Chapter Twenty-One
Poppy
T he Monte Carlo casino is exactly what I expected.
A ridiculous display of wealth.
Even before we step inside, the sheer extravagance is overwhelming.
The driveway alone is the size of a small airport runway, lit by elegant lanterns and lined with an army of valets in pristine uniforms.
A fleet of obscenely expensive luxury cars - Ferraris, Bugattis and Rolls-Royces - are being expertly parked and polished right outside, their owners stepping out in tailored suits and gowns that I’d happily bet are worth more than my university fees.
And as we step inside, it’s all gold accents, crystal chandeliers and people dripping in couture they probably only wear once.
Leah inhales deeply, sighing in absolute bliss.
“ This ,” she says, sweeping her arms dramatically, “is my true home.”
“Funny. I thought Jacques’ palace was your true home,” Jas smirks .
“I can have multiple homes, you know,” Leah responds.
Emma grins, slipping an arm through mine as we step towards the bar.
“Alright, ladies. Shall we get a drink before we gamble away our savings?”
“Correction,” Jas says, taking a seat. “We gamble away Poppy’s savings.”
I groan, already regretting my life choices. “I am not funding your rich girl fantasy.”
“Then what is the point of having you as a best friend?” Jas asks.
I nudge her with my hip, rolling my eyes as I grab the cocktail menu.
“If I wasn’t paying for your overpriced drinks, you’d miss me terribly.”
Jas smirks. “ Possibly .”
Leah orders a martini, Emma gets a negroni, Jas opts for whiskey, and I settle on a French 75 - because if I’m going to commit to the theme of this trip, I may as well drink like a chic heiress.
The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and we make a toast.
To bad decisions, glamour, and a night without distractions.
And for the first time since I arrived in Monaco, my brain feels peacefully empty.
Here, there are no bright blue eyes, no infuriating smirks, and certainly no taunting words whispered just a little too close to my ear.
Tonight, it’s just us .
And it’s exactly what I need.
* * *
After finishing our drinks, we hit the tables.
Jas takes to poker like she was born for it, barely blinking as she robs men blind with a single tilt of her head. Leah flirts her way through every blackjack dealer in sight, somehow winning more than losing despite clearly not knowing how to play properly. Emma, ever the overachiever, manages to double her money at roulette before very wisely deciding to cash out.
And me?
Well.
It’s not a pretty sight.
“Oh, babe,” Emma sighs as I lose again, watching my stack of chips dwindle before my eyes. “This is painful.”
Leah, who has somehow just won another round, shakes her head in mock sympathy.
“Maybe you should go back to sketching your millions instead of betting them.”
“I’m not sketching anything tonight,” I glare.
Jas raises a teasing brow from where she’s sipping a martini with deadly ease.
“Not even a certain someone?”
I freeze, and Emma gasps dramatically.
“Oh my God, yes . You should absolutely sketch him.”
“Definitely not,” I snap.
Jas tilts her head. “What? Why not? ”
“Because -” I start, but the words die in my throat.
Because what? Because he pisses me off? Because he gets under my skin?
Because I’d probably end up drawing him too well?
Nope . Not going there.
I grab my drink and take a very long sip, refusing to dignify them with a response. Emma and Jas exchange a delighted look, but thankfully, they let it drop.
* * *
As the night goes on, we gamble, we drink, and we dance.
Well, at least briefly, when the music in one of the lounges picks up.
And it’s good .
It feels so lovely not to think about Frederic Moreau. Not about his stupid smirk, not about his annoying ability to get the last word.
Nothing .
It’s just us, just this - a night of laughter and luxury, free of distractions.
When we finally stumble back into the hotel suite, exhausted and only slightly tipsy, I collapse into bed feeling lighter than I have in days.
I don’t even bother to change properly. I just slip out of my dress, grab the nearest sleep shirt and climb under the soft hotel sheets.
The last thing I hear before I drift off is Leah murmuring something about how this is what life should feel like - glamorous, carefree and exciting .
I’m prone to agree.
Because for the first time in days, everything is peacefully, blissfully simple.
* * *
Of course my subconscious has to go and ruin it.
Because he’s there, in my dreams.
Frederic .
His hands on my waist, the way they were last night. But this time, they linger.
This time, they pull me closer.
His breath, warm against my ear.
His hands, hot and rough as they tilt my chin up towards him.
His lips, soft and gentle and just barely ghosting over mine -
I jerk awake, heart pounding, my whole body burning.
What. The. Fuck.
I blink up at the ceiling, mortified, my skin way too warm despite the cool sheets.
I refuse to let my brain do this.
I throw the covers away from my body, not even thinking about the possibility of disturbing Emma from where she’s sleeping next to me.
Instead, I squeeze my eyes to a tight close, like I can force the memory out of my head through sheer will.
But I swear I can still feel it.
The weight of his hands. The heat of his breath .
The almost-kiss that I will never admit to anyone, ever , under any circumstances.
I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
This cannot be happening.
I am not that girl .I've barely even spared a thought to my ex-boyfriend of nine months since I've arrived here - I do not dream about infuriating, cocky French men.
I roll over, pulling the covers back up and forcing my eyes shut.
After all, if I don’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen. That’s the rule.
Well, that’s my rule, anyway.
And I will not break it for him.