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Chapter Twenty-Two

I rush to the shops to grab a copy of Flair so early that I’m still in my pyjama bottoms and old school leaver’s hoodie with my Uggs hurriedly squashed onto my feet.

My greasy hair is scrunched in a top-knot on my head and my lashes are about three days old.

I’m praying no one recognises me, but when I see the pictures I realise they definitely won’t.

Talk about a catfish! The Angelica in the magazine is the total opposite of the Angelica standing in the newsagents, with a pint of milk in one hand and four magazines in the other (Mam wanted me to buy the whole shop, to give to relatives, but we settled on four.

I want other people to read it, not just my family!) Magazine Angelica is so fit!

I think this is the best I’ve ever looked in a shoot, my hair is so long and blonde, and my legs are tanned and shimmering and seem to stretch for miles in the mini dress.

Also, none of the shots taken before Verity and I took over have been chosen, so we’ve really proven ourselves to be the best art directors around.

There are six double spreads, with me and Sebastian draped all over each other.

Considering I was fully hating him in that moment, I’ve done a brilliant job of looking loved up.

I’m gazing at him like I want to devour him. Which now, well, maybe I do…

After Giovanni’s, in which we played footsie under the table for the whole meal while eating our food way, way too quickly (Gio wasn’t happy with me as I ordered a salad, he’s used to me tucking into all my favourites) we rushed out of the restaurant and straight to a hotel, which Sebastian gladly paid for on his gold card.

The sex was incredible. We’d had all that build-up in the car, plus I realised all these months of switching between absolutely hating each other whilst being pretend lovers was the most delicious foreplay.

As soon as we stepped foot in the room we were tearing each other’s clothes off.

I lost count of the number of orgasms I had, I didn’t remain in dominatrix mode the whole time but I was, by the time we got to the hotel room, incredibly confident in being able to ask for what I wanted.

It made such a difference. I’m so used to just lying back and thinking of England, letting Damon use my body for a quick thrill, that I had forgotten that I also have needs to fulfil.

And when they’re met, wow, it certainly does give you a taste for ensuring they keep being met.

I must be grinning at the memories as our local newsagent, Sami, asks, “What’s got you smiling?

You look like the cat that’s got the cream, Angelica. ”

Instead of telling him the truth (imagine!) I open the magazine and show him the pictures.

“Aw, you look beautiful,” he says.

“Unlike now!”

“No, you always look beautiful but perhaps especially beautiful in these shots,” he says, slightly blushing.

I know he’d hate to ever come across sleazy and he absolutely doesn’t.

Just sweet. He begins to read the article, “‘I’ve never been treated this way before, Sebastian is a true gentleman, always picking up the bill, and holding doors open for me.’ Ah, that’s exactly what you deserve, I’m happy for you. ”

He carries on reading and I can tell from the blush snaking up his neck when he reaches the section where I am claiming Sebastian is the best I’ve ever had.

At the time it was all rubbish, I said it simply hoping that Damon would read it and be absolutely fuming.

But now, it might just be the truth…It’s definitely a toss-up between Sebastian and Leo.

But considering Leo hasn’t exactly been chasing me down, I think I’ll bump Sebastian to the top of the list. I’m certainly willing to have another go, and see where this takes us.

They always say that hate and love are closely connected and I’m beginning to believe it.

But it’s at that moment that I notice a strange look spreading all over Sami’s face.

I know I got a little raunchy in the interview, but not that raunchy.

“What’s shocked you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing,” while trying to rearrange his stock, spreading Mars Bars, Dairy Milks and packets of Ginger Nuts across the pile of papers resting on his counter.

“You can’t trick me! What you covering up?” I begin to swipe the chocolate bars away while he swipes them back on again, the pair of us are in this frantic, strange chocolate bar war and I have absolutely no idea why. And then I see it.

BONKING IN BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, SEBASTIAN CAUGHT IN TEN-WOMAN ORGY

And there he is, exiting what is allegedly a very exclusive dungeon, his shirt ripped open, a glazed look in his eyes and wearing the same contented grin he gave me, after going down on me in the limo.

Of course, I know this isn’t an actual betrayal, it’s only the breaking of an agreement.

Even though it was an agreement I was beginning to enjoy.

Originally, we had both committed that, for three whole months, we wouldn’t be spotted with anyone else, that we would do all we could to ensure that, according to the press and the public, we were really in love.

If I’d known we’d be having to plan a break-up too, I’d have put some thought into that.

Even if ‘dungeon paparazzi’ hadn’t been on my list, it might have been fun sitting around a business table and brain-storming ways to dump someone.

Might try it with the girls next time we actually need to do the deed.

But now, clearly, all our plans are off.

I’m amazed – relieved even – to discover that though I feel surprised, I don’t feel devastated or jealous.

It’s not like those awful mornings waking up to Damon eating face with some new arm candy.

Even after our non-stop, all-night sex session the other week I don’t see this as cheating from Seb.

It’s not my heart that feels like it’s missing out as I realise #Sebgelica is over – only my VJ.

I could have happily had a couple more nights of hot, domineering sex with Sebastian.

But this hook-up has run its course. Still, I know Sami will be expecting me to break down or, at least, offer some emotion other than just shrugging and buying the paper.

