the sitter | lewandowski

thirty four

34 // all you need

An entire year was, needless to say, a long time. A lot had changed for Robert and Saoirse—the now nineteen year old was busy shuffling University, a modeling career, and her family all at once—and they'd relocated to New York City, where Robert's company flourished more than it ever had in all of its years in Europe.

Nova and Stella were constantly in the Hamptons with Roisin, who'd moved to a nice cottage attached to the mansion owned by a friend after getting a divorce from Aleksander.  It was only a two hour drive from Manhattan, where they lived—but Saoirse and Robert were always so busy that their children were usually with Roisin, which made them feel nothing but guilty and hypocritical.

"I don't know how I feel about this." Saoirse spoke, blinking as she stared out at millions of camera flashes. As his girlfriend, it really only made sense for Robert to bring her as his date to what he'd lazily called "some business award ceremony"—thus leading Saoirse to think it wasn't that big of a big deal.

But the moment a stylist arrived at their door three days earlier, Saoirse realized that Robert had played down the event—she came to realize that it was something like the Academy Awards of business, or something. Nonetheless, Robert's biggest competitor was none other than Aleksander Mihajlović, who was being pictured with his girlfriend—the same age as Saoirse, mind you—just a few feet away from Robert and Saoirse.

"You do this stuff for a living. You know all these cameras are here for you, not me." Robert's grip on Saoirse's waist tightened. "I've already told you that you look beautiful."

Saoirse's face turned red. It wasn't the fact that she was being blinded by camera flashes that made her nervous, but rather the fact that her and Robert were extremely private in their affairs. Sure, they used to go out all the time in Germany—but they'd discussed the fact that it was considered nowhere near as taboo there than it was in America, and the media definitely wasn't as harsh there as they were in the states.

"Stop touching my ass." Saoirse muttered, through a plastered smile.

Robert squeezed it. "Aw, are you embarrassed?"

"Should I grab your—"

"Saoirse, over here!"  A series of photographers interrupted the Montenegrin, who gave Robert a look before she turned to place her hand on his chest and his hand, now visible, crept up to her lower back—where it wouldn't be ridiculed and judged by the media the next morning.

Saoirse and Robert slowly made their way from the carpet to the venue, where more people continued to stare at the couple in what was either hauteur, awe, disdainfulness, or a mix of the three.

"Do you want some?" Robert held a glass of champagne before the nineteen year old, despite the fact that she was technically underage.

"No, it's alright." Saoirse let out a shaky breath and looked around, then back at Robert. "I'm, uh, trying not to drink anymore."

Robert handed Saoirse an amused laugh. "Saoirse, what are you talking about? You love champagne."

"I know, but I just...I shouldn't." She blurted, leaving Robert's smile to falter. Something was wrong, and he knew it, but he didn't know what to do.

The couple kept to themselves, for good purposes. Everyone seemed to be envious of them—they looked good together, they seemed as happily in love as they truly were, and were both extremely successful—so, those who were jealous had their reasons. "Are you alright, Saoirse?" Robert inquired, worriedly.