Chapter 50
Cornelia
The Grand Prix of Monaco—I’ve never understood the allure of watching cars running around in a big circle. But then again, here I am, for the fifth year in a row. We’ve all been coming here every year since I was sixteen.
At least the race went by extremely fast, or I slept through part of it (highly possible), because it felt like I went straight from my house to the after-party.
After the race, we went to the after-party at Amber Lounge, and then we hit an even more exclusive after-after-party on one of the mega yachts. That’s where we are now.
I’m sitting on a couch in one of the living room areas, talking to a guy named Alejandro, who claims to be one of the owners of a car team called Alp… something. I don’t remember.
I prefer this party to the one at Amber Lounge. It’s less crowded, and while there’s music, you can actually talk. Plus, there are far more drivers here.
The party is exactly what’s rumoured about the F1 parties—debauchery everywhere.
I’ve seen plenty of drugs being passed around, married people kissing others who aren’t their spouses, and underwear scattered on the floor.
And this is actually the calm floor. The ones below are even crazier, which is why I’m staying up here.
But it doesn’t shock me. It’s exactly what I thought it would be, and I’ve been to parties where far worse things happened.
It kind of reminds me of a few parties at boarding school.
I look up and see Annabelle making her way over.
We’re in matching outfits—sort of. I’m wearing the Chanel blue F1 T-shirt paired with a Guizio blue mini skirt covered in sequins, Jimmy Choo baby blue heeled slippers, and a baby blue Mini Kelly with gold hardware.
My jewellery is my everyday ring, the Oval Sapphire Eternity Band on the middle finger of my right hand, the Beaches Mini Conch Shell ring on the middle finger of my left, and the Heart Sapphire 0.
50-carat Gypset Hoop Earrings, all from Jessica McCormack.
Annabelle, on the other hand, is in the Chanel red F1 T-shirt and a skirt identical to mine, but in red, accessorised with a long red lace vest.
“Move,” Annabelle tells Alejandro sharply the moment she reaches where we’re sitting, not even glancing at me.
He looks at me, confused, then back at her.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said move. I want to be with her alone,” she snaps, pointing at me, her tone sharp and impatient.
He doesn’t say anything—just gets up and moves as Annabelle told him, but not before glancing at her like she’s crazy and shaking his head as he leaves.
“Hey, I was talking to him,” I complain.
She sits down where Alejandro was seated. “You have a boyfriend. You shouldn’t be flirting with randoms.”
“Yeah, I’m well aware I have a boyfriend—his name is Benedict Glounger, who plays the Duke of Britentel.” I smile, as I always do when I’m reminded of that. I love his character and his show. “And I wasn’t looking for another one, nor was I flirting.”
I know it might’ve looked like I was flirting with him, but I wasn’t.
I was just toying with him. He kept going on and on about his business and how much money he has, and all I could think was that his entire net worth is about the same as what I spent on jewellery last year.
I wanted to see how far he’d go to impress me, then shut him up by telling him who I am, since he clearly had no idea.
And maybe even leave him with a few words of wisdom.
There are plenty of ways a man can impress me, but money isn’t one of them. And the way he went on about it didn’t just leave me unimpressed—it made me think he has a very tiny cock he’s desperately trying to compensate for.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Tu veux dire ton remplacant pour TJ.” You mean your replacement for TJ.
Annabelle’s been faking happiness and cheerfulness the entire weekend we’ve been here. She had a fight—a big one—with Laurie before leaving London. She’s been trying to act like it hasn’t affected her, but it has.
At least now she’s not faking being happy anymore. I’m not sure which is better, because now she’s being a complete bitch. I suppose this is healthier—suppressing feelings isn’t good, or so I’ve been told.
I take a deep breath. “I know you’re mad at Laurie, but I’m not a punching bag for you to take your anger out on.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then her brown eyes lock on something behind me, anger radiating off her like a heatwave. I turn around, following her gaze, and if I’ve somehow summoned him, Laurie is walking towards us.
“Hi,” Laurie says as he joins us.
Annabelle doesn’t respond. She glares at Laurie, stands up, and walks away, her eyes practically throwing daggers at him. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t want to be Laurie right now.
