Page 15 of My French Love Affair

“Ah,” he says, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Sohostile.”

“Oh, I’msosorry for not blindly trusting a strange man who just appeared out of nowhere and thinks I should graciously give up my one escape route for him.”

Ugh. Men.

His lips twitch. “I was going to suggest we share it, actually.”

I blink, momentarily stunned.

Then, I bark out a laugh.

“No,” I say, shaking my head firmly. “Absolutely not.”

His brows lift, like he genuinely can’t comprehend my refusal. “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I actually want to make it to my friendsalive?”

He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

He’s beginning to irritate me now, and my expression turns more into a glare.

“Practical,” I correct.

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest and feigning deep offense.

“You’ll survive.”

The driver turns towards me and begins speaking in rapid French, likely asking for the address of my hotel and effectively stopping this strange man from trying to argue any further.

Finally- someonesanein this situation.

Before I can respond, the infuriating would-be abductor rudely interrupts, launching into smooth, rapid-fire French so ridiculously fast that it makes me question whether I ever actually studied the language at all.

I mean, technically, I did. Five years of it, in fact. Enough to order a croissant, ask for directions, and understand the occasional flirty comment from a waiter.

Butthisis a whole different league.

I barely catch a word, my brain short-circuiting as he strings together sentences like some kind of French-speaking machine gun, leaving me blinking like an idiot.

The driver listens, nodding along, and then gestures for me to get in the vehicle, stepping out to load my suitcase into the boot after all.

I narrow my eyes at the smug Frenchman.

“What did you just say to him?”

He leans against the open passenger door, smirk firmly intact.

“Nothing bad, I promise.”

I don’t trust him at all.

“This is exactly how women end up on missing persons posters,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“Ah. You’ve seenTaken,” he comments.

“Yes. Multiple times.”

He nods solemnly. “Then you are well-prepared.”

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