Page 10 of My French Love Affair

You did the right thing.

I frown.

Me:Policing my meal choices?

Leah:Pops. The milkshake thing. The pasta thing.

The fact that he made a face every time you had a second coffee.

Em:Or the time he actually said "are you sure you need desert?"

and we all nearly murdered him in broad daylight.

My mouth parts slightly.

Shit.

They’reright.

I was so busy convincing myself that Noah wasperfect- so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with me for not falling for him - that I didn’t fully realise just how insufferable some of those things were.

Hewaslovely, sure; but he also had a habit of subtly undermining me.

Like the way he used to talk about my degree. How he’d call my sketchescuteand talk about fashion like it was a sweet, silly hobby rather than something I was actually serious about. The way he neverreallylistened when I got excited about trends, or the way his eyes used to glaze over whenever I brought up plans for my own brand.

And just like that, the guilt in my stomach lessens.

Not completely - but enough.

Before I can dwell on it too much, another message pops up.

Leah:So, to celebrate… GET YOUR ASS TO MONACO.

I blink.

Me:What??

The responses come thick and fast.

Jas:You heard her. Pack a bag. Come join us.

Em:We booked this trip ages ago and YOU were the one who

said, and I quote, “I can’t, I’ll be with Noah, and he’s not

really into that kind of thing.”

Leah:Which, by the way, should have been your first red flag.

I roll my eyes.

Me:Okay, but that was BEFORE I knew he’d be publicly

serenading me at restaurants.

Em:Exactly.

So. Get. Your. Ass. To. Monaco.

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