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MidReal Story
My African Prince
Scenario:this story is about music and family and fame and relationships and drama and concerts and nepotism and sex and drama and multi racial and nudity and groupies and fights and news and interviews and tours and my name is mohamed abdi and i have mulat skin and i have tattoos on my arms and hands and abdomen and i am 18 years old and i am multi racial because my mother anna abdi is danish and she has light skin and blue eyes and she is 40 years old and she is a retired very rich world famous pop and rnb singer and my father abdinur abdi is somali and british he is born in london england and he is 41 years old and he is a famous record producer and singer and i am born in paris france and i am raised in london england and my mother taught me the danish language and i can speak french and danish and english like a british man fluently and my uncle ahmad abdi is a rock famous rich singer and he is 39 years old and he has dark skin and my aunt ayan abdi is 35 years old and she is a rnb famous rich singer and i want to be in my familys footsteps to become a famous singer and i have 3 citizenships in france and england and denmark
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Mohamed Abdikani Abdi
He is the son of a Danish mother and a SomaliBritish father,living in London. He is charismatic,ambitious,and rebellious. Mohamed grew up surrounded by fame,following in the footsteps of his famous parents and siblings. He faced a tumultuous childhood,dealing with his father's infidelities and his own troubled relationships. Despite the challenges,he remains determined to follow in his family's musical legacy.
Ahmad Abdi
He is Mohamed's uncle and a famous rock singer from Denmark. He is charismatic,flamboyant,and unpredictable. Ahmad shares a complex relationship with Mohamed's father,often clashing due to personal and professional differences. Despite this,he takes Mohamed under his wing,offering him guidance in the music industry. Ahmad's flamboyant personality often lands him in trouble,but he remains committed to his craft and family ties.
Anna Abdi
She is Mohamed's mother and a retired worldfamous pop and RNB singer from Denmark. She is nurturing,disciplined,and influential. Anna played a significant role in Mohamed's upbringing,teaching him Danish and maintaining discipline when he misbehaved. Her past success heavily impacted her relationship with Mohamed,who struggled to live up to her expectations. Despite this,Anna remains a source of support and wisdom for Mohamed as he navigates adulthood.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, I am 18 years old, and I have a mulat skin because my mother is Danish with light skin and blue eyes, and my father is Somali and British.
I was born in Paris, France, but I am raised in London, England.
I have three citizenships in France, England, and Denmark.
My mother taught me the Danish language; I can speak fluently French, Danish, and English like a British man.
I have tattoos on my arms, hands, and abdomen.
I want to be a famous singer like my parents and my uncle and aunt.
They are very rich and famous, and they are singers.
My father, Abdinur Abdi, is 41 years old; he is born in London, England.
He is a famous record producer and singer.
My mother, Anna Abdi, is 40 years old; she is a retired very rich world-famous pop and RNB singer from Denmark.
I have an uncle named Ahmad Abdi; he is a famous rock singer from Denmark.
He has dark skin; he is 39 years old.
My aunt Ayan Abdi is a famous RNB singer; she is very rich and has dark skin.
She is 35 years old.
My father is showing me the grand music studio in our mansion.
I am so happy; I want to be like my mother and my uncle and aunt.
The music studio is big with a lot of recording equipment and a big window that separates the recording room from the control room.
My father shows me how to use the equipment.
I am touching the microphone; my mother used it a long time ago.
I can see her picture on the wall, holding a microphone.
My father shows me how to set up a track.
He explains how to use the computer program for recording and editing music.
My mother enters the room with my uncle Ahmad and aunt Ayan; they are here for vacation.
They say hi to me, and I say hi back.
They want to see my studio.
My father shows them how to use the equipment and computer program for recording and editing music.
Ahmad says he has a bigger studio than this one; he has two studios, one in his mansion in London and another in his mansion in Copenhagen, Denmark. Ayan says she has a studio too in her mansion in London; she has a small studio but very modern.
My mother says she likes our studio because we have all the equipment she needs.
She says she is proud of us; we have everything we need in this house.
I want to record something; my father shows me how to do it.
I start recording a simple melody that I composed myself, playing guitar and singing.
I am recording a pop song; it is called "Notice Me."
I am singing and playing the guitar.
I am focusing on each note and each word.
My mother, father, uncle Ahmad, and aunt Ayan are listening to me in the control room.
They are sitting and waiting for me to finish.
I am singing with all my heart; I want to be a famous singer.
I want to be like my mother and my uncle and aunt.
I finish the song, and I go to the control room.
My parents, uncle Ahmad, and aunt Ayan are clapping their hands.
They say I am a very good singer; they say I have a great voice.
They say I can be a famous singer if I work hard.
I upload my song on Spotify; I have a new account on Spotify.
I sit at my desk refreshing Spotify's analytics page, watching the stream count for "Notice Me" climb higher each hour.
My phone buzzes constantly with notifications as fans share clips of themselves dancing to my song on TikTok and Instagram.
I glance out my bedroom window, where a massive billboard on Oxford Street displays my face.
Suddenly, my father bursts into my room, waving his iPad with the Official Charts website displayed - "Notice Me" has reached #22.
Later that evening, a courier delivers a platinum record plaque.
My mother's manager, Claire, is here in our house.
She is 35 years old and has dark skin; she is from Ghana.
She has a lot of experience with famous singers.
She wants to talk to me about my concert.
I go downstairs to the living room where she is sitting and waiting for me.
"Hi Mohamed, I am so happy to see you," she says with a smile.
"Hi Claire, I am happy too," I say with a smile.
"I have some good news for you, Mohamed. We have booked a concert for you on Friday at 7 PM. You will perform 'Notice Me' live. We will also perform another song that we will choose later," she says.
"That's great news, Claire. Thank you," I say happily.
"Don't thank me yet. We have a lot of work to do before the concert. We need to prepare everything, including the setlist, costumes, and stage design," she says seriously.
"I know, Claire. I am ready to work hard to make this concert a success," I say confidently.
We arrive at the concert venue, a large indoor arena that is buzzing with excitement.
Claire leads me backstage to the soundcheck area.
I take my place in front of the microphone, and the sound engineer asks me to check my levels.
I put on my in-ear monitors and adjust them to a comfortable volume.
The engineer asks me to sing a few lines of "Notice Me" to test the levels.
I start singing, and the sound fills the empty arena.
After a few minutes, we have finished the soundcheck.
Claire tells me to get ready for the concert.
I go back to my dressing room and get changed into my stage outfit.
It's a sleek black suit with a white shirt and black tie.
I check myself in the mirror and make any final adjustments to my hair and makeup. I head out to the stage, where Claire is waiting for me.
She gives me a final pep talk and tells me to go out there and give it everything I've got.
I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the performance of a lifetime.
As I step out onto the stage, the crowd erupts into cheers.
There are thousands of people in the audience, all here to see me perform.
I wave to them as I make my way to the microphone stand.
The crowd quiets down as I begin to sing.
I start with "Notice Me," my voice steady and strong.
The audience sways slowly to the music, their phone flashlights creating a sea of twinkling lights.
I look out into the crowd and see couples embracing, moving slowly to the rhythm of the song.
After I finish "Notice Me," I move on to the next song on my setlist.
This one is called "Closer," and it's a bit more upbeat than "Notice Me."
The crowd jumps up and starts dancing wildly, singing along to every word.
I smile as I watch them, feeling the energy of the crowd coursing through me.
As the song ends, I hear a familiar voice call out from the front row.
"You're amazing, Mohamed!" my mother shouts, her eyes glistening with pride.
After the concert, I walk off the stage and back to my dressing room.
I'm still buzzing from the energy of the crowd.
My parents and bodyguards are waiting for me, and they lead me out to our Range Rover.
As we drive back to the mansion, I pull out my phone and upload "Closer" to Spotify.
I watch as the streams start pouring in, reaching 20 million overnight.
I check the charts: #11 in multiple countries.
My phone buzzes with notifications about my double platinum record.
Billboards and ads featuring my face and the song cover flood social media.
I sit across from Daniel and Emma at the BBC Radio 1 studio, microphones poised between us.
"So, Mohamed, tell us about your hits 'Notice Me' and 'Closer,'" Daniel says.
"Ah, yes. Well, I've always been passionate about music, and it's surreal to see how far these songs have reached," I reply.
Emma chimes in, "And your family has quite the musical legacy. How does that influence you?"
"My parents have been a huge inspiration. They're both successful singers, and I've grown up learning from them," I explain.
Daniel asks, "Do you have plans for a full album soon?"
"I'm working on it. I want to take my time and make sure it's perfect," I respond.
Emma inquires, "We've heard you speak multiple languages fluently. Can you demonstrate that for us?"
"Of course," I say with a smile.
Switching seamlessly between English and French, then to Danish, I prove my multilingual abilities.
Daniel and Emma clap, impressed.
Daniel asks playfully, "And are you single?"
I laugh, "For now. But who knows what the future holds?"
The interview wraps up with me promising new music soon.
I enter our mansion's state-of-the-art recording studio, still buzzing from the BBC interview.
One week after my concert, I spend long hours in the studio, tirelessly working on my debut album "New World."
I write and record 15 songs, meticulously crafting each one.
My family watches from the control room, offering words of encouragement.
Finally, I upload the finished album to Apple Music and Spotify.
The streams pour in, reaching 50 million.
I see my face on billboards and commercials.
A double platinum record plaque arrives, featuring my album cover and name.
My album climbs to number 10 on the UK pop and R&B charts.
Sitting in my bedroom, scrolling through social media, I see fans begging for more live performances.
The comments flood my latest post: "Come to Manchester!" "When's the next show?" "We need you in Birmingham!"
I grab my phone and start an Instagram live stream.
Within minutes, the viewer count surpasses 50,000.
My hands shake slightly as I reveal my plan: a free pop-up concert tomorrow night at 8 PM in Hyde Park.
I tell them to spread the word, but keep the location a secret until two hours before the show.
After ending the stream, I text my cousin Mouhammad to arrange security and call Claire to book the staging and sound equipment.
I pace anxiously in my bedroom while Claire coordinates with the rental company over the phone.
Through my window, I watch three massive trucks pull into our private driveway, loaded with speakers, monitors, and mixing boards.
The crew starts unloading, guided by Claire's precise instructions.
My father emerges from his studio to inspect the equipment, running his experienced hands over the sleek black speakers.
He nods approvingly at the Adamson E15 line array system - the same brand he uses for his own shows.
I stand backstage, watching the crowd swell as the sun sets behind the trees.
Claire hands me the setlist and I run through it one last time.
The crew finishes setting up the Adamson speakers, and I can hear the distant hum of soundcheck.
Central Cee and other artists mingle in the wings, preparing to take the stage.
As the first QR code holders arrive, my nerves begin to settle.
I step onto the stage, earplugs in, and grab the microphone.
The crowd roars as I start with "Notice Me," my voice steady and confident.
I transition into "Closer," swaying to the beat, then "Hot and Cold," feeling the energy surge.
Finally, I sing "Believe in Love" from my album "New World," pouring emotion into every note.
Dancing and singing, I'm out of breath by the end.
I yell, "Thank you, London!" and exit backstage.
Riding high on adrenaline, I enter the VIP lounge at Tape London, where my family has arranged the afterparty.
The bass from the DJ booth vibrates through my chest as I spot my uncle Ahmad by the bar, raising a champagne glass in my direction.
My mother hugs me tightly, tears in her blue eyes, while my father claps my shoulder.
Fans and industry executives crowd around, offering congratulations and business cards.
More guests arrive, and the music gets louder.
I step outside for a moment of quiet, looking up at the stars, knowing this is just the beginning.
I sit in my father's home office, reviewing the sales figures for "New World" with my parents and Claire.
The streaming numbers and album sales have exceeded expectations, earning me my first major paycheck of 2 million pounds.
My cousin Mouhammed joins us, announcing his decision to legally change his name to Rahim.
"It's a personal choice," he explains.
"I feel it better reflects who I am."
While everyone processes this news, Claire pulls up more data on her laptop, showing that my album is still trending across multiple platforms.
"Rahim, that's a big step," my father says, leaning back in his chair.
"Yeah, but it's something I've thought about for a long time," Rahim replies, his voice steady.
Claire glances up from her laptop and adds, "And with the album's success, it's the perfect time for all of us to embrace new beginnings."
I rise from my chair and walk to the vintage liquor cabinet in the corner of my father's mahogany-paneled office.
I select an expensive bottle of champagne, carefully pop the cork, and pour five crystal flutes.
The bubbles fizz as I hand them out - first to Rahim, then my parents, and finally Claire.
Standing in the warm glow of the desk lamp, I raise my glass and lock eyes with my cousin.
"To Rahim," I say firmly, "and to new beginnings."
We all clink glasses, the crystal ringing clearly.
Rahim smiles, a hint of relief in his eyes.
"To embracing who we truly are," he adds, lifting his glass higher.
Claire nods, her voice filled with optimism, "And to the incredible journey ahead for all of us."
I enter the club, greeted by the DJ and club owner, who recognize me from my hit album "New World."
They congratulate me on my success, but I just want to drink and dance.
