Page 125 of My French Love Affair

Jas snorts from where she’s sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through her phone with half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t know how you drank that much. Even Leah didn’t get as messy, and she disappeared.”

Right.Leah.

I straighten slightly. “Did we get confirmation that she’s alive?”

“Checked her location earlier,” Jas says as she waves herphone in the air for emphasis. “She was back at Jacques’ mansion by three a.m. Sent a text at, like, six that said she was - and I quote -more than fine.’”

“So sheisalive, but likely making horrific decisions,” I nod.

“Don’t judge her,” Emma croaks. “She’s out there thriving,and I respect it.”

Jas sighs, still scrolling. “Speaking of thriving, I’m about to order breakfast. What do you guys want?”

Emma makes a strangled sound.

“Absolutelynothing.”

“You sure?” Jas lifts a brow. “You could do with lining your stomach, babe.”

“If you so much assaythe word‘eggs’-”

A sharp knock on the door interrupts her empty threat.

I frown, setting my coffee down.

“Room service?”

“Didn’t order yet,” Jas replies, equally confused.

Curious, I step across the suite and pull open the door.

Standing there is a pristine-looking member of hotel staff, dressed in a crisp black suit, a name tag pinned to his lapel.

“Mademoiselle,” he greets politely, offering a small nod. “I have a delivery for this room.”

I blink, glancing down.

In his hands is an obscenely large white box, wrapped in a silk pink ribbon tied into an elaborate bow, and balanced perfectly on top is an exquisite bouquet of blush pink roses, fragrant and flawless.

“Oh.” I hesitate for a second before stepping back. “Uh, yeah,sure - thanks.”

He hands the items over, and I have to take them separately, placing the box down first before reaching back for the bouquet.

“What the hell?” Emma splurts, sitting up slightly as I turn back towards them, the bouquet of roses in my arms.

“Leah,” Jas decides, eyeing the gifts with interest. “Looks like Jacques was trying to grovel.”

“Obviously,” Emma agrees, voice hoarse. “He definitely messed up last night. Although there was no grovelling necessary since she went back to him so easily.”

I’m about to agree as I close the door behind me when my gaze snags on the small white card nestled between the roses.

My breath catches as the room fades into a distant hum, my vision tunneling in on the delicate slant of my name on the card.

This isn’t for Leah.

This is forme.

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