Mia rushes through the crowd that slowly gathers by the iconic bookstore at the Monaco city square, reminiscent of a sonnet. Holding her shopper close, she feels heady – it has been a celebratory morning with Hors d’oeuvres paired with Champagne as she readied herself to meet her favourite author at his book launch – his books have always dotted her book shelves and she simply had to be here today.
She strides through the frenzied paparazzi as her dense brown hair fall over her shoulders and the sheer shirt clings on, her scent intermingled with a whiff of Dioressence. Her printed culottes go well with an aura of strength that she carries, of a woman taken by the wind.
A lensman catches her from the corner of his eye, awed by a Dagny Taggart personified, turns around and ensures he clicks her as many times he can. Others follow suit, as Mia rushes in with her darling shopper, oblivious to the camera clicks and curious glances, walking up the non-existent red carpet, disappearing inside.