Hey, guys!

I know you're all waiting for TACC's next chapter - which will be up soon, I PROMISE -, but here's a new story!

The plot came to my mind last night and I just had to write it. I'm actually very, very excited about this. This first chapter is a bit lull, but I promise things will start to get more interesting on the next one (which will only be upload once I finish TACC).
It's a little unusual given the type of stories we usually find here on , but I really, really hope y'all like it. As I said, this first chapter might come off a little too slow and way too long, but I wanted to fit all of the boring background in it so I could start to heat things up on the next one.

It's not gonna be as long as TACC, though. I'm thinking it will have around 10 chapters, possibly a little more. But it's a relatively short story. I know what I want from it and kind of already have drafts of each chapter, so yeah. Can't to continue this.

And don't worry - TACC's next chapter will be up soon!

Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

"Demetria, this is our last word." Demi looked back up at her father, who was pacing around in the large office, finely decorated in dark, sober tones. The mixed smells of cigar, musk and her mother's gut-turningly sweet Versacce fragrance starting to make her feel sick. She wiped her eyes blurred by the tears and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling exhausted after the day she had had, and after being locked inside that office with her parents for the past 30 minutes. "We will sell your Chelsea apartment, so you will move back in with us, and you will no longer have an allowance. Your credit cards will be cancelled and you will receive only one with a limit of £3000 a month and I will give you £150 in cash every week, and that's all the money you will have until you find a job. Your car will be taken away as well. You will start taking the underground."

Demi widened her eyes at that and stood from the chair she had been sitting on for what seemed like hours.

"No, dad! You can't do that! I don't know how to use the underground! I'm gonna get lost and robbed, most likely. Criminal rates have been rising at abnormal speeds in this city everyday, you can't possibly expect me to accept that!"

"That's exactly what I expect you to do, because otherwise you'll have to walk. Or take the buses. But you'll lean on public transportation from now on, until we see a significant change in your behavior and until you get a job."

Demi closed her eyes for a second before sitting back down and looking up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, mentally begging for a divine manifestation in the room, a miracle that would change her parents' minds.

"Daddy. Please."

"Stop it. You have just been fined in £80.000 for drug possession. Do you really think you're in position to plead for anything right now? Be thankful I'm not disinheriting you or letting them arrest you." Eddie glared at his daughter, still trying to maintain the last bit of self control.

"Demi, this is final." Demi shrugged at hearing her mother's low voice.

That was it. There was no turning back. No matter how many times she alleged the drugs weren't hers - well... At least, not all of them - and how they seemed to not have payed attention when the CoLP officer said she wans't under influence at the moment of the flagrant when she was driving to her apartment in Chelsea from a party in Notting Hill.

Demi knew she was screwed the moment the officer saw the bottle of pills sticking out of her purse on the passanger seat of her chestnut Bentley Continental GTC - a hint of her father's British-only policy when it came to so many things, especially cars. As it had previously happened when she was busted with cannabis twice before, she tried bribing the 30-something-year-old officer, who was in a very cranky mood, which Demi automatically associated with the worn out gold ring in his left ring finger. The bribe had started at £500, which was the exact amount inside her Hermès wallet, but the officer's surprising denial made her raise it to £1.200 "if you follow me to a nearby ATM", she'd said. The answer was negative once again, but this time it had an additional threat of a bribing report along with her ecstasy possession if she insisted. He then took her into the police department, where they were kind enough not to lock her in a cell or handcuff her. For the next almost five hours, Demi Torres sat in the most uncomfortable chair while talking to the police chief and having her criminal file looked into. As expected, there were no previous charges, which was immensely beneficial, since otherwise it would result in a formal arrest, the chief had said. Demi was allowed to call her family a little after eight in the morning, when she knew her parents would be having breakfast at their seven storey terrace house in South Kensington, just minutes away from where she was.

Days later, the judge had sentenced her to pay a fine worth £80.000. To Edward Torres, Demi's father and the owner of a private luxury jets rentals and selling company, it was nearly nothing. But Demi had received countless previous warnings from Eddie when busted at previous - yet minor - screw ups, such as generously presenting a friend with a £3 million worth yacht, or flying a jet to Spain to attend a music festival, or the latest before the ecstasy bust: booking 32 rooms of the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo, including the Churchill suite for herself, during the summer to celebrate her 22nd birthday. Even for her loaded parents' taste, those were way-out-of-the-line actions that had been awfully recurrent since she had moved back to London after completing her major in Art History at the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland.

"I don't know what has been happening to you, Demi", Eddie continued, still trying hold himself together "but I'm putting it a stop. No more privileges. You have been doing the utmost with the trust I had in you."

