Page 182 of My French Love Affair

You? Barely.

But I do miss the room service.

His reply is instant.

Ouch.

Emma, ever the hawk-eyed one, catches the way my lips twitch at his message and narrows her eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.”

“Mmhm. Is it really nothing, or is it in fact a certain devastatingly handsome Frenchman?” Jas arches a brow.

I roll my eyes, setting my phone facedown.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Emma leans back in her chair, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Yes, actually, we would. We want to know everything. All of the gory,juicydetails.”

I don’t dignify that with a response.

*

By the time we’re strolling back toward the hotel, I notice something strange.

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

It’s been happening all day - these random surges of notifications.

I figured it was just more engagement than usual. After all, ever since we arrived in Monaco, my social media traction has skyrocketed. The backdrop alone has been enough to keep my posts performing well, butthis?

This is something else entirely.

I frown, opening the app to check my numbers.

Nearly five thousand new followers in the last few hours.

What the hell?

“Okay, this is getting weird,” I mutter, scrolling through the influx of comments and messages.

There’s a lot of typical engagement - people gushing over the outfits I’ve been posting, questions about where I’m staying, what I’m wearing, what I’m doing - but then there are a few comments that catch my eye.

Is it true??

Is she the mystery girl??

And then, on my most recent video -

That dress… wasn’t she wearing that last night?

A wave of unease rolls through me.

Emma glances over my shoulder and smirks.

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