Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
And the worst part?
He’s right.
Because I am pissed off. I am irritated.
I am wound up so tight that I could probably snap a champagne flute in half with my bare hands.
A reaction seems to be exactly what he wants. It’s like he wants me flustered, annoyed and riled up - just like he had me last night. Like I’m some kind of private joke that only he understands.
And I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction.
So, I do the one thing that feels right at that moment.
I turn on my heel and walk in the opposite direction.
Stride away, actually. Gracefully, with dignity, with poise -
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I practically stomp across the marble floor.
“Poppy,” Emma calls, tone somewhere between concerned and highly amused as she and Jas hurry after me, their heels clicking against the floor. “What the hell just happened?”
“Nothing,” I say, a little too quickly. “I just - I just need a drink.”
“Uh-huh. And the sudden power-walk has nothing to do with the fact that you just saw something across the room and instantly fled?”
I ignore Jas - who is always far too observant for her own good - and make a sharp detour towards the closest drinks table.
If I’m going to get through this night knowing he is lurking somewhere, then I’m going to need alcohol, and a lot more of it.
I grab the first glass I see, barely acknowledging what’s inside before tossing it down my throat in one swift gulp.
Emma watches me, unimpressed.
“Okay, yeah. Because that was normal.”
“Completely healthy behaviour,” Jas agrees.
I exhale sharply, placing the now-empty glass back onto the table as I force my shoulders to relax.
“Neither of you saw him?”
“Saw who?” Emma frowns.
Relief washes over me, but I try not to show it.
The last thing I need is them realising who I’m referring to and forcing me into some kind of intervention.
“No one,” I say quickly. “Forget it.”
Jas narrows her eyes suspiciously.
“So let me get this straight: you’re throwing back drinks like we’re about to be drafted into war, but it’s fine, because it’s over… no one?”
Emma studies me for a second, then sighs.
“Alright, you know what? I don’t actually care who or what just sent you into fight-or-flight mode, because we’re heading outside now.” She gestures toward the open terrace. “And we are not spending the night lurking in a corner overthinking… whatever this is.”
I let out a slow breath and nod.
“Fine. Yes - air. Let’s go.”
* * *
The terrace is just as obscenely luxurious as the rest of the house; all soft lighting, elegant seating and a view of the Monaco skyline that looks so perfect it almost doesn’t seem real.
And then -
“My loves!”
Leah materialises out of nowhere, running towards us at full speed in another brand-new dress.
Emma barely has time to react before Leah throws her arms around her.
“I missed you,” Leah says dramatically, squeezing her tightly.
Jas, unimpressed, glances at her phone.
“Leah, you saw us this morning.”
Leah waves a dismissive hand, finally releasing Emma.
“Technicalities,” she says before spinning around, eyes practically shining. “So. What do we think?”
She steps back, dramatically gesturing to herself as though she’s unveiling a masterpiece.
Emma smirks. “It’s giving a very rich man’s trophy wife.”
“Thank you,” Leah beams. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”
“Wait,” Jas says as she squints at the dress. “Is that…?”
Leah preens. “Mmmhm. Jacques took me shopping, again. It’s custom.”
“You went shopping again?” I exchange a look with Emma. “How on earth did either of you find the time?”
“It wasn’t just shopping, babe,” Leah sighs dreamily. “It was an experience.”
“You worry me,” Emma says with a shake of her head.
Leah links her arms through ours as she starts guiding us across the terrace.
“Enough about me,” she grins. “Let me give you the tour.”
Jas frowns. “Leah. You don’t live here.”
“Details,” Leah says, waving her off as though the idea is absurd. “Now come on - let me show you the east wing.”
“Oh god,” Emma groans.
And with that, Leah drags us into the house as if she’s lived here for years, leading us through rooms we absolutely should not be in with the confidence of someone who owns the place.
She marches through the grand hallway, gesturing around like some sort of unhinged estate agent.
“Now, this is the main living room, which - obviously - is only for special guests.”
I blink at the word main, because if this is one of multiple living rooms, then I’m going to need to sit down and process.
It’s ridiculous. Huge glass windows stretch from floor to ceiling, revealing a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean. On top of that, the furniture looks so expensive that I’m afraid to breathe near it - plush cream sofas that have clearly never been sat on by a single person in their lives, and a massive glass coffee table that holds zero practical items.