.
‘Surely this must be a mistake,’ he says, squinting at the piece of paper. ‘This can’t possibly be right? You’ll have to do a recount.’
‘There’s no mistake,’ says Luna, two spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. ‘I counted it up myself. Twice, in fact. This is one hundred per cent the correct result.’
Stepping quickly over to the laptop, she presses another few buttons, and the hotel’s Instagram page appears on the screen.
‘As I mentioned,’ Sabrina says smoothly, ‘we’ve been sharing some of our favourite photos from the last few days on the account for the hotel. Luna added some today, in fact.’
She scrolls down the page, and I gasp in horror as a video of me standing on top of Hunter’s car appears.
‘I sent them that,’ says Callum excitedly. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? I’m going to put it on TikTok, too.’
I daren’t look at Hunter as the video starts to play; and, by the time it ends, I’m cringing so hard I’m in danger of disappearing into my seat. But the number of hearts at the bottom of the post shocks me into sitting upright again, sure I must be seeing things.
But no. It’s still there. Which means . . .
‘What we found,’ says Sabrina, ‘is that followers of the hotel’s account responded best to the rawer, more natural content we posted.
They loved this video, for instance, which not only showcases the, er, unique relationship that exists between the hotel and the local community, but also shows the change that Rosie here has experienced as a result of her stay at the Chrysalis. ’
She beams over at me, and I slide down my seat, horribly aware of the curious stares I’m getting from everyone in the room.
The video definitely does not show anything even close to what Sabrina’s just described; but some members of the crowd have recognised themselves in the background now, so they’re fully invested.
‘Rosie entered the Chrysalis a mere shadow of the woman you see standing on top of this car,’ says Sabrina. ‘Mousy. Shy. Scared of her own shadow.’
I attempt to slide even further down in my seat, wondering if hiding under the table is a viable option, or if she’ll just come over and pull me back out.
I wouldn’t put it past her.
‘But now look at her,’ Sabrina goes on, pressing another button on the laptop.
A video of the beach appears on the screen, the sea almost completely blending into the pouring rain. Then a black pony emerges from the spray, mane and tail flying, as I thunder along the sand to the rescue of Bex.
‘Oh, my God,’ I whisper, sitting back up so quickly it makes me light-headed. ‘That’s the video I promised Bex I wouldn’t post.’
I get quickly to my feet, barely noticing the chair falling over in my panic.
Bex is going to hate this. She’s never going to believe I had nothing to do with it. She’s going to hate me.
‘This video has only been up for a few hours,’ says Sabrina triumphantly. ‘But it’s already been liked and shared over half a million times. Followers of the hotel’s account have loved following Rosie’s journey from a mousy little nobody to the woman she is now.’
There’s a small ripple of applause from the slightly bemused audience.
I think I’m going to cry. Or throw up. Or throw up while crying.
‘Oh, come on,’ says Hunter loudly. ‘That’s a bit much, don’t you think? Mousy? Shy?’
He stands up, and the entire room seems to hold its breath.
‘Rosie Winter couldn’t be mousy if she tried,’ he snorts. ‘And if she was scared of her own shadow, that’s only because you lot bullied her mercilessly. Not to mention what you put her through, Dougie.’
At his table, the Laird raises both hands in a ya got me gesture.
‘As for being a nobody,’ Hunter goes on, his eyes searching the crowd for me.
‘This woman is not a nobody. This woman, in fact, has more bravery and integrity in her little finger than ten of you combined. This woman is a somebody. And I know, because I’ve seen it over and over since she got here.
So if you want to call her any more names, or put her down the way you’ve been doing for days, you’re going to have to go through me first.’
He folds his arms across his chest and widens his stance as the room explodes into a flurry of cheers and applause, which Sabrina silences by tapping a knife against her glass again.
I’m so busy staring at Hunter – slightly blurrily, thanks to the tears that are filling my eyes – that it takes me a moment to focus on her instead and, when I do, I’m surprised to find that, instead of the fury I expected to see on her face as the recipient of this rousing speech, she’s actually smiling.
‘You’re absolutely right, Hunter,’ she says, smugly. ‘Rosie is all of those things, and more. Which is why it gives me the utmost pleasure to announce that the first ever face of the Chrysalis is . . . Rosie Winter!’