Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

9.

Friday
Jimmy'z Monte-Carlo night club
23:00

"I can't believe you're getting me to do this." I mutter quietly. "Why do you always rope me into these things?"

"You didn't have to come." Stella argues back in a hushed tone, so our driver doesn't hear.

"You put my name down as your plus one." I remind her, staring her down. "My full name."

"Don't act like you don't want to be here." Stella scoffs, unbuckling her seatbelt as we pull up to one of the fanciest night clubs in the principality. "Get your ass out the car, merci au chauffeur!"

Stella hops out the car quicker than me. I barely have time to gather my things before she rips open my door- I'm surprised it didn't come off the hinges. She snatches my wrist, yanking me out the car and onto my feet. I scoff as I stumble in my heels, tossing my hair off my face once I've regained balance. I wave the taxi off rather than using my words; my French skills are far from impressive, unlike Stella's. I tend to say the wrong things, so the last thing I want to do is thank the taxi driver by unintentionally calling his Dad a slag or some other insult.

Stella holds my hand as we walk towards one of the most famous places in Monte Carlo. I blow out my cheeks as the building gets closer and closer to me, the bass music making the floor around it feel like it's quaking. I'm nervous, and it's obvious. I haven't been to a private event for a long time, nor a party where I know no one but Stella. Surrounding myself with people that all know each other, yet none of them know me, is an easy way to get my heart pumping.

Oh well. The things you've got to do when you're playing Cupid, right?

"Mate, I know you're shitting yourself, but you don't have to look constipated." Stella tells me as we approach the bouncers, fishing our IDs from our purses. "Get in there, get some shots down you, then what do you have to lose?"

"Either my right heel or you." I answer, brushing some hair out the way. "If you go on walkabouts tonight I swear-"

"I'm not going on walkabouts when we're in matching outfits." Stella interrupts, putting a hand on my wrist. "By the way, you should wear satin dresses more often, you've got good curves."

Just one sentence boosts both my confidence and my anxiety all at once.

I'm rarely anxious about nights out. It's not often you see me walking into a club with an awkward chip on my shoulder, let alone in a satin dress. Tonight, I've got three reasons to not feel like myself. For starters, I'm Stella's plus one to a private event; I don't even know what this event is for! Are we celebrating a birthday, a promotion, an engagement? Secondly, we're meeting this guy she kissed last Friday night, so not only am I a plus one, but I'm also a third wheel! Three, Charles.

No, Stella hasn't had a sudden change of mind and decided to invite him as her plus two, if that's a thing. I feel bad for him, believe it or not, because Stella is trying to set me up with someone. I haven't told him I'm here, he doesn't need to know about Stella's antics when they won't go any further than me sampling meeting this other single man. I'm enjoying getting back in touch, staying up until early hours of the morning talking about all the random things happening in the world. I don't want to ruin them before they even begin.

It feels like I'm backstabbing Charles. How could anyone go from sitting on a terrace, sharing champagne and having a laugh with a 'romantic partner' to going clubbing the following week? Like it's nothing? We aren't official, but it feels very sly and deceptive.