"Had?" Demi internally cringed at her oddly weak voice. The weight of the events finally taking a hold of her.

"You slowly brought it down to nothing during this past year since you moved back." He sighed, reaching for a Cuban cigar inside the glazed wooden box sitting on his desk. "I don't know what you are trying to proof, or even what you are trying to do, but that's all you earned. Or lost, better yet. You no longer have my trust, which is why you will have a very limited amount of money per month at your disposal, and will have to find a job. You have a degree from one of the most dignified universities in Europe, and you better put it into use if you don't wanna live off of that amount for the rest of your life."

Demi took a deep breath and looked down at the perfectly manicured nails harmlessly resting on her lap. "I'm not trying to proof anything." Her voice remained weak and tired, but she didn't cringe this time.

"Well, you will be from now on." Eddie let out a puff of smoke just as his daughter's questioning gazed met his. "You will have to proof to me and to your mother that you are worthy of our trust. You will have to work for it now. Literally."

Demi let her shoulders fall, knowing she had finally been defeated. There was nothing she could do anymore. Or for the time being, at least.

Twenty one year old Selena Russo was in no way relatable to Demi Torres. Born in Florence, Italy, to a family of musicians, dancers, writers, actors and painters, the latter had always been her ultimate passion. Selena had been passionate about painting since she could remember. The colors, textures, smells, visions and possibilities that involved the process of painting a picture always being her favorite sensation. She was never excellent at mingling and communicating, although she did well when relating with people. She was far from being a good singer or writer, and the performing and dramatic arts had never caught her eye. But freeing the infinite universe of creativity inside her mind with the tip of a paint brush - or of her own fingers sometimes - just to trap them again into a motionless coloured canvas was what she lived for. And what she wished to live off of. But when her fifteen year old self first stepped out of her shell to communicate the rest of the family her crave was to study in an art university outside of the country, the reactions were as expected. With a reason, though. Who would want to learn art in a foreign country when yours had been the cradle to some of the biggest artists in world History? She was born in the same crib of an entire art era, the Renaissance. The Sistine Chapel had come from the hands of a resident of her birthplace! Botticelli, da Vinci, Bondone, Raphael. And those were only the painters! She was born and raised in the same city that had given the world some of the most brilliant artists to have ever walked the earth, and she was giving that up?

Selena always knew it was gonna be difficult to make her conservative family understand her will. And she was geared up to take anything they'd send her way. But she would have never thought, not even in a worst case scenario, her great grandmother would pass just weeks before she was supposed to fly to Leeds, in England, to start her first semester in the undergraduate programme of fine arts, to which she had received a generous tuition-fee discount, along with a financial help. La nonna, Selena's great grandmother's affectuous nickname, was the matriarch of the family and the only one outside of Selena's generation of the Russos to support her choice to study abroad. She never asked the reason behind such polemic decision, or if Selena was sure of it. La nonna just stood by her, "because you are set to big things in life" she had told Selena a few nights before her death when she sat beside her great granddaughter out on the porch. "You are going to leave marks in this world as big as Michelangelo's, Lena. And the only one who can stop you from doing that, is you."

And when Selena buckled her seatbelt on seat C5 in an Alitalia flight from Peretola airport to Leeds Bradford international, she had to reassure herself that was what la nonna would have expected her to do. She had to remind herself of that every minute after her nonna's death, and during every look of desbelief shot at her like a dagger by the rest of her family when she said she would still be leaving.

And after the three years she had spent in Leeds, she mentally thanked her nonna and let out a relieved sigh thanking herself for being strong enough to go against all of her relatives and stick to her plan. At the beginning of her fourth year living in the UK, Selena moved in with a friend to a medium-sized two bedroom apartment in Camden Town, but after Layla moved back to Whales on the third month after receiving a job offer, she had no success at finding a new roommate and was no longer able to pay the rent by herself, ending up at a small and very humid warehouse-turned-into-studio that Orson, a friend from Leeds, had convinced a friend to rent her for a very reasonable price, as long as she took care of his dog, Mel, that wasn't allowed in the building he was moving in to in Shepherd's Bush. Living there for almost a year now, Selena had a part time job as a bartender at a pub majorly attended by local people from Camden, in opposite to most pubs filled with tourists. The owner, Keith, a 43 year old single dad, was a big fan of Selena's paintings and her most loyal client. He had agreed to give her less hours of work compared to the other bartenders with the condition that she would work her ass off to sell more paintings and "work her way to the top". Which is what she did. During the hours she wasn't throwing cocktails in the air at the pub, Selena would share her time between painting and selling her work at a stand she had with a Greek sculptor, Greta, in one of Camden's street market.

