A Lady's Guide to Marrying Rich ✔

1

Kenneth hands me a tissue, which I dab at my eyes. When he comes back, it's with a trolley full of cosmetic products, and a very determined look.

"Right. Forget the sunset palette. If it's a blue dress we must go with the Bahamas-inspired coral green gradient ..."

Exactly three hours later, I'm skipping out of Kenneth's salon with a fresh hairdo and make-up that's on fleek. This is why I pay him the big bucks. No one knows the contours of my face better than he does, not even my own husband. As I shimmy down the heart of London in my stilettos, blonde hair cascading behind me in balayage waves, I feel like the queen of the world.

I step into Starbucks and rattle off my usual order. "A venti matcha Frappuccino, half-caff, half-sugar, a dash of cinnamon, and soy milk heated to exactly 137 degrees, please." I shoot the barista a warning look. "And don't even think about not getting the temperature right. My tongue will know the difference."

Outside, London zips by in its usual cacophony of honking vehicles, diesel-chuffing buses, and bright yellow cabs. This is the city I've lived in for all of my life, and I won't leave it for anywhere else. There's no other lap of luxury and riches quite like London.

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

A handsome gentleman in a silver three-piece suit is smiling at me. He's holding a cardboard cup of black coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other. I notice the watch on his wrist and the polished Oxfords on his feet.

"As a matter of fact, it isn't. Please."

The man sits. "So. Which angel did they name after you?"

I laugh. "That's new. I haven't heard that pick-up line before."

"Oh? And have you heard many?"

"What do you think?"

I watch the man's eyes take in my figure from top to bottom. He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his black coffee.

"I think you have. Probably a lot more than what my self-esteem can handle," he admits.

"Now you're selling yourself short. A man with your confidence must have done this many times."

"Never to such a pretty girl like you."

I gesture at his briefcase. "A lawyer?"

"Close. I'm a banker."

"How is that close?"

The man grins. "We make a living off cheating people."

From the counter, the barista calls out, "Iris Darling!"

I stand up, shouldering my bag. "Ever cheated a million pounds before?"

"I'm sorry?"

"A million pounds. That's my asking price. Of course, the annual renewal fee is much higher. But I don't think you can afford that, not when you're wearing a fake Rolex." I flash him a dazzling smile. "Good day, Mr Banker."

Taking my coffee, I saunter out.

Victor is waiting for me at the corner besides Tiffany's as instructed. 

"Madam," he greets with a nod as I step into the limousine. "Will you be going anywhere else for the day?"

"No. Straight back home, please. Jared and I have arranged for dinner at Alain Ducasse. I need to be ready by eight."

"Ah, The Dorchester." The chauffeur gives an approving nod. "I hear it takes weeks to get a reservation."

"Oh, you know Jared. He got it done in four days."