Page 121 of My French Love Affair

“That’s…deeplyconcerning.”

Leah clears her throat, redirecting the focus back to me.

“I don’t think Poppy took a disco nap, did you, babe?” Her smirk sharpens. “I think you ran into someone.”

The words land like a grenade, and Emma gaspsagain, clutching her chest this time.

Jas whistles, sitting back.

“Thatdoessound more plausible.”

I exhale sharply, knowing there’s no getting out of this.

“Fine. I was with Frederic.”

Dead. Silence.

And then, Emmascreeches.

Jas lets out a victoriouswhoop,while Leah just grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“Are you telling me,” Emma slurs, voice hushed with scandal, “that while we were here,drinkingwine, you were banging an F1 driver?”

“Would you keep your voice down?!” I say as I slap a hand over her mouth.

She does not keep her voice down.

Instead, she squeals against my palm, her entire body vibrating with sheer glee.

“Oh, this is better than I could have ever imagined,” Leah says, taking a triumphant sip of wine.

Jas shakes her head in what I think is admiration.

“And here I thought you’d at leastpretendto resist a little longer.”

I glare at all of them. “Ididresist.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” Leah smirks.

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, we absolutely will not,” Jas grins. “We need details.”

Emma finally pulls my hand away from her mouth, blinking rapidly.

“Frederic Moreau?” she whispers - though her version of whispering is still far too loud for my liking. “TheFrederic Moreau?”

“No, Em,” I say flatly. “AdifferentFrederic Moreau. Also a French F1 driver, also on this yacht, also currently ruining my life.”

Jas barks a laugh.

“Oh my god,” Leah sighs, shaking her head in sheer disbelief. “I feel like a proud mother. My little Poppy is finally making questionable decisions.”

“It’s about time,” Emma adds.

I groan, rubbing my temples.

“I hate you all.”

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