Selena loved her life. It had definitely excelled her expectations of when she was younger and tried to create a prospective scenario of what it would be like when she was in her early twenties. She was doing what she loved doing, surrounded by amazing people, in a place where everyone had the chance to be whoever they chose to be.

And that realization came when she stepped into the Nolan Edmund Art Gallery in Hoxton, just minutes ago. Keith, her boss, had invited her to attend the vernissage of one of his close friends, Flor Campana, a well known Portuguese artist who was touring Europe with some of her early works, from the time she was around Selena's age. "You gotta do some networking, kiddo." He had said two nights before when handing her the invitation. "People gotta know your name, see your face. So if they ever say 'no' to you, they'll regret it when you're shit is hanging at the Tate." Selena laughed, but the thought of how much that resembled her late nonna's words never left her mind.

"Lena!" His raspy voice, from being an avid smoker for the past 25 years, echoed behind her. Selena turned around with a smile. "I was telling Flor all about you just now, but she had to go mingle or something." He chuckled before rolling his dark green eyes. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Selena nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

"I'll be right back. I've seen a couple of your friends around, maybe you can find them before it starts to get crowded with filthy rich people licking Flor's sweet ass." Selena let out a small laugh and nodded again before receiving a smirk from Keith, who turned around and quickly disappeared amongst the people.

The young artist took a deep breath and scanned the spacious room soothed by the pleasant melody of Israeli singer Yael Naim echoing from the sound boxes. Even though that was one of London's A-list art galleries, the crowd was very mixed, with some of what Keith would call filthy rich twats, journalists, a few local celebrities, some other known artists, and some aspiring artists like herself. But that was expected. From what the pub owner had said about Flor Campana, she was a big enthusiast of up and coming artists, making herself available as a tool for them to grow in the business by associating her name in "sponsored" vernissages and even bigger exhibitions. He had also mentioned that Flor was anxious to meet Selena, but the girl had preferred not focusing on that. She knew how Keith could exaggerate on his stories, so she tried not getting her hopes too high.

The sound of an obnoxious laugh interrupted Selena's thoughts, making her look around the room one more time in search of its source, which was quickly found when the sound was repeated, only in a lower volume. Selena watched as a brunette, clearly belonging to the category of her boss' filthy rich twats, slowly let her laugh die down and listened to the man in front of her. The girl was insanely attractive, and her lips had the most beautiful shape Selena had ever seen in her life. Her dress was a a centimeter or two too short for the occasion, but who cared really? Daniel Lismore was in the room, for God's sake. Selena kept pacing her eyes through the girl's silhouette, wondering what was so funny to have made her laugh like that.

"Good taste, I see." Selena's eyes were a few more seconds fixated on the brunette's discrete cleavage before she turned her head to the side to find her red head friend standing next to her holding two glasses of champagne and looking at the same girl Selena had been looking before.

"Hi, Jen." She greeted with a smiled when the slightly shorter red head offered her a glass. Jennifer's gaze moved to Selena, along with a smile.

"Hey, Sel. Keith got caught up talking to a hot blonde and asked me to bring you that." She pointed at the glass Selena was now holding before taking a sip from her own. "So..." She gulped the bubbly drink and nodded in the brunette's direction, though her eyes were still on Selena. "Do you like her?"

Selena rolled her eyes. "Psh. I don't even know her."

It was Jennifer's turn to roll her own eyes. "You should. That's Demi Torres. Her father is the owner of Europe's biggest private jets company and owner of the most enviable private art collection in the world, in my opinion." Selena raised her eyebrows in surprise looking at her friend over the brim of her glass. "Yeah. He's spent lots of money on originals and faithful copies painted by hot contemporary artists. Mostly originals, though. He's the man who possesses the biggest number of rare original paintings that anyone has known of."

"But he's a business man?"

"Yes. He's a big connaisseur of art, though, and is passionate about it to the point of spending millions in auctions all over the world. His daughter, standing right there, went to St. Andrews and is friends with Kate Middleton's sister, Pippa, and rumor has it prince Harry was at her birthday last July in Monaco. But that was on The Sun, so no one really knows for sure."

Selena took one last glance at the brunette, whose outfit and jewelry had most certainly cost a lot more money than Selena herself had spent since she moved to the UK four years ago. Then she looked back at her friend and shrugged, a small smile in her lips.

"Good for her. So, did you take a look around?"