I head to the bar, order a drink, and scan the crowd.
People start to notice me, whispering and pointing.
I feel their eyes on me but focus on the music, moving to the beat.
As I sip my drink, a group of fans approach, asking for selfies.
I lean against the bar as the first one steps up, her phone already raised for a photo.
Her hands shake with excitement as she asks for a selfie.
I slide an arm around her shoulders, and we both grin at the camera.
More fans gather, forming a small crowd around me.
I pose with each one - throwing peace signs, making silly faces, wrapping my arms around waists.
Their enthusiasm is contagious.
Between photos, they gush about their favorite songs from "New World."
The club's strobe lights flash across our faces as I sign phone cases and scraps of paper.
A voice cuts through the noise, familiar and urgent.
"Hey, can we talk for a minute?" It's Rahim, looking more serious than usual.
I nod, stepping away from the crowd, "What's up? You look like you've got something on your mind."
Rahim pulls me a little further away, his voice low.
He nods toward a group of women across the club, all in tight dresses that barely cover anything.
They're clearly groupies, giggling and whispering while stealing glances at us.
I shake my head at Rahim and take another sip of my drink.
The bass thumps through my chest as I explain, "I just want to unwind tonight, maybe hit the dance floor later."
Rahim nods understanding but keeps watching the women cautiously as they start moving closer through the crowd.
I turn back to Rahim, sensing the weight of his gaze, and say, "Let's just enjoy the night for what it is."
Feeling the tension rise from the groupies' persistent stares, I decide to lighten the mood.
The pulsing beat of the club music draws me in, and I tug at Rahim's sleeve, urging him to follow me through the packed crowd.
He resists at first, still eyeing the women suspiciously, but I insist we need to loosen up.
Threading between sweaty dancers, I lead us deeper into the mass of moving bodies.
The flashing lights paint streaks across faces as we push through.
Finally, we find a spot where the music drowns out everything else, and I let go of everything but the rhythm.
I sit in my London apartment, the walls lined with platinum records and awards from my four albums.
My phone buzzes with notifications - millions of followers on social media.
I light a joint, watching the smoke curl up as I watch TV.
My parents call, checking in as always, proud of my success.
I hear laughter from the pool outside - my cousins and their kids visiting.
I stand, stubbing out the joint, and walk to join them.
We splash in the water, their joy infectious.
Rahim swims over to me, wiping water from his eyes.
"Hey, have you thought about what we talked about last week?" he asks, his tone serious despite the playful splashing around us.
I nod, glancing at the kids laughing nearby, "Yeah, I think it's time to invest in that community center we always dreamed of."
I lean against the bar at Cirque Le Soir, sipping my whiskey as the strobe lights pulse overhead.
A girl stumbles into me, spilling her drink on the floor.
She apologizes, introducing herself as Rachel Evans.
Her black hair falls over tattooed shoulders, and her crop top reveals a glinting belly button piercing.
Her three friends hover nearby, whispering and pointing at me excitedly.
When Rachel admits she doesn't know who I am, her friends frantically pull up my music videos on their phones.
"That's Mohamed Abdi!" they exclaim, showing her my Brit Awards acceptance speeches.
Rachel's eyes widen with recognition, but she plays it cool, making jokes about my fame.
"Nice to meet you, Mohamed," Rachel says with a teasing smile, "but I'm more into indie bands."
I chuckle, raising my glass, "Well, maybe I can convert you with a private concert sometime."
Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she replies, "Only if you promise to spill more drinks on me."
I motion to the VIP section where Rahim stands guard, and her friends squeal with excitement.
Leading them past the velvet rope, I settle into the curved leather booth while Rachel slides in beside me, her arm brushing mine.
The waitress brings over bottles of champagne with sparklers, making Rachel roll her eyes at the showy display.
I laugh at her reaction as she sips her drink quietly, occasionally making sarcastic comments about celebrity culture.
Her friends snap photos and chatter about my music, but Rachel remains unimpressed.
When "Notice Me" plays in the club, she finally admits she might have heard it before.
Rachel leans closer, her voice barely audible over the music.
"So, what's it like being the guy everyone notices?" she asks, her tone genuinely curious.
I shrug, glancing at the crowd, "It's a lot of noise, but sometimes you find someone worth listening to."
Rachel raises an eyebrow, her sarcasm fading.
She leans closer, her eyes locked on mine.
"I guess I'll have to listen to your music then," she says, her voice softer.
I smile, feeling a spark between us.
We start talking about everything and nothing, our connection growing.
Rahim and her friends exchange knowing looks.
When the DJ starts playing a popular song, Rachel stands up, pulling me onto the dance floor.
The music pulses around us as we move together.
She grinds against me, her body swaying to the beat.
I wrap my arms around her waist, feeling the heat between us.
As the song ends, she turns and kisses me.
I kiss her back, lost in the moment.
We're surrounded by flashing cameras and cheering people, but I don't care.
Rachel pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine.
"Is this how it always is for you?" she asks, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
I nod, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "Yeah, but it's different with you."
I lead Rachel through the back exit of Cirque Le Soir, nodding to the security guard who lets us slip out unnoticed.
The cool night air hits our faces as we emerge onto the quiet street.
It's a stark contrast to the pulsing club atmosphere we left behind.
Rachel shivers slightly in her thin dress, so I drape my leather jacket over her shoulders.
We walk side by side down the empty sidewalk, our footsteps echoing off the brick buildings.
When she asks about my family's musical dynasty, I pause under a streetlight, considering how to explain it.
"Okay, so my mom was a pop star back in the day," I tell her, "and my dad was a producer. They met on tour, and I guess you could say music brought them together."
Rachel nods, her eyes wide with interest as she tugs my leather jacket tighter around her.
"And then there's my aunt and uncle," I continue, "they're both in the industry too. My aunt is an R&B singer, and my uncle is the lead singer of a rock band. So, you could say music runs in the family."
Rachel smiles, glancing at me sideways as we walk.
"So, you followed in their footsteps?"
I nod, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I started performing when I was a kid, and it just kind of took off from there."
She looks at me curiously, "And now you're here, winning Brit Awards and everything."
I chuckle, "Yeah, it's been a wild ride."
As we turn the corner onto another street, Rachel notices the tattoos covering my arms and hands.
She reaches out to touch one on my forearm, tracing the intricate design with her finger.
"What do they mean?" she asks softly.
I smile, feeling a sense of pride as I explain each tattoo.
"That one's for my first album release," I tell her, pointing to the one on my forearm.
"And this one's for my first sold-out tour."
Rachel looks at me with admiration in her eyes.
"You've accomplished so much already," she says quietly.
I shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious about all the attention.
"It's just what I love to do," I tell her honestly. She nods understandingly, "I know how that feels. When you find something you're passionate about, it doesn't feel like work anymore."
We continue walking in comfortable silence for a while before Rachel breaks the silence again.
"So how old are you?" she asks curiously.
I grin mischievously at her question.
"I'm 24," I reply with a smirk.
Rachel's eyes widen slightly in surprise before she laughs softly.
"Well, I guess I'm robbing the cradle then," she teases with a playful smile.
I raise an eyebrow at her comment, curious about her age now too.
"How old are you?" I ask back with a smirk of my own.
Rachel leans closer to me as we walk side by side down the street.
"I'm 27," she admits with a grin, "but age is just a number, right?"
I chuckle, nodding in agreement, "Especially when you're dancing to the same beat."
She laughs, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights, "Guess we're in sync then."
We continue walking, our conversation flowing easily as we stroll through the quiet streets of North London.
It's getting late, but neither of us seems to care.
The night air feels alive with possibility as we talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
As we pass by some neighbors who are out walking their dogs, they do double-takes when they see us together.
Some of them pull out their phones to take pictures or videos, which makes Rachel roll her eyes good-naturedly.
When we finally reach her apartment building, she unlocks the front door and turns to me with a smile.
"Thanks for walking me home," she says softly, sliding my leather jacket off her shoulders and handing it back to me.
"And thanks for the jacket too."
I nod, feeling a sense of loss as she takes it off.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper, scribbling something down on it before handing it to me.
"My phone number," she explains with a smirk.
"Call me tomorrow. Not tonight though. I don't want to seem too eager." I grin, tucking the paper into my pocket as I watch her step inside the building.
More residents have gathered in the windows to stare at us, but I ignore them as I wait for her to disappear from view.
I drive my red Porsche to my secured mansion in London, passing through the gates as they open automatically for me.
The house is modern and sleek, with large windows that offer a view of the city skyline.
I park in the garage and head inside, dropping my keys on the table by the front door.
The living room is spacious and tastefully decorated, with a large sectional couch and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
I settle onto the couch and grab the remote, flipping through channels until I find something that catches my eye.
It's an episode of "Boarders," a British drama series about a group of black teenagers attending a predominantly white boarding school.
The show is known for its gritty portrayal of racism and social issues, and I've always found it compelling.
As I watch, I can't help but think about Rachel.
She's beautiful, smart, and funny, and we have so much in common.
We both love music and art, and we both have a passion for social justice.
Despite our three-year age gap, I feel like we really connect. As I watch the show, I start to think about what it would be like to be in a relationship with Rachel.
We would go on dates to trendy restaurants and bars, attend concerts and art exhibits, and spend hours talking about our hopes and dreams.
We would support each other's passions and interests, and we would challenge each other to be our best selves.
As I imagine our future together, I feel a sense of excitement and possibility.
I pick up my phone from the coffee table and dial Rachel's number, waiting as it rings.
When she answers, her voice is warm and friendly.
"Hey there," she says with a smile in her voice.
"Hey," I reply, grinning at the TV as I pace back and forth across the living room.
"So, what are you up to tonight?"
I ask, already planning our date for tomorrow.
"I'm just watching some TV," she replies.
"Want to come over and join me?"
I ask, glancing around the room.
"Sure," she says, her voice sounding a little distant.
"I'll be right there."
I hang up the phone and head into my walk-in closet, scanning the rows of clothes for the perfect outfit.
I settle on a black Tom Ford suit and a crisp white shirt, laying them out on the bed before heading into the bathroom to shower.
As I get dressed, my phone buzzes with a text from Rachel.
"Looking forward to tomorrow," it reads.
I smile to myself as I tie my tie, feeling a sense of anticipation building inside of me.
I grab my keys and wallet from the table by the door and head out to my car, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. When I arrive at Le Gavroche, I'm greeted by the friendly hostess who leads me to our private table in the back of the restaurant.
The table is set with fine china and crystal glasses, and there's a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside it.
I take a seat and wait for Rachel to arrive, sipping on a glass of champagne as I look over the menu.
A few minutes later, Rachel walks in looking stunning in a black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
She smiles at me as she approaches the table, her eyes shining brightly in the dim light of the restaurant.
"Sorry I'm late," she says as she takes a seat across from me.
"No worries," I reply, pouring her a glass of champagne.
"I just got here myself."
We spend the next few minutes chatting about our days and looking over the menu, eventually deciding on what we want to order.
When our food arrives, we dig in eagerly, savoring each bite of the delicious cuisine. As we eat, we continue to talk about everything and anything, laughing and joking together like we've known each other for years.
When we're finished with our meal, we sit back and relax for a while, enjoying each other's company as we sip our coffee and dessert wine. After dinner, we head out onto the patio where there's a live band playing music under the stars.
Rachel leans against the railing, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights above.
"You know," she begins, her voice thoughtful, "I've never really let anyone into my world like this before."
I turn to face her, intrigued by the vulnerability in her tone, "Why's that?"
She leans closer, her voice barely audible over the soft jazz floating around us, "Because I've been hurt before."
I watch as she fidgets with the stem of her wine glass, avoiding my gaze.
When I gently touch her hand, she finally looks up, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.
"I was in a relationship two years ago," she admits softly.
"He cheated on me with my best friend."
My heart goes out to her at the pain in her voice.
"I'm so sorry," I tell her genuinely.
She shrugs, trying to brush it off, "It's okay. It was a long time ago."
But I can see the hurt still lingering in her eyes.
"It's just hard for me to trust people after that," she continues quietly.
I nod understandingly, squeezing her hand gently.
"I understand," I tell her honestly.
"But I promise you can trust me."
She smiles slightly at my words, seeming to relax a bit.
"Thanks," she replies softly.
We stand there in comfortable silence for a moment before the waiter comes over to ask if we'd like dessert.
Rachel quickly wipes her eyes and puts on a smile before turning to him.
"That sounds great," she says brightly.
The waiter nods and heads back inside while Rachel turns back to me, her expression serious again. "I'm sorry about all this," she says quietly.
"It's just still hard for me to talk about."
I squeeze her hand again reassuringly, "Don't apologize," I tell her honestly.
"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough with me to share this."
She nods slightly, seeming to relax a bit more now that she's confided in me.
When the waiter returns with our dessert, we sit back down at our table and enjoy it together, chatting about lighter topics this time.
As we finish our dessert, I reach across the table and take Rachel's hand in mine, looking into her eyes intently.
"I want you to know that I'm here for you," I tell her sincerely.
