Carnaby Street Lights
The city came alive as the sun dipped behind the rooftops.
Natasha said she knew “a place that feels like secrets and champagne,” and honestly, that was enough for me.
We started the night walking through Carnaby Street, lights strung overhead, the air buzzing with laughter and music from the bars spilling onto the street.
“London’s like a chameleon,” Isabella said, snapping photos as we walked. “Changes colour depending on who’s watching.”
“Or who’s drinking,” I added, and she laughed so hard she nearly dropped her camera.
Inside the Lounge
The lounge was tucked behind a door with no sign, just a single brass handle and a doorman who somehow knew Natasha by name.
Inside — we heard background music. Low, sultry. Candles flickered in old whiskey glasses. A barman in a waistcoat nodded as we took our seats.
Natasha ordered something with gin and rose petals. Isabella went for a mojito. Me? My preference is always Whisky, neat.
We talked about everything — the madness of the shoot, the cities we’d left behind, the strange freedom of being somewhere new.
Rainy Soho Streets
At one point, Natasha leaned in and said quietly, “You realise we’ve become a bit of a force, don’t you?”
Isabella raised an eyebrow. “You mean like a storm?”
“Exactly,” Natasha said. “Beautiful, unpredictable, and very inconvenient for anyone standing in the way.”
I grinned, lifting my glass. “Then here’s to inconvenient women.”
We clinked glasses, the sound sharp and clean in the smoky air.
Later, outside under the drizzle, the three of us walked arm-in-arm through the Soho streets. The neon lights blurred on the wet pavement, turning the world into a painting.
“Where to next?” Isabella asked.
I smirked. “You’ll have to check Fanvue for that part.”
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