Chapter 29: Luxurious Experience

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: Luxurious Experience

Sunlight slipped through the curtain gaps, falling on Irene’s face and waking her.

After stretching under the covers, she felt hungry.

She stepped barefoot onto the floor, opened the window, and walked onto the balcony, resting her hands on the railing and closing her eyes to feel the sea breeze.

In the distance was open ocean, the steady sound of waves reaching her. She took a breath, feeling calm.

"Irene, good morning."

A familiar voice came from the right. She opened her eyes. Britney, also awake, was greeting her.

"Hey, since you’re both up, I’ll have the butler bring lunch."

Edward, on the left, wiped sweat from his hair. "Go wait in the dining room. I’m going to shower."

Irene returned to the well-appointed room and opened the wardrobe to find new clothes in her size, tags already removed, as if she’d packed them herself. The arrangement felt deliberate.

The reality was that until she received Best Director, she had been undecided about vacation plans. The next day, she woke up on a private island in Hawaii.

By the time she changed and reached the dining room, the table held local dishes. The seafood was fresh, prepared by a chef.

The selection was extensive. She chose some shellfish and was impressed by the quality.

Wealth allows for this level of comfort.

Irene reflected. Though she was born into the Coppola family, last night showed her there were tiers of affluence she hadn’t experienced.

After the awards ended, news of her and Britney’s wins drew reporters to Rockefeller Center and their hotel.

Shelly Ovitz brought several security staff to extract them, but the attention was overwhelming.

Facing days of being followed, Irene lost enthusiasm for the trophy in her hand.

Edward suggested leaving New York, but returning to Los Angeles wouldn’t reduce the press.

Irene proposed a vacation. Britney’s eyes brightened, and she asked Shelly about her schedule.

"You’re at a critical point, and you want a vacation? You have a Rolling Stone interview tomorrow, a magazine shoot the next day, a radio spot in three days, and a music show in eight. When would you go?"

Irene watched Britney’s expression fall with each item. Recalling how, in her past life, Britney’s mental health suffered under constant work, Irene addressed Shelly.

"Shelly, give Britney a week. She won Best New Artist. Rolling Stone is necessary, but the smaller magazines aren’t. Many late-night radio slots can be cut; they add little except exposure to uninterested audiences."

Shelly ran a hand through his hair. "Easy to say. High exposure built her current position."

Irene knew one comment wouldn’t change his view.

"Your earlier plan was the ’girl next door’ approach, hence the call-ins and radio. I didn’t object then."

"But going forward, adjust. Stars need some distance. Schedule visits or fan events every month or two. That’s more effective than repetitive daily interviews."

Shelly considered Irene’s point.

Irene knew Shelly was results-driven.

"My win was unexpected. Are any outlets requesting interviews with me?"

"You’d do interviews?"

Shelly’s voice rose. She had previously declined all press, and he was less forceful with Irene than with Britney.

"Pick two. I’ll do them with Britney. Can you give her a week off now?"

"Since you’re offering, I’d be unreasonable to refuse. Where will you go? Choose Hawaii. Las Vegas has too much press, and you’ll be photographed."

With that, Shelly agreed.

At that point, Edward raised his hand. "If you want Hawaii without interruptions, I have a private island there. You can use it."

Shelly punched Edward lightly. "You have a private island and kept quiet about it."

His envy was obvious.

"It was a gift from my father when I turned eighteen. I haven’t visited in two years. I’ll call to prepare. Last-minute tickets are hard to get, so I’ll arrange a plane. Shelly, want to join?"

"I’d like to, but I need to handle things here after you leave. I’ll buy a ticket and join in a few days. That okay?"

"Of course. When you land, call me from the airport and I’ll send someone."

Less than two hours after deciding, they were airborne. Irene sat on a private jet, a first in either life, and felt disoriented. No crowds, no cramped seats, and roses by the armrest.

Even first class couldn’t match the space and comfort.

When the attendant asked about a late-night meal, Irene was hungry. She hadn’t eaten much due to the ceremony and could finally relax.

The food wasn’t standard airline fare; it was prepared fresh by chefs on board, comparable to a five-star hotel.

By the time they finished, it was 2:00 AM.

Edward had champagne brought out.

"Although you two aren’t of legal drinking age, it would be a shame not to mark tonight’s win. Don’t worry, this is from our family winery, made for occasions like this. It’s mild."

As the last of the golden champagne filled the crystal glass, an attendant wheeled in a three-tier cake.

It wasn’t standard frosting; a pastry chef had used edible gold leaf and sugar work to recreate a gold microphone trophy, a miniature of the one they’d received.

In this setting, a faint scent of galbanum was present.

It was a custom fragrance, crisp and clean, countering the cabin’s still air and keeping the space fresh.

That distinct, cool scent, combined with the champagne, made Irene feel lightheaded.

So much so that disembarking, boarding the private yacht, and arriving at the island suite all blurred together, like memories softened by champagne bubbles, leaving only hazy impressions.