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)
“I’m thinking classic, but new. Something that’s modern but still feels timeless - but that’s also not exclusive to people who grew up with private jets and a polo club membership before they could walk.”
“So, like… ‘Old Money for Broke Bitches’?” Leah asks.
I sigh. “That might need a rebrand.”
“Yeah, maybe lead with something else," Emma snickers.
"But… Yes,” I confirm, exhaling. “Something along those lines.”
“Honestly? It’s genius," Emma says. "You know how many people want this look but don’t have Monaco money?"
“Yeah - she’s sitting right here,” I deadpan, gesturing to myself. “There’s a good chance my father is going to murder me when he gets this month’s credit card statement.”
“At least it’ll be too late by then," Emma grins. “Might as well go out in style.”
“A tragic end,” Jas smirks. “Death by Chanel.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
"More like death by impulse purchases."
Leah is still scanning the crowd, her keen eyes sweeping over the endless expanse of wealth and linen shirts.
“I mean, I do know one person who could fund it,” she muses, tilting her head. “If only I could find him.”
I smirk. “How’s the billionaire husband hunt going?”
She lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Tragically, no sightings yet. But it’s early. The men with real money roll in around lunchtime.”
“You sound way too confident about that,” Jas snorts, taking a sip of her drink.
Leah shrugs. “I’ve done my research, and one thing’s for certain: Monaco is predictable.”
I flip my sketchbook closed.
“Well, while you’re busy hunting husbands, I’m hunting inspiration,” I tell her.
"Who knows? Maybe your inspiration will come in the form of a very attractive, very rich man.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Unlikely.”
Emma hums, peering at me with far too much interest.
"You know, you really don’t make it easy for men to approach you, Poppy."
I blink. "What?"
“She’s right,” Jas nods. “You’re too pretty. It’s almost intimidating.”
I let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, please."
"No, seriously," Emma insists. "You're drop-dead gorgeous, but on top of that, you have this whole 'don’t even think about breathing in my direction' aura."
"Yeah. Men fear you,” Jas grins.
I sit back, considering that for a moment.
Then, I shrug.
"That suits me just fine."
Emma raises a brow. "You’re really that uninterested?"
"Yes!" I gesture emphatically. "Unlike Leah, I am not here to find a billionaire, or a millionaire, or an anything-aire. I’m enjoying being single again and feeling like I can actually breathe - you know - air.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Jas nods. “Noah did make breathing difficult.”
"Right?" I sigh dramatically. “I’m traumatised. I spent months pretending not to be physically pained every time he said something cringey. And believe me: he said a lot of cringey things." I almost shudder at the memory of some of his worst one-liners. " mean it: I have no intention of spending unnecessary time with any man."
“Not even a handsome F1 driver?” Leah tries again.
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of my head.
“Especially not one of those.”
“Babe. You do know where we are, right?” Emma says, tilting her sunglasses down to look at me. “At some point, we’re probably going to be face-to-face with at least one of them.”
“I wouldn’t even recognise them,” I admit.
Leah gasps, clutching her chest.
“Poppy. You are in Monaco during Grand Prix week, and you’re telling me you wouldn’t even notice if you were sitting next to, like, Louis Vandergaurd?”
I look at her blankly for a moment before I realise that she’s waiting for an answer.
“Who?”
Her jaw drops, and Emma and Jas both groan in unison.
“This is worse than I thought,” Leah shakes her head. “We’re going to have to educate her immediately.”
“No need to bother. If he’s not wearing something interesting, I won’t even register his existence.”
“Well, you do like a challenge,” Emma smirks. “And I know for a fact that some of those guys need a stylist.”
“And I know at least a few of them are single,” Leah grins.
Jas just laughs. “Why do I have a feeling that this trip is going to be utter chaos?”
I tilt my hat lower against the sun as my eyes wander over the fabulously dressed women once more.
Chaos or not, one thing’s for sure: this trip is already giving me more inspiration than I ever expected.
Chapter Eight
Frederic
Monaco is a distraction.
It always has been.
It’s a playground for the rich, the reckless, and the ones who don’t know when to quit. A bubble of indulgence wrapped in yachts, supercars, and champagne-fuelled nights that stretch too long into morning.
It’s everything I have to avoid right now.
And yet -
I step through the entrance of Le Soleil Beach Club, the afternoon sun glinting off the water, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the air.
The club is one of the better ones - private enough that the press won’t hound us, and exclusive enough that I won’t be rubbing elbows with every billionaire’s trust-fund kid looking for a photo op. The owners have a habit of letting in beautiful women in the hopes that they’ll drape themselves over the right men, but that’s not too much of an issue for me.