"If you ever need someone to talk to or just be there for you, please don't hesitate to call me."
Rachel smiles at my words, seeming touched by my sincerity.
"Thank you," she replies softly.
"I really appreciate that."
We sit there for a moment longer holding hands and looking into each other's eyes before I finally break the silence again. "Well, I should probably get going now," I tell her reluctantly.
Rachel squeezes my hand, her eyes softening.
"Maybe this is the start of something new," she says, a hint of hope in her voice.
I nod, feeling the weight of her words, "I'd like that," I reply, meaning every word.
Under the warm patio lights, I study her face as she finishes speaking, her eyes still holding traces of vulnerability from sharing her past.
The gentle music from inside filters through the glass doors, providing a soft backdrop.
My heart races as I notice how she's inched closer during our conversation, her perfume mixing with the evening air.
When she mentions new beginnings, her fingers brush against mine on the table.
The moment feels right - intimate and honest.
Without overthinking, I lean forward slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants.
She doesn't.
Under the warm patio lights, I close the small distance between us and press my lips gently against hers.
She tenses for a split second before melting into the kiss, her hand squeezing mine on the table.
The string quartet inside plays a slow melody that drifts through the open doors.
Her other hand finds my shoulder, steadying herself.
I can taste the chocolate dessert we shared, smell her jasmine perfume.
When we finally break apart, she keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer.
"Wow," she whispers, opening her eyes with a soft smile.
I chuckle, feeling a mix of relief and exhilaration, "Was that okay?"
"More than okay," she replies, her cheeks flushed, "I've been wanting to do that all night."
The patio lights cast a warm glow on her face as I brush a strand of hair away from her cheek.
My fingers linger near her cheek, and she leans into my touch.
The string quartet inside shifts to a slower melody, creating an intimate atmosphere around our secluded table.
Her eyes meet mine, reflecting vulnerability and trust.
My heart races as I whisper about how perfect this feels.
She starts to respond, but hesitates, her hand trembling slightly as she reaches for her wine glass.
The waiter approaches with our check, breaking the moment.
After paying the check, I lead her through the restaurant's dimly lit corridor to the valet station.
Her eyes widen at the sight of my red Porsche 911 GT3, its sleek lines illuminated under the streetlights.
I open the passenger door for her, helping her in before sliding behind the wheel.
As we drive through London's evening traffic, I take the winding road up to my hillside mansion.
At the security gate, I punch in the code and it swings open.
She gasps as we drive onto the sprawling property, illuminated by landscape lighting.
"Is this really all yours?" she asks, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
I nod, glancing over at her with a smile, "Every corner has a story, just like us."
She looks out the window, her expression softening, "I never imagined I'd end up here tonight."
I park in front of the grand entrance and guide her inside.
Her eyes widen at the sight of the marble foyer and sweeping staircase.
We move from room to room, each one a testament to my success.
She marvels at the professional recording studio where I made "Notice Me," the Olympic-sized pool with glass walls offering a glittering view of London's skyline, and the climate-controlled garage housing my collection of Lamborghinis and Ferraris.
Her fingers run along the platinum records on the walls, pausing at the fully stocked bar.
Finally, we reach my walk-in closet filled with designer clothes, shoes, and accessories.
She stands there, whispering that it's bigger than her entire apartment.
She turns to me, her eyes searching mine, "Why did you bring me here, really?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, "Because I wanted you to see who I am beyond the music and the fame."
Her expression softens as she steps closer, "And what do you see when you look at me?"
Standing in my walk-in closet, I move closer to her.
The designer clothes hang around us like a curtain of luxury.
The city lights twinkle through the window behind her, casting a glow over her face.
Her perfume fills my senses as I reach out slowly, my fingers trembling slightly.
She stays perfectly still, her eyes locked on mine, waiting.
The closet's soft lighting casts gentle shadows across her face.
My heart pounds against my chest as I lift my hand.
She draws in a sharp breath when my fingers make contact with her skin, brushing that loose strand of hair away from her cheek.
Standing so close to her, I can feel the heat of her body and the weight of her gaze as she processes my words.
She reaches up and traces one of my tattoos with her fingertip, asking about its meaning.
I explain that it represents breaking free from expectations, watching as understanding dawns on her face.
The city lights cast shadows across her features as she moves closer, her hand now resting on my chest.
The designer clothes surrounding us fade into the background as the space between us grows charged.
She looks up at me, her voice barely above a whisper, "Is that why you keep everyone at arm's length?"
I nod slowly, feeling the vulnerability in my admission, "I've been afraid of losing myself in someone else's expectations."
Her eyes soften with empathy as she replies, "Maybe it's time to let someone in who sees you for who you truly are."
I guide her out of the closet and into my bedroom, our hands still intertwined.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the London skyline, the city lights twinkling like diamonds against the night sky.
We stand there for a moment, taking in the view, before I turn to face her.
Her eyes lock with mine, filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
I reach out and gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear, my touch sending shivers down her spine.
She closes her eyes, her lips parting slightly as she waits for my next move.
I lean in, my heart pounding against my chest, and press my lips against hers.
The kiss is soft and gentle at first, but as we deepen it, our passion ignites.
Our hands roam over each other's bodies, exploring every curve and contour.
We break apart for a moment, our breathing ragged as we look into each other's eyes.
Without a word, we begin to undress each other slowly, our movements filled with anticipation and desire.
Finally, we stand n##d before each other, our bodies illuminated by the soft glow of the city lights. We move to the bed together, the silk sheets cool against our skin as we lay down.
Our bodies press together as we continue to explore each other with our hands and lips.
The tension between us builds until we can't wait any longer.
I position myself above her, my heart pounding in my chest as I look into her eyes.
She nods softly, giving me permission to proceed.
I enter her s##y, feeling her body tense up at first before relaxing into the s####n.
We move together in perfect harmony, our bodies connected in a way that feels both exhilarating and intimate.
As we reach our c##x together, I feel a rush of emotions that I've never experienced before.
It's not just physical pleasure; it's a deep connection that goes beyond words.
Afterward, we lay together in silence for a moment, catching our breath and processing what just happened between us. Finally, she turns to me with a soft smile on her face and says, "That was amazing."
I nod in agreement, feeling grateful for this moment of vulnerability and connection with her.
I sit on the edge of the bed, still catching my breath from what just happened between us.
She lies beside me, her eyes searching mine as she asks, "Were you a virgin?"
I nod slowly, admitting the truth.
She looks surprised for a moment, then asks, "How is that possible?"
I shrug, feeling a mix of emotions as I explain, "I guess people just assumed otherwise because of who I am. I've always been afraid to let anyone in, to lose myself in someone else's expectations."
She smiles softly, reaching out to trace one of my tattoos with her fingers.
"I'm glad it was me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I smile back, feeling a sense of peace as I realize I've finally let someone see the real me.
I wake up to the sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows, casting a warm glow over everything.
Rachel's body is still pressed against mine, her soft breathing a gentle hum in my ear.
The silk sheets are tangled around us, a reminder of the passion that filled the night before.
I turn my head to look at her, her features peaceful in sleep.
Her dark hair cascades over the pillow, framing her face like a halo.
I gently brush a strand away from her cheek, and she stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open.
"Good morning," I whisper, my voice filled with affection.
She smiles sleepily at me, her eyes shining with warmth.
"Good morning," she replies, her voice husky with sleep.
We share a soft kiss, our lips brushing against each other like a feather.
Then we both sit up, stretching our arms above our heads and yawning.
We get out of bed together and pad barefoot to my ensuite bathroom.
The marble floor is cool under our feet as we make our way to the double vanity.
We brush our teeth side by side, the sound of running water filling the room.
When we're done, we step into my rainfall shower, the hot water cascading down on us like a waterfall. We make l#e again, this time against the marble wall of the shower enclosure.
The steam fills the room, creating a misty atmosphere that heightens our senses.
Afterward, I wrap Rachel in a fluffy towel and find her a soft Gucci t-shirt and joggers from my closet.
She puts them on and looks adorable, her dark hair still wet from the shower.
I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and lead her out of the bedroom and into my kitchen.
I start preparing breakfast while she sits at the counter watching me cook.
I make eggs benedict with fresh fruit and pour us each a glass of orange juice.
I sit down at the kitchen table with her and watch her eat.
She tells me how delicious everything is and I feel a warmth spread through me.
We talk about our plans for the day while we eat and I can't help but steal glances at Rachel.
She looks so comfortable in my oversized Gucci outfit, and I'm grateful that she's here with me.
When we're done eating, I reach across the table to hold her hand.
She smiles at me and squeezes my hand back, but I notice a hint of hesitation in her eyes.
"Rachel, I've been thinking about us and where this is going," I say, my voice filled with emotion.
She looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
I take a deep breath and continue, "I want to be with you, to explore the world together and experience everything life has to offer."
She smiles softly at me, her eyes shining with warmth.
"I want that too," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I reach out to hold her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine.
She squeezes my hand back, but remains silent, waiting for me to continue.
"I know this might sound sudden, but would you consider moving in with me?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
Rachel's eyes widen in surprise, and she bites her lip thoughtfully before responding, "I wasn't expecting that, but... it feels right."
A wave of relief washes over me as she adds, "Let's take this leap together."
I help Rachel move her belongings into my mansion, starting with our bedroom.
We redecorate the room to make it feel more like ours.
I show her the walk-in closet where she can hang her clothes and put away her shoes.
We arrange her dresser next to mine and fill it with her personal items.
Then we head into the ensuite bathroom and set up her toiletries next to mine.
Next, we move on to the living room.
Rachel suggests that we rearrange the furniture to make room for her books and art pieces.
I agree, and we spend hours shifting couches and tables around until we find the perfect configuration.
We work together, laughing as we struggle to move heavy objects into place.
I set up a small table in the corner and place candles and flowers on it to create a cozy atmosphere.
Rachel helps me prepare a simple pasta dish for dinner, and we sit down on the couch to eat.
We sit close together, our legs touching as we enjoy our meal.
We talk about our plans for the future and what we want to achieve together.
As we eat, I notice that Rachel's eyes occasionally drift to the unpacked boxes that still litter the room.
A hint of worry crosses her face, and I reach out to take her hand.
"Don't worry," I say softly.
"We'll get everything unpacked eventually. And if there's anything you need help with, just let me know."
Rachel smiles gratefully at me and squeezes my hand back.
"Thank you," she says.
"I'm just excited to be here with you."
I smile back at her and clink my glass against hers.
"To new beginnings," I say, raising my glass in a toast.
Rachel echoes my toast and takes a sip of her wine.
We finish our dinner and sit together on the couch, looking around at the unpacked boxes that still litter the room.
We finish our meal and sit together on the couch, looking out the window at the city below.
I turn to Rachel and say, "You know, we should probably let everyone know that we're together now."
Rachel nods in agreement.
"Yeah, I guess we should."
I pull out my phone and open TikTok.
"Let's make a video announcing it," I suggest.
Rachel nods, and I set up my phone on a tripod.
We sit down on the couch together and smile at the camera.
"Hi everyone," I say.
"I wanted to take a moment to share some special news with you all. As some of you may have already guessed, I've recently started dating someone very special."
Rachel blushes and looks down at her hands.
"And that someone is right here beside me," I continue, putting my arm around Rachel's shoulders.
She looks up at me and smiles shyly.
"We've been seeing each other for a few months now, and we're both really happy. We wanted to wait until everything was official before sharing the news with all of you."
I squeeze Rachel's shoulder gently.
"So here we are," I say.
"Meet my girlfriend, Rachel."
Rachel waves at the camera and gives a little smile.
"Hi," she says softly.
"We're both really excited about this new chapter in our lives, and we can't wait to see what the future holds for us." I look over at Rachel and smile.
"I love you," I say to her, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I love you too," she replies, smiling back at me.
I turn back to the camera and say, "Thank you all for watching. We hope you're as happy about this as we are."
I end the video there and post it on both TikTok and Instagram.
Within minutes, my 20 million followers are blowing up my notifications with congratulatory messages and heart-eyed emojis.
Some fans are even creating fan pages for us already!
Of course, not everyone is happy about our relationship.
A few fans express their disappointment that they'll never have a chance with me now that I'm taken. But overall, the response is overwhelmingly positive.
Rachel snuggles up against me as we read through all the comments together on my phone.
She seems a little overwhelmed by all the attention, but she's also clearly thrilled to see how much support there is for our relationship. As expected, gossip reporters and paparazzi quickly pick up on our announcement and start running stories about us in the media.
As the sun sets and the city lights flicker on, Rachel leans her head on my shoulder, and I realize that this moment is everything I've been searching for.
I pull her closer, and our bodies fit together perfectly on the couch.
We watch the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows as the notifications on our phones continue to roll in.
The glow of our screens illuminates Rachel's face, and I can smell the sweet scent of her jasmine perfume.
Her fingers absently trace patterns on my arm, sending shivers down my spine.
My heart races as I turn to face her, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes.
She bites her lip nervously, still processing the whirlwind of reactions to our relationship announcement.
I want to reassure her, to let her know that everything will be okay.