"Not yet. I was coming out of the loo when I ran into Keith and he asked me to come find you. Shall we?" Jennifer offered her left arm, which Selena was quick to accept, hooking her own right arm to it.

"This is rubbish." Demi said under her breath.

"Don't you like it?" Alyson asked a little shocked. She thought everything looked amazing! And to think Flor was in between the ages of 14 and 25 when she painted and draw all of those made them even more incredible.

"Oh, please. Her pastel tones sicken me. And her shaky traces are pathetic. It's so obvious this was all done by a bored out of her arse toddler." Demi scoffed pointing at the unfinished and uncolored draft in front of them of what seemed like a woman riding a horse's bare back at a beach. "Flor has absolutely no technique, she's no better than an uneducated amateur who is advised by their psychiatrist to paint in order to control anxiety. It's pathetic."

"Actually, it's not. Her purposedly apparent lack of technique is what makes her art so unique. Don't you see it?"

"Alyson, Flor Campana's lack of technique is not on purpose. Her work literally looks like ancient rock painting."

Alyson smirked and shook her head at her friend's stubbornness, knowing it would be pointless to keep that discussion going.

"I'm sure you're only still gutted because Margarida Campana turned you down. You've always enjoyed Flor's work."

Demi rolled her eyes at the mention of the name of the famous painter's daughter.

"I am not. It was her loss, obviously. That little slag thought I was gonna fall for her stupid game. She was crawling at my feet all weekend long when she invited us to her villa and when I finally asked her out she said no, thinking I was going to beg her."

"Of course, honey." Alyson chuckled and shook her head before turning around looking for a waiter in hopes to grab herself a new glass of champagne. When she did, though, her eyes were quickly drawn to a shiny red hair, adorned by a slim arc with a horrendous black bow in it. "Jennifer Stone is here." She whispered to Demi, who quickly turned her head in the same direction her friend was looking.

"Ugh. That little nesh wimp. Why does she always dress like a wardrobe of donated clothes vomited on her?" Demi earned a laugh from her friend at that. "I long for the day when she will drop the idea of becoming a clothing designer and stops sporting around her hideous outfits."

"I heard she got an internship at Balenciaga."

"Suits her. He's just as terrible." Her eyes landed on the girl slowly walking next to Jennifer. "Who's that with her?"

Alyson narrowed her eyes and tried to recognize the naturally tanned brunette wearing red leather pants, a white The Smiths tee, and a worn out black leather jacket.

"I have absolutely no idea."

Demi studied the girl. It was obvious her clothes were secondhand, but she had to admit her sense of style was pretty keen. That is, for her style. Not Demi's mostly classic outfit options. Her skin looked smooth and the tanned tone only made it even more appealing to the touch. Her long black hair, with a few lighter highlights, seemed soft and was very shiny. She was wearing barely any make up, and still her full lips stood out from the rest of her face.

"Let's find Lucca. He probably knows."

Demi grabbed Alyson's hand and excused herself trying to make way amongst the now filled room.

"There he is." Alyson pointed to a blond boy wearing green adjusted dress up pants, a white button down shirt and an ivory sweater with dark green details. He was talking to one of the security guards.

"Lucca. Hi." Demi shot the boy her best fake smile, receiving a very sincere smirk in return.

The boy dismissed the security guard and stood in front of the girls, placing both hands inside his pockets.

"Hello, ladies. Enjoying the show so far?"

"Loving it." Demi answered in an overly excited tone that went unnoticed by the tall boy, but not by her friend, who shook her head a little and tried to hide a sarcastic smile. "I need an information, though." He nodded, immediately assuming his professional posture as the assistant PR of the Nolan Edmund Art Gallery. "You were the one who made the list and sent out the invitations, yeah?" He nodded again. "Would you happen to know who that girl is?" Demi discreetly motioned her head at the brunette, who was now making her way to the doors while talking on her phone.

The blond boy scrunched his eyebrows, scanning the back of his mind in an attempt to remember her name.

"She was a last minute addition to the list as a request from Keith Lowell, one of Flor's closest friends in London. I think her name is... Silvia. Or Sandra. I know it starts with an "S"."

"That's all you know?" Alyson asked gently.

He shrugged. "Yes. I'm sorry. The past month has been chaotic. Flor is only the first of a series of exhibits we're doing with contemporary Portuguese and Spanish artists. I've barely had time to sleep. This time I wasn't able to google every name."

The girls giggled, knowing their gay friend was an ambulant database on the lives of everyone, even theirs.

"It's all right, Lucca. So, since it was a request from low life Keith Lowell to invite her, I assume she's one of his Camden artsy pupils?"

