Page 25 of My French Love Affair

“Not even a handsome F1 driver?” Leah tries again.

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of my head.

“Especiallynot one of those.”

“Babe. Youdoknow where we are, right?” Emma says, tilting her sunglasses down to look at me. “At some point, we’re probably going to be face-to-face with at least one of them.”

“I wouldn’t even recognise them,” I admit.

Leah gasps, clutching her chest.

“Poppy. You are in Monaco during Grand Prix week, and you’re telling me you wouldn’t evennoticeif you were sitting next to, like, Louis Vandergaurd?”

I look at her blankly for a moment before I realise that she’s waiting for an answer.

“Who?”

Her jaw drops, and Emma and Jas both groan in unison.

“This is worse than I thought,” Leah shakes her head. “We’re going to have to educate herimmediately.”

“No need to bother. If he’s not wearing something interesting, I won’t even register his existence.”

“Well, you do like a challenge,” Emma smirks. “And I know for afactthat some of those guys need a stylist.”

“AndIknow at least a few of them are single,” Leah grins.

Jas just laughs. “Why do I have a feeling that this trip is going to be utter chaos?”

I tilt my hat lower against the sun as my eyes wander over the fabulously dressed women once more.

Chaos or not, one thing’s for sure: this trip is already giving me more inspiration than I ever expected.

Chapter Eight

Frederic

Monaco is a distraction.

It always has been.

It’s a playground for the rich, the reckless, and the ones who don’t know when to quit. A bubble of indulgence wrapped in yachts, supercars, and champagne-fuelled nights that stretch too long into morning.

It’s everything I have to avoid right now.

And yet -

I step through the entrance of Le Soleil Beach Club, the afternoon sun glinting off the water, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the air.

The club is one of the better ones - private enough that the press won’t hound us, and exclusive enough that I won’t be rubbing elbows with every billionaire’s trust-fund kid looking for a photo op. The owners have a habit of letting in beautiful women in the hopes that they’ll drape themselves over the right men, but that’s not too much of an issue for me.

I’m not interested, and they can’t exactly tackle me in broad daylight.

A lot of drivers and teams come here when they want to unwind - but I’m not here to unwind.

I’m here because Jacques has beenrelentless.

The man has been calling me non-stop since I landed. Text after text, trying to drag me into whatever the fuck he’s got planned. Normally, I wouldn’t entertain it, but it’s Jacques: an old friend, an ex-trainer from when I was younger.

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