Page 163 of My French Love Affair

Not wanting to give myself away, I relax into his touch and follow his lead as he walks us towards the curb. I spot his sleek black car already idling, and we come to a stop, waiting for the driver, Luc, to step out.

I glance up, taking in the sky. The stars are scattered across the night in tiny shimmering specks, and I can’t help but admire them.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur absently, tilting my head up toward the inky expanse.

He makes a small sound of agreement, but when I turn my head to look at him, he’s not looking at the stars.

He’s looking atme.

A flicker of something foreign flickers in my chest, soft and uninvited.

I swallow thickly, ignoring it.

The car door opens, breaking the moment, and Frederic hesitates - just for a second.

"I don’t want to assume…”

I arch a brow, knowingexactlywhat he’s asking.

“I want to,” I say simply, my voice softer than I expect as his lips curve into a slow, satisfied grin. "Wherever home is for you tonight," I clarify.

His grin widens, a dark glint of victory flashing in his ocean-blue eyes.

“Home,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his fingers brushing along my wrist and nudging gently at my new bracelet. He takes my hand again, pulling me with him towards the open car door. “For now, it’s a hotel my team booked out for the week.”

He tugs me toward the sleek leather seats, guiding me inside without a second thought, and just like that, I’m going home with Frederic Moreau.

Heaven help me.

* * *

The car pulls away from the curb, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between us.

The city glides past, bright lights flickering against the glass as we weave through the streets of Monaco. The air inside the car is calm, comfortable, and charged all at once - that strange in-between where neither of us has spoken yet, but the tension is very much there.

I steal a glance at Frederic, who’s lazily reclined, his long legs sprawled slightly as he watches me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

The kind that makes me nervous.

The kind that makes me want to fill the silence with something.Anything.

“So,” I say, shifting slightly. “Do you always whisk unsuspecting women away to your fancy hotel at the end ofa date?”

The words spill out of my mouth without thought, and I swear I could smack myself in the head for it.

Why the fuck did I just say that?!

“Would it make you feel special if I said no?” he smirks.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, so you do this all the time?”

His lips twitch, as though he’s amused by my line of questioning.

"I wouldn’t say all the time," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. "But then again, I don’t usually meet women who accuse me of stalking and grand theft auto within minutes of knowing them."

I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

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