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“I’m sure you can make good with ten thousand pounds a month.” She slanted her head, and we left it at that.
They allowed the purchase of an apartment, however. So in many ways, I wasn’t totally free with that five mil, but it was way better than anything else I’d ever had. I’d also suddenly started to think about my future, something I’d never done before. I’d always assumed I would be dead by twenty-one.
Negative and dark, I knew, but after the shit I’d witnessed, there were days when I hadn’t thought I could keep going.
Determined never to be poor again, I would learn how to control the urge to keep spending, even if my lingerie bill was huge—a small price for keeping Drake’s dick nice and hard.
Was that what one did to keep a boyfriend? Or was that what Peyton had taught me?
Another toxic thought to bury. I had a ton of those.
As we drove along, I asked Savvie, “Do you think I should buy the Soho studio apartment?”
“A little squashed, but it’s stylish. I like the high-beamed ceilings, and there’s a balcony, which is always a bonus.”
“And access to the roof garden,” I added, getting excited. “It would make an excellent investment. Don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “No idea. Anything relating to investing is Ethan’s scene. You should talk to him about the money market.”
“I will. Thanks for that.”
She took my hand and squeezed it, and warmth flushed through me. I’d never smiled so much in my life.
If it weren’t for Crisp, I would have been the happiest girl in London.
The cab pulled up at a two-storey white Edwardian house with a willow sparkling with fairy lights.
We climbed out and heard booming music.
“The party’s in full swing. Cool.” Savvie adjusted her skirt, which resembled a modern art piece, like someone had splashed paint over it. Stylish as always.
The door was already half-open, and as we entered, there were people everywhere talking loudly over techno music, which blasted from a large, cleared room with a DJ and people dancing.
Another new experience. Before Merivale, I’d never been to a party. As sad as that seemed, my upbringing didn’t exactly lend itself to sleepovers and girlfriends.
Weed smoke floated through the air, and a man in a multicoloured striped suit and a funny hat kissed Savvie. “Darling, there you are.” He brought out a tin and offered her a blue pill.
She shook her head, and his eyebrows flung up as though she’d turned down something that promised immortality.
“No. I’m clean. Married and trying to get pregnant. A few champagnes. That will do me.”
“Oh, Savs,”—he pulled a sad face—“I hope you’re not going all suburban on us.”
She giggled. “Never. We’re too rich for that.” She turned to me. “You can have one if you like.”
Though I’d had a few party pills here and there, I followed Savvie’s example and declined.
We entered another room filled with antique furniture and splashy modern art. Looking like she’d just stepped out of one of the paintings, a blonde girl dressed in a kaleidoscope of swirly colours screamed, “There you are, you Minx!” and hugged Savvie.
After being introduced to Jacinta, I loved listening to them chatting about who was fucking who or who’d just been caught doing drugs and all kinds of gossip. Mainly about clothes. One thing I’d learned about the young and wealthy, they loved their designer and became almost hysterical if someone turned up in the same outfit.
Dancing, drinking champagne, chatting about makeup trends and the latest scandals about some nobody reality star getting caught with a ton of dick pics on her hacked phone—I had a ball, and the night flew.
For once in my life, it felt like I was part of something. I was about to buy my own apartment in London. I’d made a few friends who I could meet for brunch at Harrods, and my plan to become a rich woman of style was on its way to being realised.
Where would Drake fit in?
I was too young to marry anyone, though he made my heart race, and I’d told him I loved him. Spur of the moment or not, I couldn’t see my life without him. He would fit in nicely, like everything else, I told myself with a big smile.
