Page 19 of Harper's Holiday Romance

“Oh, don’t—” I’d almost forgot about her, almost.

“What’s that song...let it go... let it be... let her be her and you be you,” Billie sang out of tune.

“Are they the lyrics, though?”

She shook her head. “No.” Billie necked the last of her champagne and held out her glass for a refill. I obliged.

“Here you go, Your Majesty.”

I wished I knew the woman’s name, then I could stalk her on social media—no. I didn’t need to do that. The woman who actively ignored my existence outside the elevator and knocked me over in the bathroom of the Italian restaurant did not require social media stalking. What would that achieve?

A glimpse into her life was tempting—no.

Regardless, I didn’t have her social handles or any idea who she was, but I would bet my life on her being one of three things: an all-American, prom queen, or involved in a protest that got her recognised by an Ivy League school. I was assuming stereotypes. I’d only ever seen girls like her in movies. I thought the “uber-bitch” was an exaggerated myth only present inMean Girls.

My downfall was my inability to let things go. Three years ago, a man stopped beside me at a set of traffic lights and made obscene gestures because I moved lanes without enough forewarning (in his opinion). If I thought about it enough it still brought me to tears. I severely disliked cruel people.

I had to pull myself together. I was in a beautiful country with my best friends, unlimited cocktails, and five-star cuisine. Who she was didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

She was mean.

She was rude.

She was downright disrespectful.

And she was, beautiful.

No, her appearance was not up for discussion. She could look like Jessica Alba, but if she had the inside equivalent to Maleficent, it was irrelevant.

Sarah popped her head around the corner of the balcony from her room.

“Hey, team.” She foolishly squeezed through the gap. I had to close one eye; it made me nervous.

“Have you got your fix of Imogen?” I asked.

“Imagine,” Sarah said.

“Imagine what?” Billie replied.

“No, her name is Imagine.”

Billie almost spat her drink across the balcony. “You’re lying.”

“Don’t be nasty,” I interjected.

“I’m not, but that’s... different.” Billie tried to keep a straight face, but as soon as Sarah’s smile started to crack, Billie burst out laughing.

“Does she like being called Image for short?” Billie asked.

“Stop it.” Sarah covered her mouth with her hand.

Billie taunted her until she was all out of jokes, which quite surprisingly took only five minutes. The topic of conversation swiftly changed from Sarah’s new love interest to my lack thereof.

“Maybe we can find you someone on this holiday,” Sarah suggested.

“I don’t want a holiday romance.”

“It’d probably last longer than your stay-at-home romances,” Billie ribbed.