After Annabelle storms off, Laurie drops onto the couch, looking absolutely exhausted. That makes two of us. I’m far too sleep-deprived to deal with any of this. Yesterday we went out and got back to the house around one; I stayed up watching a movie until three, and Annabelle woke me up at seven.
He doesn’t appear drunk or anything, unlike Nate and Lucian, whom I saw about thirty minutes ago.
They’re both completely wasted and possibly on some of the pills being passed around.
It’s so unlike Nate, but West told me that Lucian made a bet against him, claiming that if his favourite driver lost, Nate would have to loosen up and party with him.
Lucian doesn’t drink much or do drugs either, except on certain occasions, like when we come here.
I believe Nate actually wanted to loosen up, and the bet was an excuse because it was a one against twenty wager, but West said Nate’s driver had won every race of the season, so it wasn’t a risky bet.
Anyway, Nate can’t resist a wager. It’s the only time he behaves childishly.
I’m surprised Laurie seems so sober. Everyone else isn’t, and if anyone’s allowed to cut loose tonight, it should be him—it’s his birthday, after all.
Usually, when we come here, it doesn’t fall on his birthday, but this year, with the new June calendar, it did.
I had a small hope that he’d want to celebrate in London, making us stay, but he didn’t.
I knew it wasn’t going to happen. He loves coming to the race, and he and Nate sometimes travel to other Grand Prix when they have time.
Laurie tugs at the sleeve of his white shirt, revealing the watch I gifted him for his birthday. I hadn’t noticed he was wearing it until now, nor was I sure he even received it. I didn’t want Annabelle to see me giving it to him, so when I woke up, I had the driver deliver it to him.
It’s a vintage 1953 Patek Philippe perpetual calendar chronograph wristwatch in 18k yellow gold, with moon phases and a brown strap.
I found it at a Sotheby’s auction a little over a month ago.
Laurie had been eyeing one like this for quite some time.
The only thing he ever splurges on is his large watch collection.
For a while, I thought he was the other obstinate bidder going against me.
“Is she still mad?” Laurie asks, looking towards where Annabelle is now, talking to a few people near the terrace door.
“Do you really have to ask?” I give him an incredulous look. “You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you at the moment.”
Like Annabelle, I’ve been avoiding him in solidarity and barely talking to him.
I haven’t even seen his messages. If I had, I know there’d be a message thanking me for the watch.
But if I had looked, I would have felt tempted to respond to him, and I don’t want him to think I’m okay with what happened.
The worst thing about your best friends dating and breaking up—even though I am not allowed to call it a breakup, since every time I referred to it that way, Annabelle sharply corrected me, saying it wasn’t, since they never actually dated, but practically it was—is that you have to choose a side.
I picked Annabelle’s, which makes me feel like a hypocrite and a bad friend to Laurie, because I know if he had to choose between his brother and me, he would choose me.
In a way, he did. Though years ago, I made him promise me not to let my relationship with TJ ever affect his feelings towards him, which he has kept. But that’s the way it is.
I will always choose her over anyone, even though she just treated me like shit. Even if it pains me like hell and makes me feel like I’m being torn in two.
“What can I do to fix it?” he asks, his gaze still fixed on her.
“Have you thought about actually telling her how you feel?” It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Laurie loves her. If he would just tell her, it would make everything so much easier.
Laurie looks at me and lets out the biggest sigh, which in Laurie’s language means no.
He’s acting like I told him to do something unimaginable, like jumping off a cliff with a hundred roses to surprise her, or climbing Mount Everest and writing her name at the top. I think he would prefer to do that than to tell her how he really feels.
I stand up, looking down at him. “If that isn’t on the table, then I don’t know what else to tell you,” I say before walking away.
I need to find a quieter place. I need to make a phone call. I think the terrace will be the best option and make my way there.
I’m scrolling through my phone looking for Benedict’s number, not paying attention to where I’m going, and end up bumping straight into someone.
“Sorry,” I mumble to the person I bumped into.
I look up from my phone, and it’s Weberly.
She’s wearing a small red blouse and an even smaller black skirt.
Every time I see her, I wonder if she’s in a constant competition with herself to see if she can wear fewer clothes than the day before.
And behind her is TJ, dressed all in black except for his brown leather jacket.