Page 126 of My French Love Affair

“Poppy?” Jas’ voice cuts through the fog, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer.

My fingers tremble slightly as I pluck the card from the bouquet, turning it over.

The message is short and teasing, but far too thoughtful for a man who has no business being… well,thoughtful.

I owed you something couture, non?

- F.

Oh.

Oh,fuck.

I practically feel the colour drain from my face.

“Pops?” Emma croaks from the chair, her voice slightly more alert.

I swallow, struggling to find words. Instead, I take a slow, measured breath - then, with shaking hands, I reach for the lid of the box.

I lift it just an inch.

I see just enough.

And then I slam it back down.

“Nope.”

Emma lets out an actualsqueal, miraculously recovering from her near-death experience as she bolts upright, sunglasses slipping off her face.

“Oh, absolutely not,” she exclaims, scrambling over. “You donotget to just do that!”

I tighten my grip on the lid.

“Emma,don’t -”

Too late.

Emma all but rips it open, her dramatic gasp filling the suite as she stares inside like she’s just uncovered buried treasure.

Jas whistles lowly. “Jesus. You pissed him off, and he sent you Chanel?”

My stomach flips.

Because yes -Chanel.

Nestled inside the pristine white tissue paper is not one, not two, butthreepieces of designer swimwear.

A stunning white and gold two-piece bikini with delicate gold chain detailing.

A matching sheer sarong.

And, just in case I wanted options, an obscenely expensive black one-piece with the kind of tailoring that could make a nun look scandalous.

Emma reaches in, lifting the bikini top and inspecting the dainty straps with a reverent sigh.

“Oh, he wants you, babe.”

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