"In Justin Timberlake's first interview since his surprising nuptials, nearly two weeks ago, he'll address the rumors surrounding himself, and new wife, Madison Fox, as well as his career plans, now that his widely successful FutureSex/LoveShow tour is over. Right now, we have a sneak peek at the interview, which will air on Entertainment Tonight, next week."    

"Justin, a lot of people are pretty shocked by all of this. Even some of your family has said, they weren't aware you and Madison Fox were dating. Why was there so much secrecy? If you wanted to marry this woman, why hide that?"    

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain. I'm a pretty private guy, and I've had countless relationships ruined because of the media attention, and I just...when I met Madison, I knew I didn't want to make the same mistake, I'd made so many times before. So, we kept our relationship to ourselves, and that's why it's worked so well."    

"Now, Madison is known for being a bit of a party girl. She's spotted at clubs most nights, she's rumored to have dated countless musicians and actors. She's often referred to as a typical, Hollywood bad girl. What do you have to say about that?"    

"Madison gets a bad rap, I think. She's the same as any young person, she just wants to go out, and have a good time. It just gets focused on more, because she's in the spotlight. The media, and the tabloids like to take things to the extreme, and they present people in the worst possible light. In reality, Madison is about as normal as it gets. That's the only way I can explain it."    

"Two years ago, Madison was in the middle of a bit of a mess. She and a friend, were married in Vegas, just like two of you were, but that marriage was quickly annulled. She claimed it was a joke that went too far, but a lot of people thought it was more proof that she is, indeed, what people say she is."    

"She made a mistake. People make mistakes everyday."        

I roll my eyes, and fight the urge to gag at the sight of his stupid, smiling face. He is so completely full of shit. I don't need him making excuses for me, or any of the things I've done in my past. I am what I am, and I've never had any problem with that. Why should anyone else care?         

He may be singing my praises on national television, but behind closed doors, he has no problem telling me exactly what he thinks of me. And trust me, it ain't pretty.    

The last time we spoke, I think he used every term for the word "whore", in the English language.     

I know I'm not totally innocent in all of this, but the blame can't rest squarely on my shoulders.  It's not like Justin has some bright, shiny, squeaky clean image that needs to be protected. As far as I know, public opinion is that he's an arrogant prick. Which, I'm quickly learning, is pretty accurate.     

You'd think, that since I'm helping him out, he'd go out of his way to be a little bit nicer, but if there isn't a camera being shoved in his face, I get treated like I'm some evil, manipulative woman, who conned him into all of this.    

Granted, neither of us had a choice in this. His management made a decision, and we have to go along with it. But, his hostility isn't helping anything. I mean, I could probably be a little less bitchy too, but my attitude is in retaliation to the attitude I'm receiving. And, it's not just from Justin. All of his handlers have me pegged as the Anti-Christ.     

My phone rings loudly, and Beth reaches for it, before I even have the chance to move.    

"Beth Preston." She chirps happily.    

I swear, she is one of the strangest people I've ever known. No matter what's going on around her, she's always so damn cheery. I've never seen her angry, upset, or even the least bit stressed out. It's like her only emotion, is happiness.    

It drives me a little crazy, but it's yet another reason I love having her as my assistant. I need that kind of calmness around me, when things get rough. And, I've got to admit, Beth has been amazing through this whole mess. She's kept me level headed, when normally, I'd be running around, freaking out like some kind of crazy person.    

"That was the label." She says as she ends her call, and places my phone back on the table. "They picked the first single from the album."    

"Oh really?"
    

"Yep. They decided on One Minute. Jc said they knew you wanted Don't Waste Your Time, but in light of everything going on, they didn't think a break up song was the right way to go for the first single."    

I can't stop the frown from forming on my face as I look over at her. "So, I don't get a say?"    

"Apparently not." She gives me a small smile. "But, look on the bright side...One Minute was your second pick..."    

"It was my pick for the second single, not the first." I sigh and stand up. "I'm gonna go lay down, if Jace or anybody calls, just...tell em I'll call back later."    

I make my way through the apartment, and finally collapse onto my bed. I know I'm in deep, but I never imagined this would affect my career. And really, it shouldn't. The disaster, that is currently my personal life, should have no impact on my music, or anything I do as far as performing.     

Instead, I'm having skeletons dug out of my closet, someone else is dictating my future, I have to move out of my own home, and I'm expected to cover an egotistical pop stars ass.     

This is so not the plan I had for my life.

********************************    

I pull up to Justin's driveway, and stop at the closed, wrought iron gates. I can barely make out the roof of the house with everything surrounded by trees.  I've heard he's incredibly private, but I think this borders on paranoia.    

"You have to type in the security code." Jc offers as he peers at me over his sunglasses.    

"I don't know the code."    

"It's his birthday."
    

"I don't know his birthday either, Jace." I chuckle and roll my eyes.    

I know absolutely nothing about my husband. How horrible is that?    

Growing up, I had this dream that the man I'd marry, would be like my best friend. We'd know everything about each other, spend hours talking about nothing.  We'd have the same taste in music and movies. I dreamed of the perfect marriage.    