I cup her face gently in my hands, feeling the softness of her skin against my fingertips.
The moment feels electric, charged with anticipation and possibility.
Rachel breaks the silence, her voice barely above a whisper, "Do you think this will change us?"
I search her eyes, understanding the weight of her question.
"No," I reply firmly, "if anything, it'll make us stronger."
I park my black BMW in front of the mansion, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires echoing through the quiet evening air.
I squeeze Rachel's hand reassuringly as we step out onto the driveway, the scent of blooming flowers and fresh-cut grass enveloping us.
The warm glow of the setting sun casts a golden light over the sprawling estate, illuminating the perfectly manicured lawns and lush gardens that surround us.
We walk up to the grand entrance, where my parents and uncle are already waiting for us.
"Welcome," my mother says, her voice filled with warmth as she greets us with a gentle embrace.
She's dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, her dark hair styled perfectly, while my father stands tall, his eyes twinkling with affection.
My uncle Ahmad, a man in his late fifties with a kind face and graying hair, smiles broadly as he extends his hand to Rachel.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he says, his voice booming with genuine enthusiasm.
We follow them into the house, passing through opulent rooms filled with priceless artwork and exquisite furnishings.
The walls are adorned with family portraits and heirlooms passed down through generations.
We enter the formal dining room, where everyone is already seated around a long table laden with an array of dishes.
My cousins, Ayan and Amir, both in their twenties, look up from their phones and greet us with friendly smiles. "Hello," Ayan says, her bright blue eyes sparkling as she waves at Rachel.
"We've heard so much about you."
Rachel returns her smile shyly as we take our seats at the table.
My aunt Ayan, Uncle Ahmad's wife, stands up to greet us warmly.
"Welcome to our home," she says, her voice filled with warmth as she hugs Rachel tightly.
"Please make yourself comfortable."
As we sit down, I notice Rachel's hand trembling slightly on her lap.
I reach under the table and gently squeeze it reassuringly.
She takes a deep breath and forces a smile onto her face as we begin to eat.
The conversation flows easily as we pass plates of food around the table—lamb curry, steaming vegetables, fragrant basmati rice.
"So, Rachel," my mother says, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, "tell us a little bit about yourself."
Rachel takes a sip of her water before responding.
"Well, I'm 27 years old," she begins.
"I work as a graphic designer for a small firm in the city."
My parents and uncle exchange knowing glances, their eyes flickering to me for a moment.
I know what they're thinking—I'm 24, three years younger than Rachel.
But they quickly return their attention to her, their faces filled with warm smiles.
"That's wonderful," my mother says.
"And what do you like to do in your free time?"
Rachel hesitates for a moment before answering.
"I enjoy reading, watching movies, and trying out new restaurants."
The room falls silent for a moment as everyone digests this information.
Then my father speaks up, his voice booming through the room.
"So, how did you two meet?"
I look over at Rachel and smile.
"We met two weeks ago at a nightclub," I explain.
"We were both drinking at the bar when we struck up a conversation."
My parents nod thoughtfully, taking this information in.
"And how long have you been dating?" my mother asks. "About two weeks now," I reply.
My parents exchange another knowing glance before turning back to us.
"Well, we're glad you're here," my father says warmly.
"We've heard so much about you from our son."
Rachel smiles shyly at this, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"Thank you," she says softly.
"It's nice to finally meet all of you."
The rest of the dinner is filled with laughter and conversation as we get to know each other better.
My parents and uncle ask Rachel more questions about herself, and she answers them openly and honestly.
As the night wears on, I can see the tension in her body begin to ease as she relaxes into the company of my family.
We talk about everything from our jobs to our hobbies to our favorite movies and TV shows.
It's clear that everyone is enjoying themselves immensely. As we finish our meal and prepare to leave, my father stands up and clears his throat to get everyone's attention.
"I just wanted to say thank you all for coming tonight," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
"It means so much to us that you could join us for dinner."
Everyone nods in agreement as my father continues speaking.
"Rachel, I just wanted to say thank you for coming tonight," he says, looking directly at her.
"We're so glad you could join us."
Rachel stands up from her chair, her champagne glass in hand.
The light from the chandelier catches the crystal, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the walls.
She takes a deep breath, and I can see her fingers trembling slightly as she lifts the glass to her lips.
Everyone's eyes are on her now, and I can feel the weight of their gaze.
My parents have stopped talking, and Uncle Ahmad has set his fork down on his plate.
Ayan and Amir are watching her with wide eyes, their faces filled with curiosity.
I watch as Rachel takes a steadying breath before speaking.
"Thank you all for having me tonight," she says, her voice steady and clear.
"I know this isn't a traditional situation, but I want you to know that I'm really happy to be here."
She pauses for a moment before continuing. "I know that we've only just met, but I already feel like I'm part of this family. And I hope that one day, we can all be close like that."
As she speaks, I can see my mother dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.
Her face is filled with emotion, and I can tell that she's touched by Rachel's words.
Rachel's voice cracks slightly as she continues speaking.
"I just want to say thank you again for having me here tonight. It means so much to me."
As she finishes speaking, I stand up beside her and place my hand on the small of her back.
The room falls silent for a moment as everyone digests what Rachel has said.
Then my father stands up and raises his glass in a toast. "To new beginnings," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
"To new friends and new family."
Everyone raises their glasses in response, clinking them together as we take a sip of our champagne.
The moment feels heavy with significance as we all look at each other across the table.
I lean back in my dining chair, watching Rachel captivate my family with stories about her graphic design work.
Uncle Ahmad laughs at her witty comments about client demands, while Aunt Ayan nods approvingly at Rachel's creative process.
My mother reaches across the table to refill Rachel's wine glass, her blue eyes twinkling with acceptance.
When Rachel describes her latest project designing album covers, my father leans forward with genuine interest, asking detailed questions about her technique.
Under the table, Rachel's hand finds mine and squeezes gently.
I squeeze back, realizing she's naturally fitting into the complex dynamics of my famous family.
I sit beside Rachel at the dining table after her speech, our shoulders touching.
The chandelier light catches in her hair, and she laughs at one of Uncle Ahmad's stories about the industry.
When she turns to answer my mother's question about her design work, I notice how her perfume mingles with the scent of wine and roasted lamb.
The familiar jasmine draws me closer until my lips nearly brush her ear.
My heart races as I whisper, "You're amazing," watching a blush spread across her cheeks.
I escort Rachel to my first celebrity event, the Brit Awards.
Her hand trembles slightly as we walk the red carpet, photographers shouting our names and snapping pictures from every angle.
Inside, we mingle with other stars, Rachel's eyes wide with wonder.
I introduce her to industry friends, and she charms them effortlessly.
As we sit during the awards, I hold her hand tightly, feeling proud to have her by my side.
When a reporter asks about our relationship, I smile and say we're happy together, focusing on supporting each other.
We return to my mansion after the event, still dressed in our formal attire.
The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows as Rachel kicks off her heels, sighing with relief.
"That was surreal," she says, her voice filled with awe.
"I can't believe I met so many celebrities I've only seen on TV."
I listen to her excited chatter as she recounts every detail, loosening my bow tie.
Her eyes sparkle as she talks about the performances and the excitement of being part of the event.
When she mentions how proud she felt watching me present an award, my heart swells with emotion at her genuine support.
I move closer, reaching out to brush my thumb across her cheek.
She looks up at me, her lips curving into a soft smile.
I stand at the marble kitchen counter, carefully pouring Dom Pérignon into crystal flutes.
Rachel leans against the counter, still wearing her black evening gown.
The champagne fizzes and sparkles under the pendant lights.
I hand her a glass, our fingers brushing during the exchange.
She shivers slightly, still buzzing from the energy of the event.
I raise my glass and say, "To you, for being by my side tonight. I'm so proud."
She clinks her glass against mine, the crystal ringing clearly in our quiet kitchen.
I drive Rachel to her parents' house in my black BMW, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement about meeting them.
We pull up to the large house, and I park in the circular driveway.
Rachel looks over at me and smiles reassuringly.
"Don't worry," she says.
"They'll love you."
I take a deep breath and nod, trying to calm my nerves.
We get out of the car and walk up to the front door together.
Rachel knocks, and a moment later, the door opens to reveal an older couple.
"Hello," says the man, extending his hand to me.
"I'm Henry Evans, Rachel's father."
I shake his hand firmly.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Evans," I reply.
"And this is my wife, Amelia," he adds, gesturing to the woman beside him.
Amelia smiles warmly at me and extends her hand as well.
"Please call us Henry and Amelia," she says.
"We're so glad you could come."
I smile back at her and follow them into the house with Rachel by my side.
As we enter the living room, I notice that it's decorated with family photos and artwork on the walls.
There's a large couch in the center of the room, with two armchairs facing it.
Henry gestures for us to take a seat, and we do so on the couch while he and Amelia sit in the armchairs. "So, Mohamed," Henry begins, "tell us a little bit about yourself."
I take a deep breath and launch into a brief summary of my life, including my family background and my career as a singer-songwriter.
As I speak, I notice that Henry and Amelia seem impressed by what I have to say.
When I finish talking, Henry nods thoughtfully and says, "Well, it's certainly nice to meet you. We've heard a lot about you from Rachel."
Amelia adds, "Yes, she's told us all about how talented you are as a musician."
I smile gratefully at them both and say, "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."
Henry leans forward in his chair and asks, "So, how did you meet Rachel?"
I glance over at Rachel before answering him.
"We met through mutual friends," I explain.
"We hit it off right away and have been spending time together ever since."
Amelia smiles warmly at us both and says, "That's wonderful. We're so happy for you two."
I lean forward on the plush couch, my eyes locked with Henry and Amelia Evans.
I'm recounting the night Rachel and I first met at Cirque Le Soir, a high-end club in London.
I explain how she accidentally spilled her drink on me, apologizing profusely.
I chuckle as I describe how she seemed completely unimpressed by my celebrity status, rolling her eyes at the VIP treatment.
Rachel playfully swats my arm as I mimic her sarcastic comments about fame and fortune.
She joins in laughing as I continue the story, detailing how her authenticity captivated me from the start.
I share how she claimed not to know who I was despite my platinum records and sold-out tours.
Henry roars with laughter at this, clearly enjoying the story.
Amelia wipes away tears of laughter as I finish recounting our first meeting.
I follow Henry through their elegant dining room, the scent of roasted chicken and herbs filling the air.
He pulls out chairs for Rachel and Amelia before taking his own seat.
The table is set with fine china and crystal glasses, a bottle of red wine chilling in an ice bucket beside us.
Henry pours wine for everyone as we wait for Amelia to bring out the food.
A few minutes later, she returns with a steaming platter of roasted chicken, perfectly cooked vegetables, and fluffy mashed potatoes.
We dig in, savoring the delicious flavors of her cooking.
As we eat, I share stories about my first concert and how it felt to perform in front of thousands of screaming fans.
Rachel chimes in occasionally, adding her own perspective on the events I describe.
When Henry asks about my musical influences, I explain how my parents exposed me to a wide range of genres growing up.
I tell him about how they encouraged me to explore different styles and find my own unique sound. After finishing our main course, Amelia brings out her famous apple crumble for dessert.
The sweet aroma fills the room as she sets it down on the table.
We all dig in eagerly, enjoying the warm, comforting treat.
As we finish our dessert, Henry raises his glass in a toast to Rachel and me.
"To new beginnings," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
"To love and happiness."
I raise my glass to meet his crystal tumbler, the amber liquid inside catching the soft light of the dining room.
Rachel beams beside me as her father completes his toast.
Amelia dabs her eyes with a napkin, clearly touched by the moment.
The sweet scent of the apple crumble still lingers in the air as we take our first sips.
Henry insisted on opening a bottle of his finest scotch to celebrate.
I take a careful sip, savoring the rich, smoky flavor.
Rachel's hand finds mine under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.
In that moment, surrounded by warmth and acceptance, I realize I've found a second family.
I lounge on the plush couch of my mansion's terrace, flipping through the latest issues of various magazines.
Rachel sits beside me, scrolling through her phone.
Our faces are plastered on the covers of nearly every magazine, capturing moments from our whirlwind romance.
The latest issue of Vogue has us embracing at the Brit Awards, with the caption "Music's New Power Couple" emblazoned across the top.
Rachel shows me pictures of billboards in Paris and Copenhagen featuring our images, promoting our upcoming concerts.
My mother calls to inform us that we're trending again after our appearance on Good Morning Britain.
She mentions how Uncle Ahmad is thrilled about our relationship and can't wait to meet Rachel's parents.
Rachel leans over and whispers in my ear, "This is all so surreal. I never thought I'd be accepted by both families."
I smile and reply, "Remember last week when Uncle Ahmad and your father bonded over vintage wines?"
She giggles at the memory.
I pull her closer and whisper back, "Everything is perfect."
I meet Rachel's best friends at a casual gathering in London.
They're a lively bunch, and we spend the evening chatting and laughing together.
Abby Dawson, Nina Winters, and Jenny Howard all have unique personalities that complement each other perfectly.