“Oh no!” I manage, quite half-heartedly. “That scoundrel! I best go phone him, demand some answers.”

Maybe I wouldn’t win an Oscar after all.

“Take care of yourself Angelica,” Sami shakes his head. “You deserve better than this. I won’t put these papers on display, for your dignity.”

“Don’t worry, you need that money,” I say. “Let’s show the world what he’s done!”

Back home I have to quickly get ready as Fliss is on the train up for our regular catch-up, she’s going to dial-in Sebastian and his manager as they keep spamming us with endless texts and voicemails saying they’re in ‘crisis mode’.

I can’t admit it to Fliss, or anyone, but inside I’m finding it all funny.

My mam’s a nurse, crisis mode is when people are actually dying in front of you, not when someone with enough money to last several lifetimes is caught with their pants down.

Maybe I should be worried as to how it makes me look, but it wasn’t me caught doing the dirty.

If he wants to have an orgy in his own time, spending his own money (dungeons don’t come cheap I bet), I don’t see what the problem is.

But then, I forget that everyone else thinks that he’s “so in love” and that he’s “found the girl I could marry.” Admittedly, the pictures dropping the same day as the Flair shoot was unfortunate timing, that observation can be my contribution to the meeting.

I head to Fliss’ hotel room where she’s set up an online meeting, and I see Sebastian on screen and god, does he look rough. He has bags the size of a Birkin underneath his eyes, his skin looks pasty and yellow-ish and he looks very sorry indeed.

“Was it at least a good shag? Or shags?” I ask, to lighten the mood.

His manager, Ben (who else?!) does not take kindly to that. “Angelica, this is not a laughing matter. We’re losing brand deals left, right and centre here.”

“We?” questions Fliss, quite rightly.

“OK, just Sebastian.”

“Angelica, all you need to do here is carry on with your head held high. Your fans will just want to know you’re OK. After all, everyone’s been heartbroken and wronged by men but we keep surviving and thriving. You’re moving on!”

It’s at this point that Sebastian looks like he might be about to cry, welling up, saying how sorry he is and how he wishes he could take it all back.

A little part of me wonders if he had really started to like me?

Obviously not enough to say no to whatever he got up to in that dungeon, but we were hot together.

I know I didn’t imagine that. I do really feel sorry for him but, at the same time, he’ll bounce back from it within a month. Famous, rich men always do.

Fliss and Ben begin to debate the best way to handle this.

Ben would prefer it if we carried on with the agreement and arrange some damage-control “I’m standing by my man” photos but Fliss absolutely disagrees.

“And make her look spineless? Absolutely not. No, Angelica’s going to elegantly break-up with him then, go out on the town looking absolutely fabulous and show all the girls out there that they don’t need to take this sort of cheating from anyone, even trust-fund horndogs who haven’t made a penny of their own money. ”

“Hey, that’s not true, I—” Sebastian tries to interject but Fliss simply “sssshs” him.

“You still made an agreement,” Ben says, his face resembling a tomato more with each passing second.

“An agreement your client broke,” Fliss reminds him.

“We don’t owe you anything. This whole call is a courtesy, given my client has developed – god knows why – a certain amount of empathy for your client and wants to work with him on this, so he can come out of this as best he possibly can, so I can guarantee you Angelica won’t do any kiss and tells or trash-talking.

Instead, she’s just going to embrace her single era and maintain a graceful silence if anyone asks her about your client’s S&M interests.

Right now, she’s got bigger fish to fry. ”

After about forty-five-minutes of Ben trying to persuade us that we should repackage the whole scandal as me and Sebastian having an open relationship, and me being totally approving and delighted with the whole thing (at one point Ben even wanted me to agree to a leather-clad photoshoot), we eventually settle on the light touch approach Fliss originally suggested.

I’m not to say anything at all, but be seen, non-stop, out on the town, looking fucking amazing and when the paps ask, I’m simply to say, “I’m single now, and I don’t give a damn where or what Sebastian is up to.

” After all, Fliss was right, I’ve got other things I need to be doing.

I’m going to throw a huge housewarming, as my new house is almost ready, host a private tour for the biggest celeb monthly mag and generally just show the world that Angelica doesn’t need a man and is thriving as a single liberated woman.

“You handled that brilliantly,” Fliss says, once we’re off the call.

“I know you’ve got a soft-spot for Seb, and he’s not a bad lad, but sometimes your heart is too open, and you can’t look after everyone, Angelica.

You need to show you’re resilient enough to keep smiling through this adversity, that’s how the public fell in love with you in the first place, as a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, falls hard and then dusts herself off again. You always believe in true love.”

“I do believe in true love,” I say, agreeing.

It’s funny now, being famous simply for being myself.

Sometimes it can feel like I am a caricature of myself, like I’m not even real.

When I did the NuYu promotion I had to pose with this huge cardboard cut-out of myself, standing beside her in the most unflattering lime-green bikini.

I kept looking at this fake version of myself and feeling out-of-body, like all versions of me were now cardboard cut-outs, just different iterations of Angelica and that I’d ceased actually being real.

I’d spent months looking at before and after shots… but without knowing what happens next.

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