Instead, I'm stuck with an ego maniac, who probably couldn't even tell you my hair color.    

Although, I did manage to get a nice sized rock on my finger. I've got to admit, that was the oddest experience in this whole thing.     

In Vegas, I ended up with some cheap gold band, that turned my finger green after just a couple of hours. Once the statement about our marriage had been made, Johnny Wright sent his minions out to find rings for Justin and I.    

Whoever picked out my princess cut, five carat diamond and platinum band, did an excellent job.     

However, being handed a set of wedding bands in a meeting, and being told to wear them at all times, is fairly awkward. Especially when, you have no desire to wear anything that ties you to a person you can barely stand the sight of.    

"It's 13181." Jc sighs. "I still say he's a moron for making that his code, it's not like it's hard to crack or anything."    

I punch in the code, and the gates slowly open in front of us. I take a deep breath and step down on the gas, easing my car up the driveway. I pull up behind a silver BMW, and let out a low whistle as I take in the sight before me.    

It's hard to believe that this, will be my home for the next two years.    

The house is massive, and even I have to admit, it's gorgeous. The bricks are an off white color, and the front porch looks like something straight out of the deep south. Sports equipment is piled in the corner, three rocking chairs are to the left of the front door, while a swing is to the right.    

The front door is standing wide open, and as Jc, Beth and I climb out of the car, two large dogs come bounding toward us.    

They're cute, in that so hideously ugly, they're cute, sort of way. Kind of like their owner, I suppose.    

The larger of the two leaps onto Beth, placing his front paws on her shoulders, and I can't help but laugh at the horrified expression on her face. She's definitely not an animal person. Her idea of a suitable pet, is a pet rock.   

"Damnit Buck, get your ass down." I hear a stern voice call from the porch, and roll my eyes.   

"You really shouldn't talk to him like that."    

He shoots me a scathing look, and sighs. "He's a dog. He doesn't know the difference."     

He grabs the dog by the collar, and pulls him away from Beth, before smiling apologetically at her.    

"Sorry. He's not much of a listener."    

"It's ok." Beth nods slowly, attempting to wipe the dog hair from her black blouse.    

"Anyway, ya'll can come on in. Your shit got here this morning, Madison."    

"Oh, and you didn't throw it away or destroy it? Impressive." I smile sarcastically as I follow him inside.    

The outside of the house, definitely doesn't do this place justice. I almost feel like I'm standing in a museum or something. There's numerous photographs and paintings hanging on the walls of the foyer. Directly across from the front door is a large marble staircase, with two long hallways on either side.    

I spot my boxes stacked neatly in the right hallway, and make a mental note to give the movers a generous tip. I'm sure carrying some of that stuff, was no small feat. I'm kind of a pack rat.   

 "Who decorated this place?" Jc asks as he looks around.    

Everything is done in black, gray and white, giving it this very modern feel. Even in the marble of the stairs, there's some gray swirled in.     

"My Mom." Justin snorts and rolls his eyes. "It's not what I wanted, but it works."    

Well, damn. I was just starting to think the boy had some taste. I guess that's what I get for thinking.    

"So, you guys want a tour or something?" I shrug, while Jc and Beth nod excitedly.    

Really, I'm not all that interested in watching Justin flaunt his success. We know he's freaking loaded, we don't need it shoved in our faces.    

I've always found it kind of cliche, when a celebrity offers a tour of their home. It's like, it's just an excuse for them to show off their accomplishments.    

I guess I've just never quite gotten the hang of this stardom thing. I'm still the same silly, loud, obnoxious, sarcastic girl I've always been. I live in a pretty modest apartment, I do my own laundry and shopping.    

I'm kind of the anti-celebrity, I suppose.    

Justin leads us through the house, showing off each room. There's 15 total, and all I can think, is that this is way too much house for one person.    

By far, the coolest part of the house is the basement studio. It's much smaller than an average recording studio, but all of the right equipment is here. The walls are covered in Justin's various awards, and platinum records.    

When I see his Grammy, placed neatly on the shelf, I can't help but envy him.    

My main goal in life, is to win a Grammy. If I ever do, I can totally die happy. It just...it's got to be an amazing feeling to know that the critics love you, just as much as your fans do. That's the kind of acceptance I want. I want to know that the music I put out, is good enough for everyone, not just a core audience.    

"That's pretty much it." Justin shrugs as we step out the backdoor, and onto the deck, overlooking the pool and basketball court. "Except for the guest house, that's Trace's thing. I stay the hell out of there. He's kind of a slob."    

I do my best to cover my laugh with a cough, and follow everyone back into the house. I don't want the idiot thinking he's funny or anything. His head is big enough as it is.    

Although, I will give him credit for being somewhat of a neat freak, because this place, is spotless. There isn't a spec of dirt, or piece of clutter anywhere.    

I bet, he has a damn good maid. No man is this clean, or organized. I really can't imagine Justin cleaning this place at all, let alone, by himself.    

He definitely strikes me as being pampered. I'm sure, he has hired help to do just about everything for him. His cleaning, cooking, someone probably runs all of his errands, pays his bills.    