We sit down in a cozy corner of the restaurant, and they immediately recognize me from my music videos.
Their eyes widen with excitement as they shake my hand and compliment my work.
I smile politely, enjoying their enthusiasm.
As we chat, I notice they can't help but flirt with me a bit.
They make playful comments about my appearance and ask for selfies together.
I'm not used to this kind of attention from women who aren't fans, but I try to be friendly and gracious.
Rachel notices their behavior and gives them a firm look.
"Back off, Mohamed is my boyfriend," she says with a hint of possessiveness in her voice.
She grabs my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.
I smile at her protectiveness and squeeze her hand back. The tension eases as her friends apologize for getting too forward.
We continue the evening, chatting and laughing together like old friends.
Abby leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "So, Rachel, when are you two tying the knot?"
Rachel laughs, glancing at me with a playful smirk, "Oh, Abby, we're just enjoying the moment for now."
Nina nudges Jenny and adds with a wink, "Well, when it happens, you know we'll be planning the bachelorette party!"
I sit with Rachel in our London home, the walls adorned with my new diamond record plaque for "Now or Never."
We watch the music videos I released for each song, celebrating the album's billion streams per track.
Rachel leans against me, her eyes reflecting pride as we see our kiss on the album cover flash across the screen.
I pour champagne, toasting to our success and the journey that led us here.
As we clink glasses, I feel a deep connection, knowing our love inspired this music.
I collapse onto the leather couch of our mansion, my muscles aching from the grueling tour.
We performed 127 shows across six continents, and I'm still buzzing from the energy of the crowds.
Rachel unpacks our luggage with her usual enthusiasm, humming along to the music playing in the background.
I open my laptop and check the final tour earnings - 20 million pounds.
My phone buzzes nonstop with notifications about my global success.
I scroll through them, seeing my face plastered across Times Square billboards, London magazine covers, and Tokyo concert reviews.
Rachel brings me a glass of water and massages my shoulders as I read through the messages.
I wake up slowly, the soft silk sheets caressing my skin as I stretch.
The tour is finally over, and I'm still basking in the deep sleep that follows such an intense experience.
Rachel lies next to me, propped up on one elbow and watching me with a mysterious smile.
When I open my eyes, she whispers "good morning" and runs her fingers through my hair.
I notice her phone quickly tucked under her pillow, and across the room, her laptop screen glows with what looks like event planning tabs open.
I raise an eyebrow at her curious behavior, but she just kisses me softly and says "You'll see."
She tells me to dress up nicely, so I choose a tailored black suit and a white shirt.
When I enter the dining room of our mansion, I'm stunned to see both our families gathered there.
My parents, uncle Ahmad, aunt Ayan, and Rachel's parents Henry and Amelia are all seated around the table.
Rachel's friends from university are also there, along with her best friend Emily.
Rachel stands in the center of the room, wearing a stunning red dress that accentuates her curves.
She looks nervous but determined as she begins to speak.
"Today is a special day," she says, her voice trembling with emotion.
"It's a day to celebrate our journey together."
She takes my hand in hers and continues.
"From the moment we met at that club, drunk and lost, we knew that there was something special between us. And now, after all these years, I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
I feel my heart pounding in my chest as she drops down to one knee and pulls out a small black velvet box.
"Will you marry me?" she asks, her voice filled with emotion.
I nod eagerly, tears streaming down my face as she slides the ring onto my finger.
"Yes, yes, a million times yes!" I exclaim, pulling her into a passionate kiss.
The room erupts in applause and cheers as our families and friends gather around us, congratulating us on our engagement.
My parents beam with pride as they hug us both tightly, tears of joy streaming down their faces.
Rachel's parents are equally overjoyed, hugging us and taking photos and videos to capture the moment.
Everyone pulls out their phones and starts uploading the news to social media, and soon our engagement is trending all over TikTok, Instagram, and celebrity gossip sites.
I see flashes from cameras as the news spreads rapidly across the internet, and within minutes, our engagement is all over the news.
Commercials start featuring our engagement, with our faces plastered on billboards and magazine covers.
I stand in our dining room, holding my champagne flute and looking around at the happy chaos.
Rachel's diamond ring catches the light as she squeezes my hand tightly.
Our families quiet down when I clear my throat, and all eyes turn to me.
My voice trembles slightly as I begin to speak.
"I never thought I'd find true love, especially not when I was least expecting it," I say, looking at Rachel.
"But then I met her, and everything changed. She saw past the fame and fortune, and she loved me for who I truly am."
I lift my glass higher, tears welling up in my eyes as I look at my beautiful fiancée.
"To us," I say, clinking my glass against hers.
Rachel smiles, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"To us," she echoes softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
We stand there, surrounded by our families and friends, basking in the joy and happiness of this moment.
My parents walk up to us first, their faces beaming with pride.
My father pulls me into a tight hug, his voice filled with emotion as he whispers, "We are proud of you, Mohamed, that you have found the one for you."
My mother joins in, wrapping her arms around us both.
"We love you so much," she says, her voice trembling.
"We are so happy to welcome Rachel into our family."
My aunt Ayan and uncle Ahmad follow next, each giving us a warm hug and offering their congratulations.
Rachel's best friend Emily steps forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Okay, spill it," she demands playfully. "How long have you been planning this surprise?"
Rachel laughs, glancing at me with a mischievous grin.
"Let's just say I've had a little help," she replies, nodding toward my parents.
I take Rachel's hand and lead her to the center of the dining room.
The speakers come alive with music, and "Notice Me" - the first song I ever recorded - fills the room.
Our families move back, clearing a circle around us.
Rachel's engagement ring catches the light as she wraps her arms around my neck.
We sway together, my hands on her waist, while she whispers how she chose this song because it's what made her fall for me.
My parents are the first to join us on the dance floor, followed closely by Uncle Ahmad and Aunt Ayan.
Rachel leans in closer, her voice barely audible over the music.
"There's something else I need to tell you," she says, her eyes searching mine.
I pull back slightly, sensing the seriousness in her tone. "What is it?" I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
I hold her gaze as she takes a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly in mine.
The music of "Notice Me" plays softly around us while our families continue dancing nearby.
"I love you so much," she whispers, her eyes glistening with tears.
Relief and joy wash over me as I pull her closer.
"I love you more," I respond, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.
Our engagement rings clink together as we intertwine our fingers, swaying to the music.
I lead Rachel away from our dancing families, finding a quiet corner in the dining room.
The music still plays softly, but it's far enough that we can talk without being overheard.
I pull out a chair for her and sit down next to her, still trying to process everything that happened.
Rachel squeezes my hand gently, her smile radiant.
"There's one more thing," she says, her voice filled with excitement.
"I've already planned our honeymoon."
My eyes widen in surprise, and I can't help but laugh.
"Already?"
I ask, amused by her eagerness.
She nods enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling.
"I couldn't wait," she confesses.
"I've booked us two weeks at a private villa in the Maldives."
My heart swells as she describes the secluded beach and crystal-clear waters of the villa she's chosen for us.
She tells me about the personal chef who will cater to our every need and the private recording studio she's arranged for me.
"I know how much you love to write music when you're inspired," she explains, her voice filled with thoughtfulness. I pull her into a tight hug, overwhelmed by the love and effort she's put into planning our future together.
"You're amazing," I whisper into her ear, holding her close.
When we return to our families, they are all gathered around Rachel's laptop, looking at photos of the villa she has chosen for our honeymoon.
My mother hugs Rachel tightly, tears in her eyes as she whispers, "You chose perfectly."
Uncle Ahmad raises his glass in a toast.
"To love, laughter, and a lifetime of happiness," he declares, sealing the moment with a promise of endless joy.
I pull Rachel away from the crowd, whispering in her ear, "Let's get out of here for a minute."
She nods, and we make our way to the French doors that lead outside.
The cool London night air greets us as we step onto the mansion's grounds.
We find a private path that leads down to the secluded beach nearby.
The sound of waves crashing against the shore fills the air as we walk hand in hand, our footsteps sinking into the sand.
Rachel's engagement ring catches the moonlight, and I can't help but smile at the sight of it.
We stop at the water's edge, removing our shoes to feel the sand between our toes.
The party music is distant now, drowned out by the waves.
Rachel shivers slightly in her red dress, and I take off my suit jacket to wrap around her shoulders.
We stand together, watching the waves, knowing this is just the beginning.
Standing at the water's edge with Rachel, I notice how the moonlight catches the diamond on her finger.
The distant party music fades into the background as the waves lap at our feet.
A cool breeze rustles her red dress beneath my jacket, and I catch a hint of her jasmine perfume mingling with the salty air.
When she turns to face me, the sand shifts beneath our bare feet.
Her eyes reflect the same joy I feel inside.
In this moment, it's just us, the ocean, and the promise of our future together.
I pack our bags into the back of my Rolls Royce while Rachel double-checks our passports and travel documents.
The sun is just starting to rise as we make our way to the private airfield where my jet awaits.
The interior is decorated with champagne and rose petals, a romantic touch that makes Rachel's eyes sparkle.
As we take off into the sky, I hold her hand tightly, feeling the rush of excitement that comes with a new journey together.
Once we're airborne, Rachel leans against my shoulder and drifts off to sleep.
I watch her peaceful face, listening to the hum of the engines and the soft rustle of her breathing.
Outside the window, clouds pass by like cotton candy tufts, their shadows drifting across the landscape below.
Hours pass before we start our descent, and Rachel stirs in her seat, stretching languidly as she wakes.
We land smoothly on a runway lined with palm trees swaying in the breeze.
The humid Maldivian air envelops us as we step off the plane, carrying the scent of tropical flowers and saltwater. A taxi waits for us at the airfield, its driver greeting us with a warm smile and helping us load our bags into the car.
We wind through palm-lined streets, passing beachfront villas and crystal-clear waters that lap at the shore.
Finally, we arrive at our own secluded villa, its entrance marked by a wooden sign bearing our names in elegant script.
Rachel gasps as we step inside, her eyes widening at the sight of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook turquoise waters lapping at the shore below.
I follow her as she explores each room: a marble bathroom with a sauna and steam shower; a fully stocked bar with crystal glasses; and finally, a master bedroom with an ocean-view balcony where we can watch sunsets together.
Rachel turns to me, her eyes filled with wonder.
"Can you believe this is real?" she whispers, almost as if afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the dream.
I smile, pulling her close, and reply, "It's as real as the love we share."
I lead Rachel through the glass doors onto our villa's private balcony, overlooking the Maldivian ocean.
The warm breeze carries the scent of salt and tropical flowers as I pour Cristal into crystal flutes.
Rachel leans against the railing, her white sundress flowing in the wind while orange sunlight catches her hair.
I hand her a glass and stand beside her, our shoulders touching.
The sky transforms from blue to brilliant pink and gold.
Neither of us speaks, letting the sound of waves below fill the peaceful silence.
Rachel finally breaks the silence, her voice soft and contemplative.
"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we hadn't met that night?"
I turn to her, surprised by the question, and reply, "Every day, I thank the universe that we did."
She smiles, her eyes reflecting the sunset's colors, and takes a sip of champagne.
The bubbles tingle in my throat as I do the same.
Below us, ocean waves crash rhythmically against the shore.
I can hear the distant calls of seagulls mingling with the sound of the waves.
Rachel's white sundress flutters in the breeze, revealing her sun-kissed skin.
Her hair flows like gold in the fading light, and I catch a hint of jasmine perfume mixed with the salty air.
I set my glass down on the balcony table and wrap my arms around her waist from behind.
She leans back against my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her dress.
We stand there in comfortable silence, watching the sun dip lower in the sky until it disappears beneath the horizon.
The moment feels surreal—just us, away from cameras and fame.
In the quiet embrace of twilight, we find our own paradise.
I hold her close, feeling her warmth through the thin sundress.
The last traces of sunset fade, and stars begin appearing above the ocean.
Her skin is warm against mine, and I can smell jasmine mixed with champagne on her breath.
I drive Rachel back to our London mansion in my red Porsche, the sun setting over the city.
We pull into the secured property, and I park in front of the mansion.
The scenic view over London is breathtaking as we step inside.
We unpack our suitcases in the master bedroom, surrounded by luxury and comfort.
Rachel smiles, reminiscing about our two weeks of love and pleasure.
I call my parents, uncle, and aunt to let them know we're back, while Rachel texts her parents.
We settle into the living room, where I pour us drinks from the bar.
Rachel takes a sip of her drink and looks at me thoughtfully.
"Do you think your parents will ever accept us?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
I pause, meeting her gaze, and reply, "I believe they will, once they see how happy we make each other."
I stand at the bar in our living room, watching Rachel's worried expression as she voices her concerns about my parents.
Moving closer, I notice how the evening light catches the diamond on her finger.
The familiar scent of her jasmine perfume surrounds us as I set down my drink.
My heart aches seeing her uncertainty, knowing how much she wants their approval.
Without words, I reach out to brush away a loose strand of dark hair that has fallen across her cheek.
Her eyes meet mine, filled with vulnerability and trust.
In that moment, I realize that our love is the only approval we truly need.
