I groan. “I’mnotflustered.”
“Youareflustered,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Though I suppose it’s understandable. I imagine this is your first scandal, no?”
I roll my eyes again, though this time, I’m smiling.
“It’s hardly a scandal. It’s just one stupid article.”
“With a very clear picture of us holding hands,” he reminds me.
I exhale, shaking my head. “Great. Now I’ll forever be known asthat girl.”
“And what girl is that?” he prompts.
“The random one caught in a fling withFrederic Moreau.”
There’s a pause, and then his voice drops, smooth as silk and dark as sin.
“Afling, hmm?”
I falter mid-step, my breath catching, becauseshit.
I said that out loud.
“I mean -” I scramble to recover, but he hums in amusement, cutting me off.
“Don’t worry,mon ange. I’ll try not to betoooffended.”
I shake my head, focusing on the cobbled street beneath my feet as I turn a corner.
“So, what’s been on your busy schedule today?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “It sounded hectic this morning.”
“All of it,” Frederic sighs dramatically. “Unfortunately, this will be the usual for the rest of the week.”
I make a small, sympathetic noise, waiting for him to continue.
“I wish you were here,” he adds casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.
Shit.
That’s dangerous territory.
I could sayme too. I could let the words fall out naturally, let them mean something, let myself accept the fact that Idowish I were there.
But that would be admittingsomething.
So instead, I force out something lighthearted, something safe.
“Well,” I say, my tone teasing. “If you really wanted me there, you would have sentfivebouquets instead of four.”
His chuckle is dark and warm. “Noted. Next time, I’ll be sureto be more convincing.”
Next time.
Something about the way that he says it makes my pulse hammer.
His voice lingers in my ear, a velvet thread tying me to him despite the fact that I’m strolling through Monaco’s winding streets.
“What are you doing, anyway?” he asks, his tone easy and curious.