In a way, I kind of understand why he'd prefer to have help. There are times, where I'm doing something as simple as grocery shopping, and when those flashes are going off every few minutes...I wish I had someone to do things like that for me.    

Technically, I could have Beth do it, but at the same time, getting out and doing those simple things, gives me a sense of normalcy.     

Fame is a double edged sword, when you think about it. On one hand, you want the entire world to know who you are, you want to play to sold out crowds, you desperately want people to notice you. But, you also want your privacy. You want to be able to walk down the street, and not have one single person look at you.     

Unfortunately, to get the acknowledgement you need, you have to sacrifice every bit of your personal life, and privacy.     

"We better get going. You have a meeting with the PR department at 12." Beth says quietly.    

That is definitely the best part about having an assistant. She can attend all those long, drawn out, boring meetings, that I loathe.     

I guess that's why, I don't really like asking her to do normal everyday stuff for me. She's a smart girl, and I'd much rather have her assisting with the business aspect of my career. I can handle paying bills, and getting my own coffee.     

"Alright, well you kids have fun." Jc smirks at me, as he and Beth head for the door.    

"Madison, don't forget, you're meeting with the label tomorrow to talk about promotion for the album."
    

"I know, Beth." I sigh as she hurries after Jc.     

"You could be a little nicer to her, ya know. She's just trying to help."    

"And you could be nicer to your dogs, but you don't see me calling the SPCA, do you?"    

He rolls his eyes, and heads down the left hallway. "Your rooms the third door on the left. Go nuts, just don't put any shit on the walls. And don't move any furniture."    

"Gee, I didn't realize I was moving into a jail cell."    

He continues to stalk down the hallway, but flips me off over his shoulder, before turning the corner and disappearing from sight.    

Living in this house, is going to be an absolute nightmare.

**********************************    

I place the last of my clothes in the closet, and take a quick look around. I can't be too mad about the room Justin chose for me. It's fairly large, and decorated in different shades of red.  It has a huge walk in closet, and all of the furniture is this deep, beautiful mahogany. The queen sized bed in the left corner, is even more comfortable than my own.    

I'm still not exactly sure what's going to happen to my apartment. I know, I can't live there until this mess runs its course, but there's no way in hell I'm giving it up.     

I think that's what's bothering me the most. My life is being turned upside down, while Justin gets to carry on in his normal existence. All he's really had to do, is make the accommodations for me to live here,and tell a few white lies.    

I'm not saying those things are easy, but I feel like I'm the one getting the short end of the stick. Everything is being done to benefit Justin.    

It's his image, they're worried about. He's the one giving all of the interviews. His handlers are the ones issuing the statements. It's all about him.    

I can't really complain too much, because the thought of having to lie to anyone, and pretend that I love this man, makes me sick to my stomach. I really don't know how he's doing it.    

There's a soft knock on my door, and Justin enters, dressed to the nines. His gray, three piece suit, makes him look a little older, and his hair is gelled to perfection, each short curl falling into place.    

"I'm going out. Just thought I'd let you know." He adjusts his tie in my mirror, then turns to face me. "I probably won't be back till morning, so, see ya around." He quickly exits the room, before I have the chance to respond, and all I can do is roll my eyes.    

I'm in an unfamiliar home, by myself. I haven't got a clue where anything is, and my "husband", is probably going on a date.    

How did I let myself get so pathetic? Normally, I'd have told Johnny Wright to go straight to hell, when he laid out all of the rules for us.    

I guess, maybe a small part of me, felt sorry for Justin. His life has been open to the public all through his career, and his fans have him on this impossibly high pedestal. Honestly, I don't think anyone could live up to the expectations people have set for him. I know, if his fans knew what happened that night in Vegas, they'd see him in a whole new light.     

They'd realize that their idol, isn't perfect, and he may not be as appealing as he was before.    

I kind of understand why things are being done this way, but that doesn't make it right. It's still a flat out lie.    

Granted, I'd be lying is I said I didn't have anything to gain here. Number one, my album is due out within the next few months, and unfortunately, there's no such thing as bad publicity.    

And, of course, when Justin is on television, defending my honor, like he was instructed...it diminishes the thought that I'm this out of control, wild woman, and that's not such a bad thing.    

Generally, I couldn't care less what people think of me. I'm comfortable in my own skin, and that's all that matters. However, being labeled a slut, or an alcoholic, or being accused of having a drug problem, does sting just a bit.    

I've never touched a single illegal substance in my 25 years on this earth. I enjoy drinking every once in awhile, but by no means, am I an alcoholic. And as far as being a slut...it's just flat out, not true.    

Until Justin, I've never slept with a man who wasn't a serious boyfriend. I think that because someone dates around a lot, people automatically assume that you're sleeping with anyone you go out with.    

But hey, we all know what the first three letters of assume are.    

I really need to cut the whining bullshit. I have a great career, financial stability, amazing friends, a family who's done nothing but support me.    

I've got it so easy, and it could always be worse.     

If having to fake a marriage is my biggest problem, then my life really isn't so bad.