I scroll through my phone in bed while Rachel sleeps beside me.
Entertainment Tonight shows clips from her proposal, while TMZ dissects every detail of the ring and party.
On Instagram, #RachelAndMohamed trends with millions of posts analyzing our relationship.
Paparazzi photos of us leaving restaurants flood news sites.
A Vogue article praising Rachel's red proposal dress catches my eye, and I screenshot it to show her later.
Rachel stirs and peeks at my screen, groaning at a billboard outside showing our engagement photo.
I set my phone on the nightstand and roll over to face her.
She's still groggy from sleep, blinking slowly as morning light filters through our bedroom windows.
The billboard outside continues flashing our photo, but she's too tired to care.
I sit up with her, scrolling through social media.
We laugh at comments and share a selfie, captioning it "Love of my life #engaged #happy."
Rachel leans into me, her engagement ring catching the light.
We both enjoy the fame that comes with my music career and wouldn't have it any other way.
The next morning, I sit in the living room when Anna Abdi, my mother, enters.
She wears her jewelry and sits beside me.
Her eyes scan the room before focusing on me.
"Good morning, Mohamed," she says.
"Good morning, Mother," I reply.
I tell her about Rachel and our engagement, showing her the ring.
Anna listens intently, asking detailed questions about our relationship and future plans.
"Can I help in any way?" she offers.
"I appreciate that," I say.
She asks about my life and Rachel.
I share everything, and she listens attentively.
"I'm here if you need anything," she says genuinely.
Anna then mentions Vogue Denmark wanting her on their front page.
She invites me to join her, and I agree.
We start planning the cover shoot.
Anna explains we need to leave for Copenhagen soon.
I pace in my home studio, clutching my phone while watching the Copenhagen sunset through floor-to-ceiling windows.
After three rings, Rachel answers with a sleepy "hello."
"Guess what?" I blurt out, my voice rising with excitement.
"Mom's on the cover of Vogue Denmark, and she wants me to join her!"
Rachel squeals in delight, bombarding me with rapid-fire questions about the shoot details.
As I describe our upcoming trip to Copenhagen, she suggests coming along to explore my Danish roots together.
I agree, feeling a new chapter of our lives unfolding with possibilities.
We board the private jet with Rachel, my mother Anna, and our two pilots.
As we take off from London to Copenhagen for the Vogue Denmark cover shoot, I sit beside Rachel, who's excited to see my Danish roots.
My mother Anna sits across from us, her eyes sparkling with stories of her Danish upbringing.
She shows me photos of her childhood home in Copenhagen, pointing out landmarks and sharing memories.
Rachel listens intently, asking questions about Danish culture and traditions.
I translate between English and Danish, feeling a connection to my heritage.
We discuss the upcoming shoot, and my mother explains the significance of this opportunity for her career.
Rachel leans forward, her curiosity piqued.
"Anna, what was it like growing up in Copenhagen?" she asks, her voice filled with genuine interest.
Anna smiles warmly, her eyes distant with nostalgia.
"It was magical," she replies softly. "The city has a charm that's hard to describe, and I can't wait for you both to experience it."
We step off the private jet at Copenhagen Airport, the crisp Danish air greeting us as we walk towards the terminal.
The scent of freshly baked pastries wafts through the air, reminding me of my childhood visits to Denmark.
Airport staff collect our Louis Vuitton luggage while we head inside.
As we pass by the terminal windows, I notice a group of paparazzi gathered outside, cameras in hand.
Rachel squeezes my hand nervously as they start snapping photos.
My mother leads us through VIP customs, speaking rapid Danish with the officials.
We're soon escorted to a waiting Mercedes, where our driver greets us with a bow.
As we drive away from the airport, my mother points out her favorite childhood bakery through the window.
I follow her gaze, watching the cobblestone streets pass by.
Rachel takes photos with her phone, capturing the city's charm.
We turn a corner, and my mother points out her childhood apartment building.
The red brick facade hasn't changed in forty years.
We pause at a corner café where she used to perform as a teenager.
She tells us stories of singing for tips while customers sipped coffee and smoked cigars.
The current owner recognizes her immediately, rushing out to greet us in rapid Danish.
As more locals gather, whispering and pointing, my mother's eyes fill with tears.
She smiles through her tears, whispering, "It's good to be home."
Standing outside the corner café, I wrap my arms around my mother as she wipes away tears with the back of her hand.
The familiar scent of her perfume mingles with the fresh coffee and pastries wafting from inside the café.
Rachel captures the moment on her phone, and curious locals whisper and point at us.
My mother's voice trembles as she tells me about performing Danish folk songs here every Friday night at age sixteen.
She sings a few lines softly in Danish, her eyes closing as memories flood back.
I promise her we'll revisit all her cherished places during our stay in Copenhagen.
She squeezes me tighter, her hand reaching up to stroke my hair gently.
The owner emerges from the café, carrying a tray of traditional Danish pastries.
"Velkommen hjem," he says warmly, offering us the treats.
My mother smiles, thanking him in rapid Danish.
Rachel takes a pastry, her eyes wide with curiosity.
We enter the Vogue Denmark headquarters, greeted by the editor-in-chief who leads us to the photo studio.
My mother and I sit in front of the makeup artists, who work their magic while my mother tells Rachel stories about her career as Denmark's pop and R&B queen.
Rachel listens intently, snapping photos on her phone.
The photographer calls us to the set, where we pose for the cover shot.
My mother and I sit together, holding hands and smiling at each other.
The photographer snaps photos, capturing our mother-son bond.
After a few poses, we take a break, and my mother tells Rachel about my father's London soul scene and how he met her at one of his concerts.
She talks about my aunt and uncle's global fame and how they've inspired me to pursue music.
The photographer calls us back to the set, and we pose for more photos.
This time, we're laughing and joking around, reminiscing about old times.
The photographer captures candid moments of us having fun together. After the shoot, we review the images on the photographer's computer.
I sit with Rachel in our Copenhagen hotel suite, opening the fresh copy of Vogue Denmark.
The cover photo shows my mother and me in matching black outfits, our mixed heritage evident in our features.
Inside, there's a six-page spread about my family's musical dynasty.
My mother was once Denmark's pop and R&B queen, while my father reigned over the London soul scene.
My aunt and uncle are global superstars, and now I'm carrying on their legacy in modern pop and R&B.
The article lists my achievements: five hit singles, multiple Brit Awards, and various platinum records.
I sit in the living room of our Copenhagen hotel suite, holding my phone nervously as Rachel showers.
The Vogue magazine lies open on the coffee table, the cover photo of my mother and me staring back at me.
After three rings, my father's deep voice answers.
"Hello?"
"Dad," I say, my voice trembling slightly.
"I'm in Copenhagen with mom and Rachel. We did a photoshoot for Vogue Denmark."
There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
My heart sinks, thinking he's upset about the magazine feature.
But then he speaks, his voice filled with pride.
"I saw it online. The cover photo is beautiful. You look just like your mother."
I smile, relief washing over me.
"Yeah, we make a good team."
He chuckles.
"So, what's this article about?"
"It's about our family's musical legacy. They're celebrating how we've all followed in each other's footsteps."
"That's wonderful," he says, his voice filled with emotion.
"I'm so proud of you all."
I glance at the magazine spread, reading from it.
"The article says that mom was once Denmark's pop and R&B queen, while you reigned over the London soul scene. And now I'm carrying on your legacy in modern pop and R&B."
"That sounds about right," he says, his voice filled with nostalgia.
"And what about your aunt and uncle? Are they mentioned?"
"Yes," I say, reading from the article again.
"It says that they're global superstars and have inspired me to pursue music." "That's true," he says, his voice filled with pride.
"They've always been an inspiration to me too."
I hear the sound of Rachel emerging from the bathroom in the background.
She walks into the living room, her hair wrapped in a towel and her face fresh from a shower.
She smiles at me as she sits down on the couch next to me.
"Hey," she mouths silently.
"Hey," I mouth back to her.
"So, what are you doing now?" my father asks over the phone.
"We're just relaxing in our hotel suite," I say.
"Rachel just got out of the shower."
"Ah," he says, his voice filled with understanding.
"Tell her I said hi."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Will do. So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
I ask him.
"I'm heading to the studio," he says.
"I have a meeting with my producer about my next album."
"Cool. Well, we're just going to hang out here and maybe order some room service."
"Sounds good. Have a good time, son. And give your mother and Rachel a hug from me."
"Will do," I say, ending the call.
I turn to Rachel, who's looking at me with tired eyes.
"You look exhausted," I say to her.
"Yeah, I am," she says, snuggling up against me on the couch.
"The photoshoot was a lot of fun, but it was also tiring."
"Well, why don't we order some room service and just relax here for the rest of the night?" "That sounds perfect," she says, smiling at me.
I pick up the hotel menu and start browsing through it.
"What do you want to eat?" "Anything is fine," she says, still snuggled up against me.
I glance down at her and see that she's wearing a hotel bathrobe over her pajamas.
Her hair is wrapped in a towel on top of her head.
She looks adorable like this, and I can't help but smile at her. "Okay," I say, looking back at the menu.
"How about we get some smørrebrød?"
"Smørrebrød?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Yeah," I say.
"It's a traditional Danish dish. It's basically rye bread topped with cold cuts, cheese, and pickles."
"That sounds good," she says.
"And how about some frikadeller too?"
"Frikadeller?"
"Yes," I say.
"It's Danish meatballs."
"Okay," she says.
"And what about something to drink?"
"How about a bottle of wine?"
I ask her.
She nods in agreement.
I call room service and place our order.
While we wait for our food to arrive, Rachel picks up her phone and starts scrolling through the photos she took during the Vogue shoot.
"These turned out amazing," she says, showing me a picture of my mother and me laughing.
"Yeah, they really captured the moment," I reply, feeling a sense of warmth.
Rachel pauses, her finger hovering over one photo. "You know, your mom told me something interesting during the shoot."
"What's that?"
I ask, leaning in closer to her.
"She said that she wants to show us around Copenhagen tomorrow."
"Really?"
I ask, my heart racing with excitement.
"Yeah," she says, nodding.
"She wants to take us through Nørrebro, where she grew up."
"Nørrebro?"
I repeat, trying to remember if I've heard of the place before.
"Yeah," she says.
"It's a neighborhood in Copenhagen. Your mom said that she wants to show us the old apartment where she grew up."
"That sounds amazing," I say, feeling a surge of excitement.
"I can't wait to see where my mom grew up."
Rachel smiles at me.
"Me too," she says.
"I've always wanted to see Denmark."
There's a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of our room service.
I get up and open the door, revealing a cart with our food and wine.
I wheel it into the living room and set it down on the coffee table.
Rachel gets up and joins me, sitting down next to me on the couch.
We start eating our smørrebrød and drinking our wine, savoring the delicious flavors of traditional Danish cuisine.
As we eat, Rachel pulls out her phone and opens up a map app.
She zooms in on Copenhagen and starts tracing a route with her finger. "This is where your mom grew up," she says, pointing to a location on the map.
"And this is where we're going tomorrow."
I lean in closer to look at the map, feeling a sense of excitement building inside me.
The thought of visiting my mother's old neighborhood and seeing where she grew up is thrilling to me.
I can't wait to explore Copenhagen with Rachel and my mother as our guides.
After we finish eating, I pick up my phone and send a text message to my mother.
"Hey mom," I type.
"Rachel told me that you want to take us on a tour of Copenhagen tomorrow. Is that true?"
I wait for a response, feeling a sense of anticipation building inside me.
A few moments later, my phone buzzes with an incoming message from my mother.
"Yes," she types back.
"I want to show you both around Nørrebro. It's where I grew up."
"Cool," I type back.
"I can't wait to see it."
"Me too," she replies.
"I'll pick you up at 10 am tomorrow morning."
"Sounds good," I type back, finishing off the last of my wine.
Rachel gets up from the couch and clears our room service dishes, placing them back on the cart.
I watch her as she moves around the living room, her bathrobe flowing behind her.
After she finishes clearing the dishes, she walks over to the large windows that overlook the city.
She pulls back the curtains, revealing a stunning view of Copenhagen's twinkling lights.
I join her at the window, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close to me.
We stand there for a moment, taking in the breathtaking view of the city below us.
Then Rachel turns around and smiles at me.
"I think I'm going to get ready for bed," she says, walking over to the bedroom door.
"Okay," I say, watching her walk away.
I turn back to the window and look out at the city one last time before heading into the bedroom.
When I enter the bedroom, Rachel is standing in front of the marble sink, brushing her teeth.
I walk over to the bed and pull back the covers, revealing crisp white sheets. After Rachel finishes brushing her teeth, she walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
"Goodnight," she says, climbing into bed next to me.
"Goodnight," I reply, turning off the lamp on my nightstand.
I snuggle up against Rachel in bed, feeling her warm body pressed against mine.
Her jasmine perfume fills my senses, mixed with the lingering smell of Danish food from our room service dinner.
I close my eyes and feel myself drifting off to sleep, lulled by Rachel's steady breathing next to me.
But just before I fall asleep, I hear Rachel's voice whispering in my ear.
