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)
"That too,” I smirk.
She huffs but drops it, sipping her drink as she returns to scrolling through her phone.
Jas is half-asleep beside us, her straw hat shielding her face, and Leah is relaxing back on a lounger, her headphones in and her eyes closed.
I continue to work away at my designs, the creativity flowing thanks to all of the recent inspiration, when my phone buzzes from beside me.
I glance down at it, and then do a double-take.
It’s him.
What are you doing right now?
I hesitate, my eyes narrowing as I look around me.
None of the girls are paying me any attention. They’re all preoccupied themselves, and I swallow thickly as I reach for my phone and unlock it.
Then, before I can overthink it, I type back:
Enjoying my day. Why?
A response comes almost immediately.
Good. So am I.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small, traitorous smile that tugs at my lips.
And just like that - between sketches, between sips of wine -
I start texting him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Poppy
The next few days pass by in a blur of sunshine, rosé, and unapologetic indulgence.
Between beach days, long lunches, and late-night cocktails, the girls and I have been fully embracing our Monaco adventure.
Fully embracing as in: Emma has somehow convinced a bartender to invent a cocktail in her honour, Jas has declared that she’s moving here at least four times, and Leah -
Well. Leah has practically relocated to Jacques’ mansion.
She still makes occasional appearances, though. Usually accompanied by designer bags and looking smug as hell.
And me?
Against my better judgment, I’ve still been sneakily messaging Frederic Moreau.
A lot.
I don’t even know how it happened.
One message turned into two, then two turned into entire conversations.
He’s been asking all sorts of things - about my life in London, my fashion studies, how long I’m staying in Monaco -
And, of course, whether I’m coming to the race.
Leah’s mysterious contact for race tickets had fallen through, but because Monaco is Monaco, she managed to find a replacement.
Thank you, Jacques.
Apparently, he’s sorted us VIP tickets, which absolutely does not seem suspicious. At all.
I’ve been trying not to worry about it, despite the fact that the race is this coming weekend. For now, it’s Monday afternoon, and we’ve just returned from a long, lazy lunch.
Emma is dramatically sprawled across one of the beds, clutching her stomach like she’s been personally betrayed by the amount of food she’s just eaten.
"I can’t believe you let me order that second plate of pasta," she groans.
"I told you not to," Jas points out, scrolling through her phone. "But you said, and I quote, that you would simply perish without it."
"And I meant it," Emma whimpers.
Jas snorts. "So dramatic."
I barely hear them, still trying to shake the warmth of the sun from my skin. I’m half-listening to their bickering, sipping my iced coffee, when there’s a sharp knock at the door.
We all freeze.
"Did anyone order room service?" Emma asks.
"Not me," Jas says.
"Maybe it’s Leah?" I frown.
"She has a key," Emma points out.
Another knock.
I sigh, setting my drink down and pushing up from the couch.
"Well, we’re about to find out."
I move across the suite, smoothing a hand over the linen of my sundress before unlocking the door.
My eyes almost bulge out of my head.
Two sharply dressed hotel staff members stand in the hallway, their hands full.
And by full, I mean full.
They’re carrying an outrageous amount of roses.
Not one.
Not two.
Not three.
But four massive bouquets of deep, velvety red roses.
The scent hits instantly; rich and intoxicating, filling the entire suite with an almost overwhelming floral perfume.
Behind me, Emma makes a sound. It’s hard to say if it’s a gasp or a squeal, but it’s loud.
"What the fuck?" Jas mutters.
I don’t know what to say.
The staff step inside, carefully placing the bouquets on the coffee table before handing me a pristine envelope.
I stare at it.
Then at the obscene amount of flowers.
Then back at the envelope.
"Poppy," Emma hisses, her eyes wide as saucers. "What the hell is this?"
Jas crosses her arms, watching me closely.
"Yeah, babe. Care to explain?"
I swallow hard and slide my finger under the envelope’s flap, pulling out a thick, expensive piece of stationery.
A handwritten note.
I already know who it’s from before I even look.
Poppy,
Our conversations have been enjoyable, but I think it’s time we had another one in person.
Dinner. Tonight. 8 PM.
Let’s see if you still plan on pretending you don’t like me when I’m sitting across from you.
- F.
I blink.
Emma screams.
"You’ve been speaking to him?!"
Jas snatches the card from my hands before I can stop her, reading over it at lightning speed before fixing me with an incredulous look.
"Oh, you sneaky little bitch,” she smirks.
Of course Leah chooses this exact moment to walk in, arms full of designer shopping bags.
"Good afternoon, darlings!" she calls cheerfully, kicking the door shut behind her. "And it is a really good afternoon. Guess who had another - "