Glutes, Greed & Gilt
"Ugh, I swear, my trainer, Jean-Pierre, is literally trying to kill me," Anastasia dramatically declared, fanning herself with a perfectly manicured hand, the diamond on her ring finger catching the sunlight streaming into the exclusive rooftop café. Her friend, Genevieve, idly stirred her iced matcha latte with a tiny silver spoon, her perfectly coiffed blonde hair not a single strand out of place. "Darling, don't be so dramatic," Genevieve purred, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "He's probably just trying to sculpt you into a goddess. Mine, bless her soul, had me doing some kind of barbaric CrossFit last week. My calves are still protesting." "CrossFit? Genevieve, no," Anastasia gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror. "That's practically for… for commoners! All that grunting and lifting heavy things. My delicate constitution simply wouldn't allow it. I prefer a more refined approach, you know? Pilates, bespoke yoga wit...