"Are you nervous about seeing your mom's old house tomorrow?"
I turn my head towards her and smile softly in the dark.
"Yeah," I admit quietly. "It's going to be surreal seeing where my mom grew up."
She squeezes my hand reassuringly under the covers.
"It'll be okay," she whispers back. "You'll see."
I nod slightly in agreement before leaning over to kiss her forehead gently.
"Thanks, Rachel," I say softly, feeling comforted by her presence.
She snuggles closer to me, her voice a gentle murmur in the darkness.
"And who knows, maybe we'll discover something unexpected about your family history."
The morning light streams through the large windows of our hotel suite, casting a warm glow over the room.
I wake up to find Rachel still fast asleep next to me, her soft breathing a gentle accompaniment to the morning silence.
The sunlight catches her engagement ring, making it sparkle against the white sheets.
My phone buzzes softly on the nightstand, signaling an incoming text message.
I carefully reach for it, trying not to disturb Rachel's slumber.
The message is from my mother, confirming that she will meet us at 10 AM as planned.
I smile at her enthusiasm, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness about visiting her childhood home.
Rachel stirs beside me, stretching lazily and yawning softly.
"Good morning," she whispers, her voice still husky with sleep.
"Good morning," I reply, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips.
She smiles up at me, her eyes still half-closed with sleepiness.
"I think I'll take a shower," she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I watch her walk into the bathroom, admiring the way her bathrobe clings to her curves as she moves.
The sound of running water fills the room as she turns on the shower.
I get out of bed and walk over to the large windows that overlook the city.
The morning sunlight casts a golden glow over the rooftops and buildings below.
I stand there for a moment, taking in the breathtaking view of Copenhagen awakening from its slumber.
The sound of seagulls fills the air as they soar overhead, their cries echoing off the buildings.
I feel a sense of peace wash over me as I gaze out at the city below.
After a few moments, I turn away from the window and walk over to the phone on the nightstand.
I dial room service and order breakfast for us - fresh Danish pastries and coffee.
As I wait for our breakfast to arrive, I walk back over to the window and stand there in my robe, taking in the sights and sounds of the city below. The sound of running water stops in the bathroom, signaling that Rachel has finished her shower.
A few moments later, she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a cloud of jasmine-scented steam.
Her hair is damp from the shower, and her skin glows with a soft pink flush from the warmth of the water.
She smiles at me as she walks into the living room area of our suite.
"I'll get dressed after I have my coffee," she says, sitting down on the gray velvet couch.
I walk over to the kitchenette and carefully pour steaming coffee into two white porcelain cups.
The rich aroma fills the air as I carry them over to Rachel.
She takes a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation of the warm liquid.
Her damp hair leaves dark spots on the fabric of the couch as she leans back against it.
There's a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of our room service breakfast.
I get up and open the door, revealing a cart with our pastries and coffee on silver trays.
I wheel it into the living room and set it down on the glass table in front of Rachel.
She smiles up at me as I sit down next to her on the couch.
"Thanks," she says, reaching for a pastry.
I watch her take a bite of the flaky pastry, savoring the sweet taste of Danish chocolate.
As we eat our breakfast, I can't help but feel a sense of nervousness about meeting my mother at her childhood home.
I've heard so many stories about her growing up in Copenhagen, and now I'll finally get to see it for myself. After we finish eating, I get up and walk over to the bedroom to get dressed.
Rachel follows behind me, carrying her cup of coffee with her.
As I pull on my clothes, she sits down on the bed and watches me with a smile on her face.
"You're going to be okay," she says, noticing my nervousness.
"I know," I reply, smiling back at her.
"I just can't wait to see where my mom grew up."
She nods in understanding as I finish getting dressed.
I walk over to her and take her cup of coffee from her hand.
"Let me put this in the kitchen," I say, carrying it back into the living room.
I check my reflection one last time in the mirror above the kitchen sink.
Rachel comes up behind me, applying her lipstick in the mirror.
I take her hand and we walk out of our suite together, closing the door behind us.
We step into the glass elevator that runs along the outside of the building, giving us a clear view of the city below.
As we descend, I watch as people move about on the streets below, going about their morning routines.
The cool air hits our faces as we step out of the elevator and onto the sidewalk outside.
We walk down Strøget, the main shopping street in Copenhagen.
Rachel points excitedly at all of the Danish design stores that line the street.
I translate signs for her as we walk, explaining what each store sells.
We stop at a small café and order a kanelsnegle - a traditional Danish cinnamon pastry.
I impress Rachel by ordering in Danish. We sit down at a small table outside and share our pastry between us.
The sweet smell of cinnamon fills my senses as I take a bite of the soft dough.
Rachel wipes a crumb from her lip and looks at me thoughtfully.
"Do you think your mom will tell us why she left Denmark so suddenly?" she asks, her voice curious but gentle.
I pause, considering the weight of her question.
I sit back in my chair, taking another bite of the pastry as I think about it.
The morning sun shines down on us, warming my face as I chew.
I remember hearing hushed conversations between my parents when I was younger, snippets of words that I couldn't quite make out.
And then there were the old tabloid headlines that my mother had saved in a scrapbook, yellowed with age and filled with speculation about her sudden departure from Denmark.
Rachel reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, getting cinnamon sugar on her fingers.
I smile at her, feeling grateful for her presence beside me.
A group of Danish teenagers walks by our table, doing double-takes as they recognize me from the news.
I check my phone - still thirty minutes before we're supposed to meet my mother.
We sit with our kanelsnegle, watching as locals pass by on the street.
Some of them glance over at us, but no one approaches.
The smell of freshly baked pastries wafts from the café behind us, mingling with the sound of chatter and clinking cups.
I take another bite of the sweet dough, feeling the cinnamon sugar melt in my mouth.
Suddenly, a familiar figure appears around the corner.
My mother's bright smile catches my eye as she waves at me from across the street.
I stand up from my chair and walk over to her, pulling her into a warm hug.
"Hi mom," I say, feeling her arms wrap tightly around me.
"Hi son," she replies, holding me close for a moment before letting go.
She turns to Rachel and gives her a hug too.
"Hi Rachel," she says, smiling at her warmly.
Rachel smiles back at her, looking a little awestruck at meeting my mother in person.
"Hi," she says, returning my mother's hug. My mother pulls back from Rachel and looks at us both with a smile on her face.
"Shall we go?" she asks, gesturing towards the street behind her.
I nod in agreement and turn to Rachel, offering her my arm.
She takes it with a smile and we follow my mother down the street.
As we walk, my mother points out different landmarks and tells us stories about when she was growing up in Copenhagen.
We pass by a small park where she used to play as a child, and then by a bakery where she used to buy pastries every morning on her way to school.
Rachel listens intently as my mother talks about her childhood, asking questions whenever something interests her.
I watch them interact with each other, feeling grateful that they get along so well. As we continue walking through the city, people start to recognize us more and more.
Some of them stop to stare or take pictures with their phones, while others come up to ask for autographs or selfies.
My mother smiles graciously at everyone who approaches us, signing autographs and posing for photos with fans.
Rachel watches in amazement as people come up to us on the street, marveling at how famous my mother is in Denmark.
We stop at a small café and sit down at a table outside, ordering more kanelsnegle and coffee.
My mother looks at me with a smile on her face.
"Where should I start?" she asks, referring to the story of how she met my father.
I shrug my shoulders and take a bite of the pastry, waiting for her to begin.
She takes a sip of her coffee and then starts talking, telling us about how she met my father for the first time in 1998.
"He was performing at the O2 Arena in London," she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she remembers that night.
"I was there with some friends from my record label, and we were all sitting in the front row."
She pauses for a moment, taking another sip of her coffee before continuing.
"After the show, we went backstage to meet him," she says, smiling at the memory.
"He was so charming and handsome, even back then."
I translate what my mother is saying into English for Rachel, who listens intently as I speak. "He came over to us and introduced himself," my mother continues, her voice filled with emotion as she remembers that moment.
"We talked for a while, and then he asked me if I wanted to go out with him sometime."
She smiles at me and then turns back to Rachel.
"I said yes," she says, laughing softly at the memory.
"And that's how it all started."
Rachel smiles back at her, looking fascinated by the story of how my parents met.
"So you started dating right after that?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.
My mother nods in agreement.
"Yes," she says.
"We went out on our first date a few days later, and then we just kept seeing each other from there."
She pauses for a moment, lost in thought as she remembers those early days with my father.
"It was love at first sight," she says finally, looking over at me with a smile on her face. As we sit there talking about my parents' relationship, people start to gather around our table.
Some of them recognize my mother from her music videos or concerts, while others know me from the news stories about my engagement to Rachel.
They come up to us asking for autographs or selfies, which we happily oblige.
My mother smiles graciously at everyone who approaches us, signing autographs and posing for photos with fans.
I lean forward in my chair, eager to hear the rest of the story.
My mother smiles at me, her eyes shining with memories of that time.
"Your father and I started dating seriously after that first concert," she says.
"We would see each other whenever he was in London, and eventually, we decided to get married."
She pauses for a moment, taking a sip of her coffee before continuing.
"We got married in a small ceremony in Paris, just the two of us and our closest friends and family."
She looks at me, her voice filled with emotion as she talks about my birth.
"And then, on March 15, 2001, you were born," she says, reaching out to touch my hand gently.
"You were born backstage at one of my concerts in Paris. Your father was in London at the time, but he rushed over to Paris on the Eurostar as soon as he heard that you had been born."
She smiles at me, her eyes shining with happiness as she remembers that moment.
"He was so happy when he saw you for the first time," she says.
"He held you in his arms and looked at you with so much love and adoration."
I smile back at her, feeling grateful for the love that my parents have always shared.
"And then what happened?" she asks, her voice filled with curiosity as she waits for my mother to continue the story.
My mother takes another sip of her coffee before answering.
"After you were born, your father and I decided to move back to London together," she says.
"We wanted to raise you there, surrounded by our friends and family." She pauses for a moment, thinking back on those early days with my father.
"It was a happy time," she says finally, smiling softly as she remembers it.
"We were all so happy together."
She looks over at Rachel, who is listening intently to every word.
"And then Ahmad and Ayan came into our lives," she says, referring to my uncle and aunt.
"They were both working in the music industry at the time, and they became like family to us."
She smiles at me, her eyes shining with affection as she talks about them.
"They helped raise you like their own son," she says.
"They were always there for you whenever you needed them."
She smiles at me, her eyes shining with love as she remembers those early days with my father and me.
"And then, when you were old enough, you started following in our footsteps," she says, referring to my own music career.
"You were so talented, even back then."
She pauses for a moment, thinking back on those early days.
"You would watch us rehearse and perform, and then you would go up on stage and sing your heart out."
She looks over at Rachel, who is listening intently to every word.
"He has five hit albums," she says proudly.
"Each one of them has reached number one on the charts."
She pauses for a moment, thinking back on all of his success.
"He has fifty chart-topping songs across R&B, pop, and house genres," she says proudly.
"He has won numerous Brit Awards and four Grammys."
She smiles at me, her eyes shining with love and pride.
"He has double platinum, platinum, and diamond records," she says proudly.
"We should get going," my mother says, smiling at me as we continue walking through the city.
We turn down a side street and walk past a small ice cream shop.
My mother points at it and smiles.
"That's where I had my first date," she says, her eyes shining with memories of that time.
"I remember sitting there with him, eating ice cream and talking about our dreams."
We keep walking until we come to a large park.
My mother points at it and smiles again.
"That's where I used to practice singing," she says, her voice filled with nostalgia.
"I would come here every day after school and sing my heart out."
We continue walking until we reach a rougher neighborhood.
Teenagers in black hoodies look up from their phones as we walk by, recognizing us from the news.
"Are you guys famous?" one of them asks, approaching us hesitantly.
"Yes," my mother replies, smiling kindly at them.
The teenagers look at each other excitedly before asking for photos and autographs.
My mother agrees happily, posing for pictures with them and signing their phones. After a few minutes of taking photos and signing autographs, we continue on our way.
We turn down another street and stop in front of an old apartment building.
My mother looks up at it wistfully before unlocking the front door.
"This was my childhood home," she says softly, leading us inside.
We walk up the stairs to the third floor and stop in front of a door with peeling paint.
My mother unlocks it and pushes it open, revealing a cramped living room with faded furniture.
"This is where I grew up," she says quietly, looking around at the familiar surroundings.
We walk through the living room into a small kitchen with outdated appliances.
My mother points at a pink bedroom off to the side.
"That was my room," she says softly, her eyes shining with memories of that time. "That's where I wrote most of my songs," she says, gesturing towards a desk in the corner of the room.
She opens the closet door, revealing rows of old CDs and vinyl records stacked haphazardly inside.
"These are all of my favorite albums growing up," she says, running her fingers over the spines of the records lovingly.
We leave the bedroom and walk back into the living room area of the apartment.
My mother points at a small bathroom off to the side, gesturing for us to follow her inside.
My mother stands there, touching the old records and looking around at the familiar surroundings.
Her voice grows soft as she speaks.