"Could be. I really am not sure."

"Or maybe he's shagging her." Alyson added, receiving a glare from Demi and an amused look from Lucca.

"Alyson, don't be ridiculous. Keith Lowell couldn't bang that girl even if he payed for it." Demi took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. "Maybe I should gather some more information. I'm going out for a cigarette."

Lucca and Alyson watched their friend make her way through the crowd, ripping lustful glares from a few men and women.

When Demi stepped outside the gallery, she looked around trying to find the girl. She was a few steps away, leaning her back against the side of a Cadillac, still talking on the phone. Demi moved a couple of steps away from the entrance and in the direction of the girl. She reached for the blue pack of Camel inside her Chanel purse and lit it, taking a long drag and trying to listen to what the girl was saying.

"Mamma, ma che dici?" She was silent for a moment, listened to the person on the other end of the line. Was that Italian? "Non posso. Sono troppo-" the person interrupted her mid-sentence. "Non. Il mese prossimo forse, ma prima di questo non trovo possibile. Devo lavorare, mamma."

Demi mentally slapped herself, regretting not ever paying attention during the whole year she took Italian classes back in school.

"Selena?" Both her and Demi looked at the red head sticking out of the glass doors. Jennifer Stone. Demi cringed on the inside, knowing there was no way to get rid of greeting her this time. "Demi. Hi." The oddly dressed girl made her way to the brunette who had already smoked half of her cigarette.

"Hello, Jennifer. How are you?" Jennifer was trying hard not to give away her disgust when they shook hands, wondering about the nasty places Demi Torres' hands had probably been on.

"I'm superb. What about you?"

"Couldn't be better, thank you." Well, Demi knew it was a lie. Even though she had convinced her father to give her back her car, she was still short on money. But Jennifer Stone was decidedly not someone who needed to know that.

"Hey, Jen." Selena was suddenly standing next to the girls with a small smile.

Demi took a not at all discrete up close look at the girl, amazed at how she looked even better from such a short distance.

"Demi, this is Selena Russo. Selena, this is Demetria Torres."

Demi grinned and offered her right hand to Selena. "Please, call me Demi."

Selena nodded, staring right into Demi's light brown eyes that carried as much lust as Selena's own eyes. "Nice to meet you, Demi." She said after taking the other girl's soft hand in hers and briefly shaking it. When they let go, Demi's index finger delicately and suggestively running through Selena's palm and then though her ring finger's extension didn't go unnoticed.

"Flor will speak in five minutes, Lena."

Selena nodded at her friend, but through the corner of her eyes she saw Demi moving, which made her look at the brunette who had just fished a new cigarette from the blue pack. "I'll be right in." She told her friend who glared at her questionably, but Selena just smiled.

"Good to see you, Demi."

"Good to see you too." She watched Jennifer walk back inside through the thick smoke slowly coming out of her mouth before looking at the skinny girl standing next to her. "So... Selena, right?" Selena nodded, thinking how pathetic it was pretending to forget someone's name just minutes after learning it. "Tell me more about yourself. I don't think I have ever seen you around."

"Probably not. I've been living in London for a little less than a year." Just then Demi caught Selena's adorable and very sexy accent.

"Where do you live?"

"Camden Town."

Demi nodded, feeling her stomach turn at the memory of one of her least favorite neighborhoods in the city. "And where did you live before moving to London?"

"Leeds. I went to school there. I lived in Tuscany before. That's where I was born."

"Oh, I love it there! Where in Tuscany were you born?"

"Florence."

"I love Florence. I've been there a few times. My dad was looking to buy a place there because that's probably his favorite city in the world after London."

"Did he find one?"

"Unfortunately, no. But maybe next time you can give me a few hints." She said in an obvious flirtatious tone that made Selena let out a low laugh.

"I'd be delighted to."

Demi grinned and took one last drag of her cigarette before throwing it to the floor and smashing it with the tip of her Louboutin.

"Tell me, Selena. What are your plans for later tonight?"

Selena smiled. Score, she thought.

"You tell me."

"I say we go back to your apartment and talk... A little. You know, I'd love to know you better."

"I'd love to let you know me better."

The girls exchanged smiles before Selena extended a hand, which Demi gladly took, and led the slightly shorter girl - even in heels - back inside.

Well, that's it for now, guys. Please, tell me what y'all think, because I'm kinda insecure about this, although still excited, hahahaha. As I said before, the next chapter won't be up until I wrap TACC, so, you know... Take time to absorb this one and give it a thought, lol.
Though I promise chapter 2 will be considerably more interesting than this :)))

Alright. See you on TACC!