Page 129 of My French Love Affair

“Itdoesn’t,” I insist. “Because I’m not calling him. I’m not texting him. I’m not doinganything.”

Emma’s mouth falls open. “But -”

“No.”

“ButPoppy-”

“No!”

She makes a wounded noise, like I’ve just personallyoffended her.

“So, you’re just going to ignore it?” Jas asks.

“Exactly.”

Emma groans, flopping onto her bed dramatically.

“You aresoboring.”

I roll my eyes, dragging the box toward me before closing the lid.

Truthfully… I don’t know what to do.

I thought this was done, that I was free. I thought I hadescaped.

But with his number now sitting in front of me, I know with the same certainty that ruined me last night that Frederic Moreau is not done with me.

Not evenclose.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Frederic

The low hum of the simulator surrounds me, the screen illuminating the dimly lit room with a cold, artificial glow. I grip the wheel tightly, my foot precise on the throttle, the virtual car responding to my every calculated movement.

The Monaco circuit unfolds ahead, every sharp turn and elevation change burned into my muscle memory. The sim is good -exceptional, even - but it’s still not the real thing.

It’s a lifeless imitation.

There’s no rush of air, no G-force pushing me against the cockpit, no scent of burning rubber and hot asphalt.

But it’ll have to do.

I push harder, feeding the car more speed, more ofme, finding the absolute limit of grip. I know Matthieu is watching my data closely, ready to pick apart every sector the moment I step out.

“Two tenths up,” Matthieu’s voice crackles through my headset. “Keep it clean through the chicane.”

I barely register the words. I alreadyknow.

I flick the wheel, feeling the artificial force feedback respond, committing every adjustment to instinct.

Ilivefor this.

Nothing else should matter.

And yet, my mind betrays me.

A flash of silk. A breathy moan. Nails dragging down my back.

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