Page 189 of My French Love Affair

"He’s just being…weird. I don’t like it"

Jas smirks, spinning her lip liner between her fingers.

"Weirdhow? Like,you’re-not-his-princess-anymoreweird, orhe’s-actually-being-financially-responsible-for-onceweird?"

"Both," Leah glares.

Interesting.

Emma perks up, grabbing her bag.

"Well, if he’s out here being a disappointment, then he’s banned from our thoughts today,” she announces. “Come on, misery arse - it’s beach club time!"

* * *

The sun is high, the ocean sparkles, and it turns out that the beach club isexactlywhat I need.

Luxurious loungers, soft music, and an endless stream of cold drinks is just what Monaco ordered, and I am more than content to spend the day just lounging around.

We settle into a prime spot, a shaded cabana overlooking the water.

Leah orders a mimosa, Jas applies SPF like her life depends on it, Emma scrolls through her phone, sunglasses perched on her nose -

And me?

I pull out my sketchbook.

It’s easier to distract myself with work. Easier to ignore the flurry of notifications lighting up my phone - commentsunder my latest post, all variations of:

"Is this Frederic's girlfriend??"

"She was seen leaving his hotel!"

"Omg are they dating??"

I exhale, focusing on my designs, dragging the pencil across the page in soft, deliberate strokes.

Emma, sunbathing beside me, peeks over her sunglasses.

"You’re still ignoring the comments?"

I nod. "The moment I respond, it’ll just get worse."

"True." She sighs dramatically. "But mygod, the tea is piping."

I shake my head, smirking as I keep sketching, ignoring the comments.

Ignoringhim.

Because the second I let myself think about Frederic Moreau, I know I’ll never stop.

Thankfully, he’s busy.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

He’s got a race to prepare for. Acareerthat involves driving at unimaginable speeds, fine-tuning every possible fraction of a second, dealing with a team, sponsors, strategy meetings -

There’s no way he has time to be thinking about me.

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