The Hollywood Princess

[1] chapter one
— the royal interview

The audience applauded as I strutted through the walkway, waving graciously to the camera as it followed my path. I grinned as I took a seat opposite the presenter, a dark mahogany coffee table situated inbetween our chairs.

Appearing in front of a live audience for an interview may perhaps come across as intimidating for anyone who is not used to such attention, but not for me. It was practically in my blood to constantly be in the spot light, after all, I was raised and born into my renowned celebrity parents. My mum and dad didn't spend all of those years climbing the ladder to fame for us to be rudely ignored by the media, not after so much hard work.

"Payton Shae, in the flesh and as darling as ever, may I add."

The interviewer was clearly not straight as he eyed up my attire with his mouth almost watering as he took in my shoes, you learn these things after being in the public eye for so long.

"Why, thank you," I said humbly which made him break away from his shoe-induced trance and look back into my eyes. "although; I can't take all the credit, my wardrobe manager is to thank, but how lovely is it?" A batch of cheers and whistles echoed through the building as I flaunted my floral skirt.

A laugh was caught in my chest, threatening to errupt into his face. True to the fact that the ensemble was the work of my wardrobe manager, I couldn't help but loath her for making me walk out looking somewhat like a five year old trapped in the body of a girl in her twenties. For some reason my management (also known as my parents) were fixed on making me have a sugar-sweet, saving kittens from trees reputation and I hated it more than I hated not being able to eat carbs — yet another thing they'd ruled out.

You've just got to love being famous.

Not a moment later, the interview made a kick start and I was his with more questions and rumor conformations than I could handle. I worked as a singer in the music career but, as I was no longer on tour for another few weeks, instead I'd been spending my break doing interviews and showing my face at awards evenings. However, in return I got some adoring fans and a substantial amount of shopping funds, so it wasn't that bad of a burden I had to bare.

With a few advertisement breaks, some random quizzes and a meet-and-greet and interactions with some fans in the audience, I was more than releived to call it a day.

Reaching backstage, a few of the crew members helped remove my microphone until my body guards were able to remove me and take me back through to the car. I slid in next to my mother who was with her phone glued to her hand as she furiously typed away before taking a brief phonecall.

"That interview when smoothly," she praised as she hung up on the call and lowered her hand with the mobile still tightly attached to it. She continued before I could thank her, "too smoothly — are you drugged up again?"

Unable to respond, I began to shake my head when her phone released an electronical buzz. Holding up her finger to excuse herself, she sat back to answer whoever was calling.

"Elizabeth Shae." She addressed herself almost bluntly but still light enough incase it was anyone with some importance. "Oh really?" Her professional tone finally perked up.

I rolled my eyes and in boredom, gazed out of the window.

"Indeed, I'm sure my client — I mean, daughter — will be very glad you called." She said enthusiasticly into the phone as she sat up eagerly in the leather seat. A black pencil skied clung, tightly down from her upper waist to just above her knees, making her look naturally elegant and professional.

"Bye." I muttered, even though I was sure she hadn't even noticed my departure. Releasing my hair from it's long, blonde ponytail, I massaged my sore scalp as the butler held the door for me to enter.

Finding my room, I sat at the large white vanity that stood against one of my pearl-pink walls and attempted to brush my hair. I ran it through the now tangled mess but my face morphed into a grimance as I realised that it was too solid with hairspray to be untangled. I dropped down to slouch in my chair with a sigh, just in time for someone to knock on my door.

I grumbled an unladylike noise and closed my eyes as I threw my head back in fatigue. Opening one eye, there stood my mother. "It would have been nice if you'd stuck around to hear the good news." She said, doing a judgemental yet expected posture-elevation with pointed look.

I stood to my feet and fell back into my bed. "News?"

Examining my slouched figure, she huffed out a breath and straightened out a few of the products that sat on my vanity. "Not just news, it's good news. Guess who's manager called me to arrange a lunch date with you tomorrow, go on!"

Immediately groaning, I rubbed my palms against my now panda-like smudged eyes. "I can take a good guess but if I say it then that would make it true..."

"Harry Styles." We said in perfect synchronisation and I felt myself die a little more inside. FML.

Notes

I want to write more but I need to do my other story before I loose all feeling in my wrists. typing hurts! <\3