i'd rather have holes in my shoes (than be without you)

i. ➳ champagne and promises

 ❝ tomorrow comes and goes before you know, so I just had to let you know the way that Gucci look on you, amazing. ― Beautiful (Bazzi ft. Camila Cabello) ❞ 

this chapter contains mature scenes. will be tagged with *** before and after.

― £ £ £ ✈ ✈ £ £ £ ✈ ✈ £ £ £ ―

Maybe you would hate this life, in the years to come. Now, it was the only way you knew how to live, and wealth was intoxicating. You didn't have to calculate transactions while you were shopping–not even after leaving the expensive dressing room of a Yves Saint Laurent luxurious store. You had heels and dresses and real diamonds to wear daily. You wanted nothing, and you knew for a fact, your life would always be this way.

You were born in a mansion, and you always lived in one, and on your eighteenth birthday–while most people got new phones, or just a painful hangover–your father bought you your own mansion. It was almost humours, how little that purchase effected his bank account, all he wanted was to make sure his daughter never wanted for anything, not that you possibly could–with five premium credit cards all linked to his bank account.

You weren't spoiled. Well, you were. But your father had more than enough to give you and then some, so why shouldn't you enjoy it?

With no one else in his life to spoil and a wife who had everything she wanted too–it was only appropriate you had a mansion and three luxurious cars, and five credit cards. It made sense, it did.

You'd argue that it made even more sense when considering the fact you had to attend terribly dull events since your teen years while your mother stayed at home.

He'd always tell you to behave yourself, look presentable, and try and have a fun night. Your mother didn't need to come to boring events, only the most prestigious ones. You wished you could stay with her, wished you didn't have to smile and shake hands with strangers all night while waiters poured drinks and served you food–but it was your duty as the only daughter and heir of Romeo Company Ltd. You were constantly reminded, since the day you could properly comprehend things, that your father wasn't young. He had you a few months prior to his 52nd birthday, and he was longing for retirement for years. Eventually, when you were old enough, and experienced enough, the business would be legally yours and your father could spend his days rotating between his beach houses around the world.

A year after you started frequenting galas and hospital openings and public auctions, you noticed another member of the usual elite looked just as lost as you did.

You seen him more than a few times, remembered the way he caught you by surprise the first night you saw him stepping out of a white Tesla and throwing his keys over to the valet with such simplicity–you were sure he's been doing it since birth. After studying him for the better part of an hour, you deduced he must've been born into this life too, thinking him far too young to be self-made.

You were never introduced to him, and although you preferred avoiding small talk for as long as you could, something that night urged you to walk up to him–remembering your father's instructions to always mingle based on gut instinct.

Smiling his way, you leaned across the table to pick up a pink mocktail and sipped slowly on the straw. He studied you slightly, the same look of familiarity you felt towards him was sketched on his face–knowing the pair of you were the only minors in the room. There was something magnetic about knowing you were in the same boat, that you've both been dragged here to trail behind your parents until they finally decided to go home.