KIWI
act one, chapter one

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vittoriacorelone: New York, I love you 💘

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username: QUEEN

username1: do I want to be her friend or her girlfriend?
↳ username2: tbh I'd take either.

username3: what's she doing in NY?
↳ username4: she got nominated for a Darcy award, the ceremony is tonight !!

simoneashley: baby girl !! 💘
↳ vittoriacorelone: want to give u a smooch!!

username5: 😍😍

username6: good luck for the awards tonight!!
↳ vittoriacorelone: Ty!! ❤️

willpoulter: don't get lost on the subway the same way you do on the underground x
↳ vittoriacorelone: someone gave me a map and routes I need to take to get places !!

username7: mommy?

username8: who's she going with ?
↳ username9: florence is there so her maybe...?

taronegerton: London misses you ( I am London) x
↳vittoriacorelone: miss my wee Welsh cake x
↳ username10: they dating???
↳ taronegerton: she wishes 😙

florencepugh: my beautiful date for the night!!
↳ vittoriacorelone: 💋 x

I LOVE NEW YORK. And despite the tight schedule for the last day I've been here, it's still great. Even when I stare out onto a view of Central Park from a hotel room as a makeup artist lines my parted lips with a blush coloured lip liner, the low music coming from someone's phone is rendered useless by the pacing of multiple people on the phone all trying to make tonight go off without a hitch.

A Darcy nomination was announced a few months ago, and since then its been a kind of blur. I've been in touch with many a stylist, designer, brands who were drawling at the idea that I would promote them at an event like the Darcys.

Yet, even now I'm still struggling to get through it — seeing my name sandwiched between bigger names, people I would pinch myself if I found in the same room as myself.

And there I was in the middle of it all, little old Vittoria Helena Corelone, who once used to parade around my house in sparkly blue dresses singing to the sound of music, with a kitchen cloth wrapped around my head like a make shift babushka.

Who spent an entire summer in Italy combing a variety beaches for pretty looking shells to make into a necklace for my biological grandmother when we spent the last week with her before we went home.

A little girl who relentlessly dragged her father to the theatre and handed the actors flowers that were slightly crumpled after sitting in my lap for two hours at the stage door. A little girl who never thought in a million years she would make it as far as she has done.

Little old me who at the age of twenty five when finding out about said nomination was sat kicking her feet and doing a little happy dance through the hallways of my London home, called my mum crying and blubbering.

It's happened fast, a blur of fittings and makeup trials. People asking me to allow them to help write award winning speeches — before I knew it, I was being driven to Heathrow to catch a flight to JFK.

My date being one of my best friends, due to said life rules that mean I have avoided men so much so that I couldn't ask anyone to attend with me even if I wanted to but didn't know anyone here to go by myself.

Florence got ready in the other room, a whole different set of magic makers working on doll-ing us up. Agents pacing up and down between the connecting rooms, contacting car services, security, anything that could possibly cause havoc if it slipped under their radar.

It's been like this since noon, it's now seven pm and I sit in a blacked out car waiting for exit onto the carpet — Florence touches up her lipliner and hands it back to her assistant. I meanwhile trace my fingers over the skirt of the golden dress that is hanging on my frame— it's beautiful, and apparently I can keep it even after the awards ( score!)

Then it happens, the thing that although I've done it so many times before makes my stomach knot up. I feel Florence's hand clench mine momentarily as a breath exits from my lips — the door opens, the lights begin to flash, the people begin to scream. And I begin to smile.

I take the hand that's offered to help me out the car and onto the carpet that lines some old theatre in New York. And like always, the next few minutes that I walk that carpet is almost like a comatose state — I just follow the instructions of the voices that I can make out over all of the noise, I pose, I smile that beaming smile that people love me for.

When I do interviews I use my British charm, and when a question is asked concerning my love life ( which somehow is now something everyone has made their own business) I address Florence being my plus one in a way that will keep them fed until I'm next on a carpet.

" Jesus that was mental." I hum, looking to Florence who is walking alongside me. The clicking in cameras replaced with a calm ambiance inside the theatre.

She leans in " what can I say? the people love you." I shake my head in a humble way because I still don't accept myself as a celebrity. I'm just a girl with a lot of luck.

It's hard to be anything less than grounded when my dad still criticises how I make the pasta I have been since I was a child , and usually tuts saying I need more practice before taking over.

" not as much as I do though." she tells me, wrapping her arm in on my own. And I raise my free hand and rest it on her arm.

" there's a lot of famous people here flo." I whisper, giving each person a smile who makes my heart race. Having only seen them on a screen before.

We continue to walk, I didn't know where to exactly — but I follow Florence's lead, she's far better at this stuff than I am. If I could do this from my bed on a zoom call, I would.

Their eyes watch me, seemingly looks of approval cast over me by my idols. " and they're all enamoured by you, they'd be idiots if they weren't." she tells me.

And my cheeks heat up, especially when dame Judie Dench and Julie Andrews both give me a smile and wave from the circle of Hollywood icons that they're stood around.

' hi' I mouth, before turning my head back.

" I need a drink, like I really need a drink." I tell Florence who laughs at my transparent anxiousness and redirects us on a route that leads to the bar.

I drink whatever she hands me, it's in a flute so it must be some overpriced champagne. I try to look elegant as I shoot it down — a futile attempt to calm down the nerves as my eyes continue to scan the room.

Until my gaze halts, about sixty degrees from my main eyeline. The only person in the room who is directly watching me, a black suit and tie ( like the majority of the other men are wearing) but he looks good. His lips curve when he notices me, lifts his fingers to imitate a small wave ( damn, it's kind of hot..extremely hot)

Paul Mescal. A man my friends seem to all know well yet I have never met — know of him, but still this is our first meeting. He's hot and it's not a lie that when the occasional edit of him comes up on my private tik tok that I don't press the little heart button, and a few more of these champagne flutes and I might actually tell him that to his face.

I lift my fingers up and give a small wave too- the acknowledgment that we both know each other.

I can see his teeth tether into the corner of his bottom lip, fighting the smile that still shows on his face. Lifting his glass up to his lip and tearing his eyes away.

But I still catch them a few times until we're escorted into the ceremony and I don't see him again. I'm sat a row or two in front of him.

But he's still looking at me, I can feel it — from both the knotting in my stomach to the burning of my cheeks. I can tell it's him.

AUTHORS NOTE.
happy first chapter !!
jumping straight into it because I don't see the point in dilly dallying around tbh

vote & comment if you enjoyed!!