disgusted scowl, clearly not at all happy about my
presence.
“You’re Tudor
North!” I blurted out.
“Am I?” he said,
patting himself and feigning shock. “Shit, that’s why I’ve been
getting gawked at all night. I couldn't figure out why before you
kindly reminded me of who I am. Thanks for that, you really must be a good teacher, so witty and quick!” he quipped dryly,
turning up the right side of his mouth in a snotty smirk.
“ Tudor !”
admonished all of his family in unison.
I however, just stood
there in shock. Partly because of who I had just been introduced to,
but mainly because he had just been such an arse. If there’s a
sure-fire way to stop the awe of meeting a celeb, it was for them to
be a complete and utter twat.
Looking rather sheepish
at being shouted at by his family, he held up his hands in surrender
and muttered an insincere “I’m sorry,” under his breath.
That quickly snapped me
out of my trance. “Apology accepted, Mr. North , and I’m
happy that it was one that sounded so heartfelt and sincere,” I
retorted with venom. “I admit, I was a bit wowed there for a
moment. You are Tudor bloody North! I’ve never met anyone
famous before, and kind of don’t want to ever again now. I
heard that fame could do things to a man's ego,” I pointed right at
his face. “Exhibit A. Tudor North: arrogant and rude – alert the
media.” I shouted, flinging my hands in the air. I had always been
one for the dramatics!
Perhaps I shouldn’t
speak to him like this in front of Boleyn, you know, professionalism
and all – but hey, I am bloomin’ pissed off!
“Yep, that’s me,
Tudor North: arrogant as hell, rude to anyone outside of my family,
and public property to the whole fuckin' world,” he remarked slyly.
This was spiralling out
of control and my annoyance was at an all-time high. If we were back
in Newcastle, I’d have bottled the bastard!
“Tudor! Stop it.
Don’t speak to Ms. Munro like that!” cried Boleyn, getting
visibly upset.
Seeing that, I began to
laugh, pretending his jibes had no effect on me. “Boleyn, don’t
get upset, I’m sure your brother is just annoyed that your meal has
been interrupted. No harm done,” I said soothingly.
She seemed somewhat
appeased, but her eyes were wide and embarrassed.
Okay, okay, I can
hear what you’re asking. Who the hell is Tudor North? Well,
Tudor North is a thirty-one-year-old bonafide superstar actor, as in
Hollywood actor, the real McCoy. No, I’m not shitting you.
He is six foot three,
ridiculously muscular in build – and by ridiculously, I mean like a
four-storey brick shithouse. He has stunningly beautiful green eyes;
sometimes shaven, sometimes fair, cropped hair and sports a full body
of tattoos, all of which are tribal and cover most of the left side
of his body. And he is fitter in person than he is in real
life, I can now testify to that fact.
He has been on the
scene for about four years, but he had recently been catapulted to
the A-list with his lead role in The Blade Reaper , a story
about a ruthless criminal-hunting vigilante, which made a
record-breaking amount of money on its first weekend.
After meeting the
brooding actor, I could see why he was cast as the dark superhero.
And, as pissed as I was with him at that moment, I couldn't deny that
he was all muscle and pure gorgeousness. Bad attitude though. What a
bloody shame.
Tudor pushed his hand
over the table and grabbed Boleyn’s in his. He began apologising
and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles to calm her down, a
surprisingly gentle gesture considering the verbal rinsing I'd just
received.
Slanting his eyes up
towards me, he sighed. “Ms. Munro, I apologise. It’s no excuse
for my behaviour, but it’s difficult to go unnoticed these days,
and I can get slightly uncomfortable with it.”
I simply nodded my
head, not knowing the proper etiquette for this situation. Turning to
the rest of the group, their faces all embarrassed and awkward
presence.
“You’re Tudor
North!” I blurted out.
“Am I?” he said,
patting himself and feigning shock. “Shit, that’s why I’ve been
getting gawked at all night. I couldn't figure out why before you
kindly reminded me of who I am. Thanks for that, you really must be a good teacher, so witty and quick!” he quipped dryly,
turning up the right side of his mouth in a snotty smirk.
“ Tudor !”
admonished all of his family in unison.
I however, just stood
there in shock. Partly because of who I had just been introduced to,
but mainly because he had just been such an arse. If there’s a
sure-fire way to stop the awe of meeting a celeb, it was for them to
be a complete and utter twat.
Looking rather sheepish
at being shouted at by his family, he held up his hands in surrender
and muttered an insincere “I’m sorry,” under his breath.
That quickly snapped me
out of my trance. “Apology accepted, Mr. North , and I’m
happy that it was one that sounded so heartfelt and sincere,” I
retorted with venom. “I admit, I was a bit wowed there for a
moment. You are Tudor bloody North! I’ve never met anyone
famous before, and kind of don’t want to ever again now. I
heard that fame could do things to a man's ego,” I pointed right at
his face. “Exhibit A. Tudor North: arrogant and rude – alert the
media.” I shouted, flinging my hands in the air. I had always been
one for the dramatics!
Perhaps I shouldn’t
speak to him like this in front of Boleyn, you know, professionalism
and all – but hey, I am bloomin’ pissed off!
“Yep, that’s me,
Tudor North: arrogant as hell, rude to anyone outside of my family,
and public property to the whole fuckin' world,” he remarked slyly.
This was spiralling out
of control and my annoyance was at an all-time high. If we were back
in Newcastle, I’d have bottled the bastard!
“Tudor! Stop it.
Don’t speak to Ms. Munro like that!” cried Boleyn, getting
visibly upset.
Seeing that, I began to
laugh, pretending his jibes had no effect on me. “Boleyn, don’t
get upset, I’m sure your brother is just annoyed that your meal has
been interrupted. No harm done,” I said soothingly.
She seemed somewhat
appeased, but her eyes were wide and embarrassed.
Okay, okay, I can
hear what you’re asking. Who the hell is Tudor North? Well,
Tudor North is a thirty-one-year-old bonafide superstar actor, as in
Hollywood actor, the real McCoy. No, I’m not shitting you.
He is six foot three,
ridiculously muscular in build – and by ridiculously, I mean like a
four-storey brick shithouse. He has stunningly beautiful green eyes;
sometimes shaven, sometimes fair, cropped hair and sports a full body
of tattoos, all of which are tribal and cover most of the left side
of his body. And he is fitter in person than he is in real
life, I can now testify to that fact.
He has been on the
scene for about four years, but he had recently been catapulted to
the A-list with his lead role in The Blade Reaper , a story
about a ruthless criminal-hunting vigilante, which made a
record-breaking amount of money on its first weekend.
After meeting the
brooding actor, I could see why he was cast as the dark superhero.
And, as pissed as I was with him at that moment, I couldn't deny that
he was all muscle and pure gorgeousness. Bad attitude though. What a
bloody shame.
Tudor pushed his hand
over the table and grabbed Boleyn’s in his. He began apologising
and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles to calm her down, a
surprisingly gentle gesture considering the verbal rinsing I'd just
received.
Slanting his eyes up
towards me, he sighed. “Ms. Munro, I apologise. It’s no excuse
for my behaviour, but it’s difficult to go unnoticed these days,
and I can get slightly uncomfortable with it.”
I simply nodded my
head, not knowing the proper etiquette for this situation. Turning to
the rest of the group, their faces all embarrassed and awkward
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