Dec --
1/9/25
As we pull up to Wembley, I get a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach.
'I've got to pretend that we're just friends,' I think.
'Even though he doesn't know I want anything different.'.
It kills me slowly, constantly hiding these feelings from him, because if he knew we would be ruined.
Who would want to watch us presenting a tv show if we were...together? I doubt many people would. It's a slow moving world. And anyway, everyone knows he's not the same as I am. It's pointless even trying.
The driver opens the door for me. Ridiculous etiquette. I feel guilty.
I step out as he says, "We have reached ITV studios, Mr. Donnelly sir."
I never even asked his me. I must seem like such an uptight prick.
I thank him for driving, shaking his hand, surreptitiously slipping him a £50 tip.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Donnelly sir."
I walk up the pathway towards the revolving door and enter the building, greeted by Sandra, the receptionist, who has a very obvious and sickening crush on me.
"Hey, cutie." She winks at me.
"Sandra, I have already told you I am not interested."
"Aww come onnnn, just one dinner?"
"Sandra, I said no!"
I hesitate. Was that too harsh?
Her face drops. I change the subject.
"Now, when am I due in makeup?"
"You were supposed to be there at 9:30am."
She pauses.
"And you've lost out big," she whispers bitterly.
I check the time. 10:12am. Shit.
I rush towards makeup, bursting through the door.
"Sorry I'm late!"
"Mr. Donnelly, you're here! Now we should still have time to do the usual, I'll just have to speed it up a little."
Natasha, the makeup artist.
"Wait."
"Is something wrong, Mr. Donnelly?"
I hesitate. I don't hear the remainder of her questions, lost in my thoughts. Shouldn't I be my true self for the audience, for him? Authenticity is what they crave, surely they wouldn't mind...and anyway, I want to speak to him.
"Mr Donnelly, are you ok?"
"Mr Donnelly?"
"Sorry, Natasha, I was just daydreaming for a moment there. I think I am going to go au natural today."
I waltze out the door, straight down the corridor to his dressing room door. I try to resist the lustful urge to burst through the door but, being polite, and not a sexual predator, I knock.
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a/n: hey , i hope you are enjoying it ! thoughts on sandra ?
