June Horner's entire life came crashing down in one night.
After a vengeful ex-boyfriend spread rumours about her, destroying her reputation and making her undesirable by nearly every acting and modelling agency in existence, she was lost for months...
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d e l i c a t e
˜"*°•.˜"*°•.•°*"˜.•°*"˜
you can feel it on the way home you can see it with the lights out you are in love, true love, you are in love.
.҉ .҉ .҉
I HAVE TO ADMIT now that I'm sober—even if it's just to myself—that I like Charles. I wouldn't go as far to say that I'm in love with him, but there may be some type of school girl crush going on; I don't really know how to feel about that, mostly negative, I think.
I think I need to have a sit down with a therapist, or a night in with the girls—and a few bottles of wine—before I can decide.
When I woke up in Shanghai, Nora was laying beside me, spooning my side. I let her sleep a little longer, and just stared up at the ceiling of my hotel room. Nora always made herself comfortable, whether it was in my flat, my hotel or in my bed, she would nestle in and make a cozy little space for herself, drunk or not. I didn't mind. It was comforting, especially while I was having my mini crisis.
I get forgetful when I drink, which is mostly why I don't like doing it. But I don't think all the alcohol in the world could make me forget my conversation with Charles in the club last night. How his hands felt on my hips, on my waist, on the small of my back. How he looked at me, how his voice sounded when he was talking low, right into my ear; how his breath felt on my neck. I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to know it, too. He called me chérie.
Had he been flirting with me?
I didn't imagine it, right?
I think all the way back to Monaco, to everything Blue had said. He's been fucking you with his eyes since before dinner, and the way she picked up on something going on between us. There isn't anything going on, though. I have to remind myself of that. A school girl crush isn't "something going on."
Nora lets out a groan and turns to lay on her back.
"Bonjour," I say, still looking at the ceiling. My voice is hoarse from last night,
"Buongiorno, babes," Nora replies, her voice is hoarse and raspy too, but it's like that every morning.
"Why didn't you stay at Mark's last night?" I ask, turning my head to look at her. She's staring up at the ceiling with her hands folded on her stomach. I wait a while for her answer, thinking she might not answer at all.
"I left," she says eventually.
"What?" I lie on my side, propping my head up on my elbow.
"I panicked," her voice comes out in a whisper, "and I came home."
