by Zoe Sugg
“Oh, Penny, you look absolutely beautiful! You really can never go wrong with an LBD.”
I put on a pair of slightly lower black stilettos (four inches high as opposed to six), then stare at myself in the mirror—and not in complete horror, for a change. I’ve never been glamorous in my life. Even when I’ve dressed up for weddings or end-of-year balls, I normally go for vintage-quirky over sophisticated and cool. But standing here in this shop, looking at myself in this outfit, I feel like a grown-up for the first time. In this dress, I look like I belong on Noah’s arm.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaims Leah in unsurprisingly perfect French. She’s staring down at her watch in horror. “Look at the time! I have to be back at the venue or my manager will have my head. Jacques, will you have the dress steamed and sent to the hotel ready for this evening? Penny, how many times have you seen the concert?”
“Oh, like four times now, I guess.”
“Well, if you can stand to miss one night, do it. Let my makeup and hair people work their magic on you, then put on this dress, and I’ll come and get you after the show so we can go to the after-party together. You’ll knock ’em dead.”
I can’t help myself: I launch a full-blown hug at Leah, throwing my arms round her neck. “Thank you so, so much!”
“Aw, honey, you are so welcome! Now, watch the dress. I don’t want anything to happen to it, or you, before tonight. And that’s not a request—it’s an order!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I have strict instructions from Leah for once I’m back at the hotel: take a bath, scrub myself clean, shave my legs, and await the arrival of her glam squad. Not having to worry about being backstage feels like a weight has been lifted from me, and it’s a genuine pleasure to be able to use the impressive claw-foot bathtub in my beautiful bathroom. I turn the golden taps and hot water streams out. I drop in a fizzing bath bomb I discovered in the haul from Sephora and watch as rose oil tints the water a soft shade of pink.
While the bath is filling up with hot, steamy water, I text Noah.
Hey, nothing to worry about but I feel the need to chill out tonight, so I think I’m going to stay at the hotel before the party instead of coming to watch you. Is that OK? xx
Almost immediately I get a concerned text back.
Are you sure? Is everything OK? Do you want me to send Larry to pick up some chicken soup for you or something? You know I would much rather be with you right now!
I know. And I’m fine, honestly. Not sick, just relaxing. I’ll see you later xx
You’d better—I’m not going to the after-party alone
Love you xx
Love you too
A bath is exactly what I need to clear my head. I lie back and let the bubbles pop against my skin, sifting them through my soapy fingers. As much as this is enjoyable, I ache for home. I couldn’t survive this life permanently—zipping from place to place, barely stopping to smell the roses or, in my case, see the sights and taste the food. I know I could just say the word and Noah would take me away with him forever. I could be by his side, living this life of luxury. The shopping spree I just had with Leah, that could be the norm, not a once-in-a-lifetime event. That could be my jet-black credit card. I could hang out with Kendra and Selene, and focus on looking glamorous all the time.
Megan would do anything to be in my position. Heck, so would Elliot, if it meant having all the clothes and hats he was able to buy. But would I be me right now?
I sit in the bath until my fingertips begin to look like prunes. Somehow, I don’t think Leah would approve. I wrap myself up in the snuggliest, fluffiest white dressing gown in existence, then fold my hair into a bath towel to dry. When I open the door back into the main room, I gasp. There’s a beautiful bouquet of roses sitting on the table. One of the hotel staff must have come in while I was having a bath.
I read the little card that is sitting beside them: YOU ARE ALWAYS IN MY HEART, MY FOREVER GIRL. N.
I grin from ear to ear at Noah’s note. I can’t believe I doubted whether we were right together for an instant. Of course we are. Whatever obstacles there may be in the future, Noah and I can overcome them.
I know we can.
There’s another knock on the door, and I wonder if Noah has more surprises for me. Instead, I open the door and find myself face-to-face with five fierce-looking women who have identical slicked-back ponytails and are armed with black cases of varying sizes. One of them has a hair dryer tucked under her arm. It’s Leah’s glam squad.
They sit me down and start trawling through the Sephora bags, ripping the freshly bought products from their cardboard packaging and applying them to my face. I learn more than I ever thought I would about whether primer comes before moisturizer (it doesn’t; it goes after) and whether to put concealer on before foundation (you can do either, but the lady doing my makeup prefers foundation first). I try to keep at least one eye open at all times, making sure to take mental notes of what they are doing so I can at least have a hope of re-creating the look on my own.
At one point, I have a girl curling my hair with a hot iron, another one brushing purple eyeshadow onto my eyelids, and someone else applying a transfer tattoo to my wrist. I feel like a canvas rather than a human being. These are artists at work.
When they’re finished, one of the girls asks me unceremoniously to drop my dressing gown. I want to cling to it with my life, but when she holds up the dress and I remember how beautiful it looked when I tried it on in the store I relent. These girls have probably seen a lot more women in their underwear than just me!
It turns out this particular girl is also an amazing seamstress. I thought the dress fitted perfectly in the store, but she pins it and sews it until it fits like a glove. I hold on to her shoulder as I slip my feet into the stilettos. Then she spins me round and walks me towards the full-length mirror. I almost do a double take at the girl staring back at me. Her expression may be blank—or, I should say, stunned—but the rest of her is . . . well, magnificent.
