Page 192 of My French Love Affair

Though I have to ask - why aren’t you wearing the swimsuit I bought you?

I pause, glancing down at my legs, stretched out on the sun lounger. I hadn’t even staged them particularly well on the photo since I had been trying to snap it so quickly in order to get a clear shot of his zoomed-in face.

Still, I bite back a smirk, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard.

I have my own designs to promote, remember?

It’s hardly a lie - Idostill have content to film.

Monaco is a dream setting for my brand, and I’d be stupid not to take full advantage of it while I’m here. The elegant architecture, the pristine beaches, the endless displays of wealth and sophistication - it all fits seamlessly into the aesthetic I’ve been carefully curating for months.

Since old money luxury is the exact vibe I’m going for, there’s no better place to promote it thanhere, where every street corner, every hotel lobby, every sun-drenched terrace looks like it belongs in a high-fashion editorial.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about social media, it’s that people buy into the fantasy.

He responds to my message, and I feel my chest physically tighten as I read his words.

A shame. You’d look beautiful in it.

Content might be my main argument, but deep down, I can admit to myself that’s notentirelythe reason I didn’t wear his gift today.

And… maybe I can admit it to him, too. After all, I don’t want him to get the wrong impression, or think that I don’t like the set he bought for me.

Besides, I don’t want to ruin it with my fake tan.

There’s a long pause before his response comes through.

Your tan isn’t real?

I grin, shaking my head. Talk about unobservant.

You can’t honestly think I got this golden and even from the London sun.

A part of me had been worried that my tan would have rubbed slightly onto the pristine white sheets in his suite, but apparently, I’m in the clear.

That, or housekeeping staff changed them before he had a chance to notice.

I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or impressed.

I almost laugh at that.

Let’s go with impressed.

His response is near immediate.

Fine. But I will be inspecting those legs of yours for streaks.

I laugh under my breath, my stomach flipping against my will.

Emma catches the sound and looks over, her eyes narrowing.

“Who are you texting?” she asks, suspicious.

I snap my phone up to my chest. “No one.”

Her eyes widen. “It’shim, isn’t it?”

Jas perks up. “Oh my god, are you sexting him rightnow?”

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