Page 139 of My French Love Affair

I glance down at it, and then do a double-take.

It’s him.

What are you doing right now?

I hesitate, my eyes narrowing as I look around me.

None of the girls are paying me any attention. They’re all preoccupied themselves, and I swallow thickly as I reach for my phone and unlock it.

Then, before I can overthink it, I type back:

Enjoying my day. Why?

A response comes almost immediately.

Good. So am I.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small, traitorous smile that tugs at my lips.

And just like that - between sketches, between sips of wine -

I start texting him.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Poppy

The next few days pass by in a blur of sunshine, rosé, and unapologetic indulgence.

Between beach days, long lunches, and late-night cocktails, the girls and I have been fully embracing our Monaco adventure.

Fully embracing as in: Emma has somehow convinced a bartender to invent a cocktail in her honour, Jas has declared that she’s moving here at least four times, and Leah -

Well. Leah has practically relocated to Jacques’ mansion.

She still makes occasional appearances, though. Usually accompanied by designer bags and looking smug as hell.

And me?

Against my better judgment, I’ve still been sneakily messaging Frederic Moreau.

A lot.

I don’t even know how it happened.

One message turned into two, then two turned into entire conversations.

He’s been asking all sorts of things - about my life in London, my fashion studies, how long I’m staying in Monaco -

And, of course, whether I’m coming to the race.

Leah’s mysterious contact for race tickets had fallen through, but because Monaco is Monaco, she managed to find a replacement.

Thank you, Jacques.

Apparently, he’s sorted us VIP tickets, which absolutely does not seem suspicious. At all.

I’ve been trying not to worry about it, despite the fact that the race is this coming weekend. For now, it’s Monday afternoon, and we’ve just returned from a long, lazy lunch.

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