The stylists behind me high-five and hug each other. I turn round and hug the girl who helped me with my dress.
I don’t have any words; the only ones I can grasp are a jumbled mess inside my head. The feeling I had in the shop when I first tried on this outfit was nothing compared to this. I have dry bronzing oil on my legs, which makes them glisten in the light. My hair is full of volume and curled beautifully—there is none of that cotton-wool frizz I’d usually have at my roots. My eyeshadow is a smoky purple to complement the colour of my eyes, and the new, perfectly applied fake lashes are so curly and pretty I can barely stop blinking. My lips have a beautiful pink shade to them and I have an amazing, intricate rose-gold feather transfer tattoo on my wrist.
One stylist whips out a little black bowler hat and pops it gently on my hair, and the outfit suddenly feels complete. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so cool in all my life, not even when Elliot styled me, and he knows his fashion. I get one last spritz of Chanel perfume and the women surrounding me all grin.
Finally I find my words. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I say.
There’s another knock at the door, and Leah walks into the room. She looks slightly dishevelled—but still stunning. I guess I would probably look a bit out of sorts too, having just come offstage. Catching sight of me, she gasps audibly. “Oh. My. God. Didn’t I tell you these girls were the best in the business? Penny Porter, you look absolutely beautiful. Noah is the luckiest guy I’ve ever known. You are going to knock him dead.”
“I feel a million dollars. Thank you, Leah.” I give her a huge hug, probably squeezing her a little too hard, but I don’t care.
“You are so welcome. Now, ladies, I need you to fix me up too! I am a disaster and I need to look unbelievable for this after-party!”
Amid the huge array of feelings I have at that moment, one of the main questions that buzzes around my head is how I can find my own glam squad to do this for me every morning. But I decide that even if this Pen
ny Porter is for one night only, she intends to have the time of her life.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I wobble nervously towards the door of the nightclub where the after-party is being held, holding on to Leah for dear life. She probably thinks I’m getting a little too appreciative and wants me to stop being so clingy, but I know that if I let go, or loosen my grip even slightly, I’ll probably fall over. The cobbled streets of Paris are very beautiful, but wow are they hard to walk on in four-inch stilettos! I’m determined not to start this evening off by falling flat on my face.
I’m the epitome of sophistication right now. Clumsy Penny has retired to the hotel room and is staying tucked up in bed this evening. Instead, Parisian-chic Penny is out on the town and, although she probably won’t be the coolest girl at the after-party (Leah still holds that title), she at least stands a good chance of feeling like she belongs—and her boyfriend might think so too.
We are ushered straight past the bouncers at the entrance to the club, with Callum holding up his jacket to shield Leah from the flashing cameras of dodgy paparazzi. For once I’ve left my camera at home. In fact, I don’t even have a clutch bag with me—my hotel-room key is tucked into a tiny pocket inside my dress.
I’m actually somewhat disappointed once we pass through the darkened doorway and into the club. I start to think all this hard work might not have been worth it since it’s so dark and dingy.
Leah spots Noah first, over in a VIP booth. Luckily, the lighting is slightly brighter over there—all the better to show off who is in the club, I’m assuming. She nudges me towards him. “Go on, this is your big moment. I have to go find my manager.”
I give her hand one last squeeze. “Thank you so much for everything today, Leah.”
“Honestly, don’t mention it. Now, go show him what he’s been missing.” She winks, and I take a deep breath.
Noah is sitting in the centre of the booth, with his band mates and friends in a semicircle round him. I force myself to unclench my fists and walk nervously towards him. I jerk to a stop as a waiter carrying a trayload of champagne flutes filled to the brim with bright, effervescent liquid swerves in front of me. It’s a breathless moment, but nothing spills.
Yet my gasp must have been loud enough for attention to be swayed in my direction. Then, the moment I’ve been waiting for is unfolding. It’s exactly like something from a movie, a scene where everything is happening in slow motion. Noah looks up from his drink and locks eyes with me. I watch as his mouth falls open, then the mouths of his band mates following suit. They look like a shoal of fish all sitting there together, faces agog, not saying anything and just staring in disbelief.
“Penny . . . HOLY COW. I—how—you look—” Noah jumps up from the booth to greet me. He clings on to my elbows and looks me up and down. “You look absolutely breathtaking,” he says, finally finishing his sentence.
He kisses me so passionately it’s like we haven’t seen each other in months. It feels absolutely electric; the hairs on my body stand on end and my goose bumps are so intense it feels like the air around us has dropped a few degrees.
“I missed you,” he says. “You had me worried when you said you weren’t coming to the concert.”
“I might have . . . bent the truth a bit. I felt fine, if only a little scared of Leah’s glam squad!”
“Leah did all this for you? Tell her I say thanks!” He wraps an arm around me and we walk over to the booth. I sit down next to him and he introduces me to everyone as “my girlfriend, Penny.” He even introduces me as his girlfriend to the Sony execs who we had a run-in with last time.
I do my very best, most polite handshaking and greeting, but I can’t seem to wipe the giant grin from my face. I have a feeling that this is going to be the best night ever.
