I text back:
Okay, thanks.
“He’s nearly here, he said for you to stay out of sight.”
“Shit, okay. I’ll go to my room.” His eyes hold mine. “Be careful, babe.” He hugs me.
“Call you tomorrow. When are you going to go to your parents’？” I ask.
“First thing in the morning.”
“Okay.”
With one last look he disappears down the stairs. A sense of urgency fills me and I quickly text Brad.
Are you home?
Can I get some things dropped at your house?
A reply bounces back.
Yeah sure,
I’ve been waiting for you to call.
I’ve seen the news.
What the fuck is going on, Kate?
I shake my head.
A whole lot of lies,
I’m fine.
Fill you in tomorrow.
Love you.
X
A reply bounces back.
Love you too, see you soon.
X
Ten minutes later I hear a knock on the front door and I open it. Andrew smiles and walks in and closes the door behind him. “Hello Kathryn.”
“Hi.”
“Are you ready?”
I nod.
“I have security with me.”
My face falls.
“They will block the photographers and let us get to the car. I’m going to hold this umbrella up in front of you and you are going to put your head down and walk straight to the car. Do not look up, do not acknowledge anyone. We will both get into the backseat and security will drive us away.”
Nerves dance in my stomach. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Do you have a jacket with a hood?”
“Yes.”
“Put it on.”
I run up the stairs and whizz through my closet at full speed. My heart is hammering, I feel like I’m about to rob a bank or something. I put on my big jacket and walk back downstairs. “Ready.”
Andrew gives me a kind smile and lifts my hood up over my head—my scared eyes hold his. “Don’t worry, they’ll all disappear as soon as another scandal arrives. This will all be over soon.”
“I’m not in a relationship with my flatmate, Andrew.”
“I know, dear.” He takes my hand and opens the door just a little; two huge security guards stand at the edge of my porch. “Ready,” he calls.
“Ready.” They spread their legs wide as if preparing for battle.
Andrew opens the door and puts a black umbrella up, facing it toward the paparazzi who are running across the street, effectively blocking their view of me.
“Now,” he snaps. He pulls me by the hand. “Keep your head down.”
“Kate,” I hear them all cry as they clamber around us. “Miss Landon, how is your husband?”
A million questions are being screamed as I am whisked at speed along the pavement.
“Back off,” one of the security guards yells. He pushes a photographer hard in the chest and he falls onto his backside.