Faking It Till Forever

Chapter Two

Charlotte

“Oh that motherfuc—”

“Language” Aria, Freya and I remind Vi. She slumps back on her chair eyeing us like we were Adrian.

Vi, Aria, Freya and I are at the Cedar coffee shop tucked on West Street in Marlow, it’s one of those spots that feels like a warm hug the moment you step inside. You know the type—soft lighting, wooden tables with just enough scratches to have character, and the irresistible aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint sweetness of pastries. It’s cozy without trying too hard. Effortlessly charming.

The coffee? Oh, don’t even get me started. Their flat white is practically liquid gold—smooth, rich, and strong enough to bring me back to life after a long meeting with a spreadsheet I’d rather set on fire. And their pastries? Homemade. The sort that make you wish calories were just a myth. My go-to is their buttery almond croissant—flaky, delicate, and dusted with just the right amount of icing sugar. Honestly, I could write a love letter to it.

And there’s this corner table by the window, slightly hidden from the main bustle but with a perfect view of the street outside. It’s our table, though no one else knows it, of course. We like to sit there when we’re on a lunch break from the office. If it’s late enough in the day, I’ll swap the coffee for a steaming chai latte, sprinkled with cinnamon that makes it feel like autumn in a cup.

It’s not posh or fancy—it’s real. That’s what we love about it. A little nook for regulars, daydreamers, and people like us, trying to find five minutes of peace in a world that never stops moving.

I just told them how Adrian stood me up yesterday. And how they were right about him...again.

I woke up today feeling like—s**t. I’ve never felt that in a very long time, my whole body sore from how I dozed off on the kitchen counter. I was sleepy as f**k, but I pushed on and got to work.

“Did you confront him?” Freya asks, while sipping her iced Americano.

“She did” Vi chimes in fuming like a teapot. The moment I woke up, I called her and told her all about it. She then suggested we bury him with his d**k in his mouth—her words not mine.

“Let Char tell us about her boyfriend” Aria interrupts, giving me back the speaker Vi took away.

“He claims to have forgotten and being swarmed by work” I mumbled out looking at the workers who have become my new interest.

“Or rather being swarmed by someone” Freya mumbles. All attention were turned to her. Freya doesn’t talk much, but when she does—everyone listens.

“Think about it, when did he start being distant?” she squints her eyes, I could see her engines working.

If PR specialist wasn’t Freya’s passion, she’d make a very good lawyer.

“When I ordered us ticket to the Sapphire Seas cruise tour” answered I.

“Before that, remember when you told us about when he was absent for a week after his business trip?” Aria inquires her Indian accent preceding the British.

Adrian went on a business trip to Manhattan for the partnership in the distributive council.

“What was his excuse even then?” Freya asks leaning on the chair like she’s already cracked the case.

“Work” Vi says it for me, as she glances at me with a death look. “If this motherfucker isn’t dead by tomorrow, my name isn’t Violet” she abruptly stands up trying to head for the door when I quickly grab her arm.

“Let’s not be hasty, we are not sure if that is even true” I reasoned with them as I try to force the hurt pang in my chest down.

“Yet” interjects Freya. I nod my head and swallow a bad taste of uneasiness down my throat.

“How’s your work with Prince William’s son going?” I ask partly because I’m interested and partly because I want the attention to revert to someone. The mic is being too heavy for my hand.

Aria is an interior designer, a good one at that if I may say so myself, she has been landing a lot of client since when she worked her magic on the late former king in command Anthony. His out shore house was quite the charmer, he convinced his son Benedict to give Aria a try and so on and so forth. Now she’s land a gig with the Prince’s son.

Aria releases a groan—that’s a first. “I’ve never met a client who cannot make up his mind, he has the choices of a deformed kid” she harshly tears her croissant before putting it in her mouth.

“What’s wrong with him?” Vi asks after giving me the ‘we’re not done talking’ look.

“It’s like he’s been chosen what to want since when he was a kid, because every time I ask him if he’d prefer this to this, he’d ask for my opinion” she sulks down looking sad. “I feel like we’re moving forward, and being five steps back when I check the spreadsheet, and the deadline’s almost up”

Aria, spends six months on a client and nothing more, that’s her unofficial rule, she says it makes her ‘work faster and better’.

We all encourage her like we do for each and every one of us, before converting our focus to Freya. Her recent client got blacklisted from The Buckinghamshire golf club just because of a hiccup.

The Buckinghamshire Golf Club was the sort of place where you could practically smell the wealth in the air—polished wood, freshly cut grass, and the faintest whiff of expensive cologne lingering like a secret handshake. Located just outside Denham, its sprawling green fairways seemed endless, stretching toward the horizon in a way that screamed exclusivity. I’d never quite understood the appeal of golf—grown men in pastel shirts chasing tiny balls—but even I had to admit there was something magnetic about the club itself.

The clubhouse was a masterpiece of understated grandeur. Classic yet modern, like something plucked out of a British period drama, with sprawling windows that bathed the rooms in natural light and overlooked the manicured course. Inside, there were leather armchairs that swallowed you whole and a sense of quiet importance that made you lower your voice without realizing it. The walls were adorned with perfectly curated art—British landscapes and polished portraits of founders or members who probably hadn’t smiled in a century.

Before Freya could go on about how her clients stupid, there was a call from me and Vi. We looked at each other,—that’s not good.

We rushed to the office, confused worried and disoriented. “What’s wrong?” she asks our coworker; Tia, she shrugs heading to the meeting hall.

“Aurora foods is having a problem of supply chain disruption, and I want this to be fixed before it reaches HQ, any suggestions?” Mr. Blake cuts to the chase looking at each and everyone of us.

“How about we go to the supplier and find out the root of the problem?” Sydney suggested with a contemplative face.

“In Tuscany?” he inquired with a raised brow. She gave a small nod. “Good idea!” he exclaims with a clap.

“Who would love to go to Tuscany? I just need two people to volunteer” he stands up leaning his hand on the desk.

“I will do it” Adrian suggested with a cool expression on his face.

‘or rather he’s swarmed by someone’

‘when did he start being distant?’

“Great! Who wants to go again?” Blake asks again.

‘you should’ve confided in me before booking it’

“I’ll do it” I said. Looking at Adrian with a determination so strong it would knock me down if I were standing.