"This was my childhood bedroom," she says, her eyes shining with memories of that time.
She points to the pink walls, which are adorned with faded photos of her parents.
"Those are my Danish grandparents, Ole and Marie," she says, her voice filled with love as she looks at their pictures.
"They were so supportive of my music dreams," she continues, her voice growing softer as she remembers them.
"They bought me my first guitar and drove me to singing lessons every week."
She pauses for a moment, lost in thought as she remembers them.
"They came to every single one of my local shows," she says, her voice filled with emotion.
"No matter how small or insignificant it may have seemed, they were always there cheering me on."
She wipes away a tear that has fallen down her cheek as she continues speaking.
"They may not be here anymore," she says softly, her voice filled with sadness.
"But I know they would be so proud of everything I've accomplished."
She smiles at me, her eyes shining with love and pride.
"I know they would be so proud of you too," she says, reaching out to touch my hand gently. "You have achieved so much in your life already," she says, her voice filled with admiration.
"Five hit albums, numerous awards and accolades, billions of streams on Spotify."
She pauses for a moment, thinking about all that I have accomplished.
"You have worked so hard to get where you are today," she says finally, her voice filled with pride and admiration.
"And I couldn't be more proud of you."
I smile back at her, feeling grateful for the love and support that she has always given me.
"Thank you mom," I say softly, feeling a sense of gratitude towards her for everything that she has done for me.
"I love you too son," she replies, pulling me into a warm hug.
"I'm so glad that you're here with me today."
I hug her back tightly, feeling grateful for the opportunity to spend time with her in this special place. As we stand there hugging each other tightly, I can feel the love and connection between us growing stronger than ever before.
It's a moment that I will always treasure and remember fondly for years to come. After a few moments of hugging each other tightly, we pull away from each other and look into each other's eyes once again.
"I'm glad you came to visit me in Copenhagen," she says softly, her voice filled with emotion.
"I'm glad I could come too," I reply, smiling at her warmly.
She smiles back at me and then looks around the room one last time before turning towards the door.
"Let's go," she says, gesturing for me to follow her out of the apartment.
I nod my head in agreement and follow her out of the apartment, closing the door behind us.
We walk back down the stairs and out of the building, getting into a car that is waiting for us outside.
As we drive away from my mother's childhood home, I look out the window and watch as it disappears into the distance.
I feel a sense of sadness wash over me as I realize that I may never see it again. After a few minutes of driving, we arrive at the airport where our private jet is waiting for us.
We get out of the car and walk over to the plane, where my mother's assistant is waiting for us.
He greets us both with a smile and then helps us board the plane.
Once we are all settled in our seats, he closes the door and we take off into the sky.
As we fly back to London, I sit next to Rachel and hold her hand tightly.
My mother sits across from us, reading a magazine on her tablet.
After two hours of flying, we land safely at my private airport in London.
We get off of the plane and walk over to our cars, which are waiting for us on the tarmac.
Rachel and I get into my red Porsche 911 GT3 RS while my mother gets into her black Range Rover. We drive up to our secured mansion on top of a hill overlooking London's skyline.
The house is surrounded by tall trees and has a large garden in front of it.
There is also a swimming pool and a tennis court behind the house.
We pull up to the front door and get out of our cars.
My mother gets out of her car and walks over to us with a smile on her face.
"Welcome home," she says, hugging Rachel tightly.
"Thank you," Rachel replies, hugging her back tightly.
My mother then turns to me and hugs me tightly too.
"Welcome home son," she says softly in my ear.
I hug her back tightly and then let go of her so that we can go inside of our house. We walk up to the front door and open it with our keys.
I hug her back tightly and then we all walk into the house together.
We go into the living room and sit down on the couch.
My mother goes into the kitchen and comes back with three glasses of wine.
She hands one to Rachel and one to me, and then sits down next to us.
"To my son and his fiancé," she says, raising her glass in a toast.
"To us," I say, clinking my glass against hers.
We all take a sip of our wine and then put our glasses down on the table in front of us.
My mother looks at Rachel with a smile on her face.
"I'm so glad you could come to Copenhagen with us," she says softly.
"Thank you for inviting me," Rachel replies, smiling back at her.
"I had a great time there."
"I'm glad you did," my mother says, reaching out to touch her hand gently.
"I hope you'll come back and visit us again soon."
"Definitely," Rachel says, nodding her head in agreement.
My mother smiles at her and then turns to me with a serious expression on her face.
"I want to talk to you about something important," she says softly. "What is it mom?" he asks, looking at her curiously.
"I was thinking about your engagement party," she says, her voice filled with excitement.
"We should start planning it soon."
"Yes mom," he replies, nodding his head in agreement.
"We can start making plans tomorrow."
"Great," she says, smiling at him happily.
"I'll call my event planner and set up a meeting for us."
"Sounds good," he says, standing up from the couch and stretching his arms above his head.
"I'm going to go take a shower."
"Okay son," she says, watching him walk out of the room.
She turns to Rachel with a smile on her face.
"How are you feeling?" she asks softly.
"I'm feeling good," Rachel replies, smiling back at her.
"It's been a long day though."
"Yes it has," my mother agrees, nodding her head in understanding.
"Why don't you go get some rest?" she suggests gently.
Rachel nods, grateful for the suggestion, and heads upstairs, leaving the house in a peaceful silence.
I walk upstairs to the master bathroom, my muscles aching from the long flight.
The marble floor is cool under my feet as I undress and drop my clothes in the hamper.
Turning on the rainfall showerhead, I adjust the temperature until the water is just right.
The sweetness of the Danish pastries we had earlier still lingers on my tongue as I step under the spray.
The water cascades over my tattoos, washing away the weariness of travel.
Through the frosted glass, I see Rachel's silhouette as she enters to brush her teeth at the double vanity.
I wrap myself in a plush robe after drying off, joining her in our bedroom.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, London's lights twinkle below as my mother's Range Rover disappears down our private driveway.
Rachel lounges on our king bed in silk pajamas, scrolling through photos from Copenhagen on her phone.
I pour us both whiskey from the crystal decanter in the bedroom and settle beside her on the Egyptian cotton sheets.
The house is quiet now, with only the distant hum of the pool's filtration system breaking the silence.
"10 am," Rachel says, looking at her phone with a smile.
"Can you believe we slept that long?"
The rain pounds against the windows, a soothing background noise.
"We must have needed it after all that traveling," I say, taking a sip of my drink.
"And now we're engaged."
I hold up my hand to admire the diamond ring glinting in the dim light.
Rachel snuggles closer to me, her eyes shining with happiness.
"It's so surreal," she says softly.
"I keep thinking I'll wake up and it'll all be a dream."
I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
"It's not a dream," I say, kissing the top of her head.
"It's real. We're getting married."
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes.
"I'm so happy," she says, her voice filled with emotion.
"I can't wait to start our life together."
"Me neither," I say, holding her tight.
"We should start planning the wedding soon."
Rachel nods, smiling at me.
"Let's do it," she says excitedly.
"I'll call my mom and tell her the news. She'll be so happy for us."
We finish our drinks and get ready for bed, the sound of rain outside creating a cozy atmosphere in our room.
As we drift off to sleep, I feel grateful for this moment, for the love that we share and the future that we're building together. The next morning, we wake up early to the sound of raindrops pattering against our windows.
The sky is still gray outside, but the sound of rain is calming and peaceful.
We get out of bed and stretch our arms above our heads before heading into the kitchen to make some coffee.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as we sit down at our kitchen table to enjoy a quiet breakfast together.
Our engagement rings touch as we clasp each other's hands across the table, their diamonds sparkling in the soft morning light.
"I'm so excited about our wedding plans," Rachel says as she takes a sip of her coffee.
"I know," I reply, grinning at her enthusiasm.
"We should start making some decisions soon."
We flip through some wedding magazines that Rachel had picked up from a store yesterday, admiring the beautiful gowns and decorations featured within them.
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my three-piece suit and chain.
My father stands next to me, helping me with my tie.
The mansion buzzes with activity - staff directing celebrities to their seats, paparazzi gathering outside, and reporters setting up cameras.
Through the window, I see Rachel's parents greeting mine in the garden where white chairs and flowers create an elegant setting.
My teenage cousins run past in their formal wear while Uncle Ahmad coordinates with the DJ.
Aunt Ayan helps organize the celebrity guests, including famous rappers and actors.
I stand in the study, making final adjustments to my black Tom Ford suit while my father straightens my silk tie.
The wedding planner knocks on the door, announcing it's time.
We walk through the marble hallway, hearing the string quartet play and guests murmur in the garden.
My heart races as we approach the French doors leading outside.
Through the glass, I see hundreds of white chairs filled with family, friends, and celebrity guests beneath a flower-covered arch.
Aunt Ayan gives me a reassuring smile while Uncle Ahmad signals the quartet.
"Are you ready for this, son?" my father asks, his voice steady and reassuring.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves.
"Remember," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder, "this day is about love and family—everything else is just noise."
I grip the brass handles of the French doors, my father's cologne lingering as he steps back.
Through the glass, I see hundreds of faces turn toward me - family, celebrities, and media crews with cameras raised.
The string quartet begins playing softly as I push both doors open.
Cool air rushes in, carrying the scent of roses from the garden.
My shoes click against marble as I step onto the stone path.
The crowd rises in unison, their whispers fading to silence.
Rachel appears at the end of the aisle, radiant and breathtaking, and in that moment, everything else fades away.
I take measured steps down the stone path between rows of white chairs, my father's steady presence beside me.
Aunt Ayan dabs tears while Uncle Ahmad beams from the front row.
Justin Bieber and David Beckham nod respectfully as I pass.
My mother's perfume wafts over as I spot her in the front, wearing her signature blue dress.
The string quartet's melody floats through the garden while my designer shoes crunch softly on scattered rose petals.
I walk down the aisle to where Rachel stands, looking like a dream in her designer dress that I purchased with my music earnings.
My parents sit in the front row, beaming with pride, knowing that they have paid for every aspect of this wedding, eager to see me happy and united with Rachel.
The priest and imam stand before us, ready to begin the ceremony.
They announce our names - Mohamed Abdikani Abdi and Rachel Sophia Evans, both aged 25 and 28.
We exchange vows, promising to love and cherish each other through life's ups and downs.
Tears glisten in our eyes as we speak from the heart.
The officiants ask if anyone objects to our union; there is silence.
We exchange rings as a symbol of our eternal commitment.
Finally, the officiants declare us husband and wife, and we seal our love with a kiss.
As we turn to face the crowd, Rachel whispers, "Did you see my parents' faces when they heard your full name?"
I chuckle softly and reply, "Yeah, I think they were surprised to hear the Somali part."
Rachel squeezes my hand and says, "Well, now they're part of our family too—no more surprises."
After exchanging our vows and rings, Rachel and I hold hands as we're introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Abdi for the first time.
The garden erupts in applause as we walk back down the aisle together.
I lead Rachel onto the dance floor as our guests cheer and the DJ starts playing my hit song "Notice Me."
We share a passionate kiss, now officially Mohamed and Rachel Abdi.
The wedding cake, adorned with our initials, is wheeled out on a gold cart.
Rachel and I cut the cake together, feeding each other pieces as cameras flash.
Famous singers and rappers from the US and UK join us on the dance floor, mingling with reporters, models, actors, and influencers.
My parents, Uncle Ahmad, Aunt Ayan, and teenage cousins dance alongside Rachel's parents.
I hold Rachel's hand as she leads me away from the crowded dance floor.
We walk to a quiet corner of the garden, where string lights twinkle above us.
The sound of music and laughter drifts over from our reception.
Rachel's wedding dress rustles against the grass as she turns to face me.
Her eyes glisten with tears as she squeezes my hands.
We slow dance to "Notice Me" while our guests watch.
When the song ends, we cut into our strawberry and vanilla cake.
I savor the sweetness on my tongue.
The night grows late, and we slip away from the party.
My parents surprise us with a new car adorned with "Just Married" signs and wedding bells.
Rachel and I drive home to my secured mansion on a London hill.
We pass through the gates and into the garage filled with luxury cars.
I drive our wedding gift car through the quiet streets of London.
Rachel sits beside me in her wedding dress, her hair styled perfectly.
We pass through the security gates and into the garage.
I park among my collection of luxury vehicles.
We walk hand in hand through the house, passing by my platinum records and Grammy awards glowing in the dim light.
In the living room, Rachel admires my Brit Awards on display.
I pour champagne at the bar as she gazes out at the pool lights shimmering through floor-to-ceiling windows.
We toast to our first moments as husband and wife in our home.
Rachel takes a sip of champagne and says, "I still can't believe we're actually married."
I smile and reply, "Neither can I, but it feels like the start of something incredible."
I stand with Rachel at my mansion's bar, the wedding clothes still on and the pool lights shimmering outside.
When she kisses me, her lips taste like champagne and wedding cake.
My hands tremble slightly as I set down my glass and pull her closer.
The house is quiet except for distant splashing from the pool and our quickening breaths.
Rachel's wedding dress rustles as she presses against me, her fingers trailing down my chest to loosen my tie.
