Novel & Cerita Burgundy Pocketbook

I touched the first one, black with gold hardware, the leather a specific kind of soft that didn't feel real. I lifted it carefully and turned it over in my hands and set it down and reached for the second, and then the third. The woman answered my questions patiently, Aurelio stood a step back, not hovering, just present, watching my face rather than the bags. After a long time and a conversation with the woman that went through half a dozen options, I came back to two. The black Birkin. And a small maroon Kelly compact, the colour a deep red-brown that I had not expected to love as much as I did.

Dana bend down to open the message “Baby do you want that necklace?” “Why would I want something owned by someone else?” She replied quickly before sitting back happily. “They money has been transferred. May I request Ms Wakefield to come on stage and receive this piece of history.” Carrie announced as screen displayed a bank transfer receipt. Gail smiled politely and walked gracefully on to the stage. “I am glad to be a part of this noble endeavor.” Gail smiled “It’s a bonus that I get to hold a part of history along with it.” “The next item is a handbag” Tempest raised the bag in her hand and displayed a picture on the projector “but this is no ordinary bag. This is the very first bag desi

“I need a tissue.” Megan dug into her purse. “I brought a box.” She whacked it onto the table between them. “This Louis bag is great. Stylish and you can fit a bottle of wine, a box of tissues, and half a make-up case inside it without destroying how it hangs. And I got it at an estate sale,” she added with satisfaction. “At a fraction of what it would have cost to buy.”

But today’s maxed-out card wasn’t his. Today? It was Killian’s turn to pay the price. No one gets to finger-fuck me into oblivion, ghost me like a phase, and then steal days of sleep from me. His card had already been dragged through Gucci, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Louboutin, Hermès. And you’re looking at the proud new owner of a limited edition crocodile-skin bag. Only a hundred exist on the planet. Stella and I managed to pre order three. Two hundred grand well spent.

Bev sneers disapprovingly. I can't believe my eyes as I redirect my gaze at her. It's her, the figure, the stance and the sassy attitude are the same. What really catches my eye is the familiar expensive Bottega Veneta handbag she normally carries around. On that handbag straps, I spot the keychain filled with two USB flash drives amongst other decorative frilly trinkets.

“No hidden pockets?” Julise snorted. “Oh, my sweet summer child. The pockets are the least hidden thing about this.” She flipped the collar inside out to reveal a thin wire sewn into the seam. “Garrote. The left sleeve holds throwing needles. The embroidery on the bodice? Poison reservoir. This, my dear gutter rat, is a noblewoman’s idea of practical wear.” I held it up skeptically. “And the males who’ll die by the hands of noble females, they know and approve of this?”

He drops, making himself comfortable. Slowly, I unwrap the package. My eyes search the smooth glass encasement. The deep burgundy liquid rests inside like bottled velvet, rich and unapologetic. The label is embossed in gold foil, the lettering precise and elegant, the crest pressed proudly at its center. Year stamped beneath it. Limited reserve. This must have cost him a fortune. I tilt it slightly, watching the wine cling to the inner walls before sliding back down. "Impressive, right?" he says.

I glance at the first pocket to see everything everywhere. Nope, not it. No, that’s her makeup bag. Is this it? Nope, that’s her notes. “What pocket is it in?” I ask, already done looking at the first one. “I think it’s in the second one. Or was that my hair products pocket? Try checking it just in case.” I unzip it as it unleashes a pack full of hair accessories, combs, and an iron curl. “Amber, I don’t think it’s in this one. It’s too full.”

I ignore the jewelry. I go to the shelves in the back. Stacks of cash. Bricks of euros, wrapped in plastic. I grab them. One brick. Two. Three. I shove them into my pockets. They are heavy. Bulky. I find the box of bearer bonds. Thin sheets of paper worth a fortune. I take the whole box. I slide it into the waistband of my dress, securing it against my spine. I am weighed down by millions. I turn to leave. Then I stop.

On one side, a tiny white fabric tag with delicate embroidered letters: the name of a children’s boutique in Monaco that only certain people know and even fewer can actually afford. I’ve walked past it before. One headband in the window costs an intern’s monthly salary. The ribbon is the exact model I put in Poppy’s hair this morning. Only… this version is neater, straighter, not a single strand out of place. As if someone wanted to “fix” the crooked ponytail he’d just commented on. My throat goes dry. Next to the ribbon, there’s a small folded card. Not the boutique’s official stationery. Plain white, thick card stock.