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)
Noah was - is - a good guy. Kind, thoughtful, affectionate. The type of boyfriend who remembers your coffee order, tells you you’re beautiful every day, and more than anything else, genuinely cares.
So why did everything he said and did make me cringe to high heaven?
And why the hell couldn’t I just like him back?
I didn’t want to hurt him. The memory of his reaction last night - of the clear confusion, of his wounded expression - twists my stomach into knots. I hate thinking about him being upset because of me.
But at the same time… I felt better the second the words left my mouth.
Like I could breathe again.
And if breaking up with someone who adored me makes me feel this much relief, then surely - surely - I made the right decision.
Even if it hurt him.
Even if I still feel like I kicked an earnest golden retriever straight in the heart.
The screen lights up again.
Em: Omg THANK GOD.
I’m sorry, but if I had to listen to him call you his little petal one more time, I was going to personally intervene.
Jas: Same. But like. Are you okay??
Ah. Now this is why Jas is my favourite.
(Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.)
Me: I mean… I feel a bit like I kicked a puppy.
A very earnest puppy that just wanted to love me and read me handwritten poetry.
The replies are immediate.
Em: Yeah, but that puppy was also slightly suffocating you.
And policing your meal choices.
You did the right thing.
I frown.
Me: Policing my meal choices?
Leah: Pops. The milkshake thing. The pasta thing.
The fact that he made a face every time you had a second coffee.
Em: Or the time he actually said "are you sure you need desert?"
and we all nearly murdered him in broad daylight.
My mouth parts slightly.
Shit.
They’re right.
I was so busy convincing myself that Noah was perfect - so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with me for not falling for him - that I didn’t fully realise just how insufferable some of those things were.
He was lovely, sure; but he also had a habit of subtly undermining me.
Like the way he used to talk about my degree. How he’d call my sketches cute and talk about fashion like it was a sweet, silly hobby rather than something I was actually serious about. The way he never really listened when I got excited about trends, or the way his eyes used to glaze over whenever I brought up plans for my own brand.
And just like that, the guilt in my stomach lessens.
Not completely - but enough.
Before I can dwell on it too much, another message pops up.
Leah: So, to celebrate… GET YOUR ASS TO MONACO.
I blink.
Me: What??
The responses come thick and fast.
Jas: You heard her. Pack a bag. Come join us.
Em: We booked this trip ages ago and YOU were the one who
said, and I quote, “I can’t, I’ll be with Noah, and he’s not
really into that kind of thing.”
Leah: Which, by the way, should have been your first red flag.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Okay, but that was BEFORE I knew he’d be publicly
serenading me at restaurants.
Em: Exactly.
So. Get. Your. Ass. To. Monaco.
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
The rational part of me - the part that likes to be practical and responsible - knows that booking a last-minute flight and running off to Monaco is probably not my best idea.
But then again… what’s keeping me in London?
The semester is over. My parents are staying at their holiday home in Florida for the summer. If I stay here, I’ll probably run into Noah at some point -
And heaven knows that I am not emotionally prepared for round two of him serenading me in the Tesco meal-deal aisle.
So really, this is an act of self-preservation.
Me: Fuck it.
The chat explodes.
Leah: YESSSSSSSSSS
Em: OMG FINALLY
Jas: Thank God for that!
I grin at my screen, warmth filling my chest.
One thing’s for sure - I can always count on my girls to pick me up and make me laugh.
Me: I need to figure out flights.
What’s the plan? Where are you guys staying?
Leah: You can stay in our suite!
We have two queen beds - there’s more than enough room.
My smile grows impossibly wider.
Me: Love that.
Also, it’s France, capital of fashion, right?
So it’s basically a business trip.
Jas: Actually, Pops, Monaco isn’t French.
I frown.
A quick Google search later confirms it. Huh.
Me: Yeah, I’ve decided I’m going to pretend it is.
Leah: That’s the spirit.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with an incoming video call.
Leah, Em, and Jas appear on my screen, lounging in what looks like a ridiculously fancy hotel room.
"You girls are living in style," I say, squinting at the screen.
"Obviously," Leah replies. "Monaco isn’t just a place, Pops. It’s a lifestyle."
I laugh as I search for flights.
Jas snorts. "We spent yesterday sunbathing at a beach club, and she literally had a fifty euro smoothie delivered to her lounger. Fifty. Euros."