Page 136 of My French Love Affair

Instead, I reach for my phone.

With one last wavering breath, I type in the digits, hesitating for a fraction of a second before entering his name as a contact.

Frederic.

And, with my heart pounding, I type out a message.

Thank you for the swimwear.

I hover over the send button, my finger trembling slightly.After all, once I send it, there’s no taking it back.

Before doubt can creep in - before I can talk myself out of it - I presssend.

And the instant the message delivers, I know that there’s no undoing this.

Whatever happens next, I’ve just set it in motion.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Poppy

Iwake with a start, the morning light spilling in through a small gap in the curtains.

My body feels heavy. Probably because I barely slept.

No matter how hard I tried, sleep never fully claimed me. Instead, I tossed and turned for hours, my thoughts tangled in one infuriating man.

I may have checked my phone once.

Or twice.

Okay - closer to thirty times.

And every single time, the result was the same.

Nothing.

No reply. No acknowledgment.

Not even a single read receipt.

I bury my face into the pillow, resisting the urge to scream in frustration.

Why did I message him? Why did I let myself get sucked into whatever this is?

I should’ve just thrown that stupid card into the bin and gone to sleep, butno.

Instead, I’d texted him, and now I’m left in limbo - overthinking every possible reason he hasn’t responded yet.

Maybe he didn’t get it.

Maybe hedidget it and just doesn’t care.

Maybe he decided that I’d waited too long to text him.

Maybe he’s already bored of this. Ofme.

The thought sends an unexpected pang through my chest, which only irritates me more.

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