Page 140 of My French Love Affair

Emma is dramatically sprawled across one of the beds, clutching her stomach like she’s been personally betrayed by the amount of food she’s just eaten.

"I can’t believe you let me order that second plate of pasta," she groans.

"I told you not to," Jas points out, scrolling through her phone. "But you said, and I quote, that you would simplyperishwithout it."

"And I meant it," Emma whimpers.

Jas snorts. "So dramatic."

I barely hear them, still trying to shake the warmth of the sun from my skin. I’m half-listening to their bickering, sipping my iced coffee, when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

We all freeze.

"Did anyone order room service?" Emma asks.

"Not me," Jas says.

"Maybe it’s Leah?" I frown.

"She has a key," Emma points out.

Another knock.

I sigh, setting my drink down and pushing up from the couch.

"Well, we’re about to find out."

I move across the suite, smoothing a hand over the linen of my sundress before unlocking the door.

My eyes almost bulge out of my head.

Two sharply dressed hotel staff members stand in the hallway, their hands full.

And by full, I meanfull.

They’re carrying an outrageous amount of roses.

Not one.

Not two.

Not three.

Butfourmassive bouquets of deep, velvety red roses.

The scent hits instantly; rich and intoxicating, filling the entire suite with an almost overwhelming floral perfume.

Behind me, Emma makes a sound. It’s hard to say if it’s a gasp or a squeal, but it’sloud.

"What the fuck?" Jas mutters.

I don’t know what to say.

The staff step inside, carefully placing the bouquets on the coffee table before handing me a pristine envelope.

I stare at it.

Then at the obscene amount of flowers.

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