Page 166 of My French Love Affair

I, however, am hyper-aware ofeverything.

There are a few people lingering outside the hotel, watching with curious eyes as we walk past. Their gazes flicker from Frederic to me, then back to him again.

They recognise him, I’m sure, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He just keeps walking, his grip firm and steady.

But the moment we step inside the hotel, the atmosphere shifts.

The staff all recognise him. There’s a quiet “bonsoir, Monsieur Moreau” from the doorman as we pass and a subtle nod from the receptionist. Some hotel guests glance over, their eyes lighting up with curiosity, but nobody stares outright, andnobody says anything.

It’s almosttoopolished, too seamless. Like they know better than to ask questions.

And that’s when it really hits me: Frederic Moreau isn’t just rich.

He’ssomebody.

And I’m walking through a five-star hotel holding his hand like I belong here.

I swallow hard, focusing on breathing steadily. His grip on my hand tightens briefly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as the elevator doors glide open and we step inside.

And once we’re alone - just the two of us in the mirrored, gold-trimmed space - he finally glances over at me.

His blue eyes gleam, full of something infuriatingly smug.

“Nervous?” he muses.

“Of what?” I scoff.

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin.

“You’re walking straight into the predator’s den,mon ange.”

The elevator comes to a halt, the doors sliding open; and I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’tthis.

Beyond the threshold, a vast, sprawling penthouse suite unfolds before me.

Everything about the suite is minimalistic, modern and luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows span the entire far wall, giving a panoramic view of the glittering Monaco skyline and the inky sea beyond.

The living area is filled with deep, plush couches, a sleek black dining table, and a fully stocked bar, and there are doors off to the side to indicate the other rooms that thespace leads to.

Something tells me Frederic has probably stayed in hundreds of suites like this before - that this level of indulgence is just normal for him.

It isn’t just luxury - it’spower.

I step inside slowly, my heels clicking softly against the polished floors, my stomach twisting with something I can’t quite name.

Because now that I’m here - alone with him, standing in the private sanctuary of his world - something in the air shifts.

It’s thick. Heavy. Charged with anticipation.

And then, I feel him.

Frederic comes up behind me, his body heat radiating against my back, his presence solid and unshakable. His hands find my waist, fingertips trailing over the fabric of my dress, so light I barely register the touch until I do.

Until my entire body locks up, hyper-aware of every single place he touches me.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice is low, quiet, and devastatingly smooth, and a shiver races down my spine.

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