“Well, Penny, let me just tell you—we are very impressed with your boyfriend here,” one of the Sony execs says with a smile. There’s something about the way she says boyfriend that jars—like she’s talking to a child. I grit my teeth and smile back. The way Noah is clinging on to my waist, like he’s terrified to let me go, is definitely not childlike.
“I think he’s all right too,” I reply, not sure what to say.
“You should tell Penny the good news,” the exec continues, looking at Noah intently.
Noah shifts in his seat, then with his free hand laces my fingers in his. “Oh, yeah, right.” He looks me straight in the eye. “The Sketch and everyone are really pleased with how things are going on the tour . . . with the dynamic, you know? It’s just working for all of us. So they want me to continue with them—like, beyond Europe—on their world tour. Dubai, Japan, Australia . . . for the next three months.”
I can see behind his sparkling eyes how excited he is, and I throw my arms round him. “Noah, that’s great!” I’m genuinely excited for him. This is his dream come true all over again.
“That’s not all, though,” he says, looking hopeful. “I want you to come with me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
He wants me to come with him? Immediately all sorts of questions pop up in my mind, like moles in the whack-a-mole game on the pier. What about my A levels? My parents? My life? I bat them all away. This is Noah’s big moment.
Luckily, I’m spared from having to reply when a jumping song comes on and as everyone leaps to their feet to dance, Noah and I are pulled along with them. Judging by the way he’s leaping around to the music, Noah doesn’t seem to be worried about not getting an immediate response from me, so I decide to embrace my makeover and enjoy myself too.
As the night draws to a close, I’m starting to think my feet have swollen to the size of an elephant’s—the stiletto heels have been the biggest style challenge of the evening. Thankfully, it’s not long before we all head back to the hotel together. Noah even gives me a piggyback for the small walk from the taxi to the hotel lobby.
As I’m on his back, I look up and catch sight of the tip of the Eiffel Tower. It is covered in sparkling, dancing lights, and reminds me of a grand version of the fairy lights Noah set up for me in Sadie Lee’s basement in New York.
“Look at that,” I whisper in his ear.
Noah tilts his head back and immediately lowers me to the ground when he spots it.
“My feet! My aching feet!” I protest.
“It’s not that,” he says, grabbing my hand. “I have an idea. We haven’t had a Magical Mystery Day yet. Why not a Magical Mystery Night? Let’s go see the Eiffel Tower right now. Then we can go to this twenty-four-hour restaurant that Larry told me about and watch the sun rise over the Louvre . . .”
Only moments before, I felt so tired I could have slept for a thousand nights, but now I am wide awake. Excitement spreads from the top of my head right down to the tips of my toes. “It sounds perfect,” I say.
“Come on, let’s go before anyone notices,” he says.
“Um . . .” I look down at my feet. “I don’t think I can walk anywhere in these shoes.”
Noah laughs. “OK, just a minute—give me your room key and wait here.”
“Can you grab my bag too? It’s got my camera in it.”
“Anything for you.”
Everyone else is already dispersing into the hotel bar and the elevators. Noah directs me over to one of the seats in the lobby. I hand over my room key and my stilettos, and Noah races off. “Back soon!”
It feels like just a couple of minutes before he’s back, with my beloved Converse in his hands. I slip them onto my feet with a mixture of relief and amusement.
“Penny Porter, you look even cuter,” Noah declares, admiring my new styling and pulling me from the seat. He passes me my bag and I slip the strap over my shoulder, putting my room key back in the pocket of my dress.
The pain in my feet disappears as we jog hand in hand across the street, the Eiffel Tower pulling us closer like a magnet.
“Noah? Hey, Noah, wait up!” The moment shatters as Dean shouts from the hotel entrance.
; I don’t want us to stop. I want to keep running down the street, and I can feel the hesitation in Noah’s hand. But he slows to a stop and turns back.
“Yeah?” he says, the word laced with reluctance.
Dean hurries towards us. “I told you, I need your approval on some photographs and design elements for the World Tour. It needs to be done tonight or else it won’t go to press.”
“Seriously? Can’t it wait until morning?”
Dean just stares at him, and Noah hangs his head.
I pull back on his hand. “Wait, can’t you just approve them, Dean? Surely Noah doesn’t need to look at everything?”
Dean grunts. “Noah approves everything that his fans will see. Right, Noah?”
“Dean’s right,” Noah says, sounding dejected. “I’d better go back and check on the photos. These ones are going to be everywhere—the whole design and look needs to be right. I don’t want to let anyone down.”
I almost laugh out loud.
“I mean . . . I know I’m letting you down, Penny. But—”
“I understand,” I say, stopping him. At the same time, though, I think: I’m trying really hard to understand, Noah. Really hard. Then I’m almost laughing again at the thought that, even in the middle of the night, we can’t find time to hang out together. Is this really what I signed up for?
We walk back towards the hotel, at a much slower pace than before. After the huge adrenaline rush, I feel the tiredness hit me again like a freight train.
“Let’s talk over here,” says Dean, striding across the lobby to the hotel bar.
“I think I’m just going to go up to my room,” I say.