Page 251 of My French Love Affair

And even though I’ve spent the past week telling myself that I don’t know what I want -

Right now, I know exactly what I want.

I wanthim.

* * *

The moment the ceremony ends, the energy inside the VIP Lounge shifts.

People are still riding the high of the race, of the win, and even though most of them have nothing to do with Frederic’s team, the thrill of victory is contagious.

That, and the fact that Emma has not shut up since he called me his girlfriend onlive television.

I’ve barely sat down before a man I don’t even know approaches me with a warm smile.

“You’re Poppy, yes?”

“Uh -”

“SheisPoppy!” Emma confirms proudly.

Oh.Oh.

The man extends a hand, his grip firm. “Frederic’s lucky charm, I presume?”

I flush. “I - ah -”

“Congratulations,” he says, grinning. “And don’t let him forget that you placed a bet on him. He owes you.”

I laugh, shaking my head as he walks off, but he’s barely gone before someone else is approaching. This time, a woman - stylishly dressed and elegant in that way only old money seems to master.

“It’s so wonderful to see him this happy,” she says with an approving smile. “He hasn’t stopped smiling since he crossed the finish line.”

And then, more people come over. And more. Andmore.

They all congratulate me -me, as if I’m the one who just won the damn Grand Prix.

“Oh,for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath as another approaches.

Emma, meanwhile, is absolutelythriving, basking in every bit of attention.

“This issomuch better than being a WAG in football,” she gushes, practically vibrating with excitement. “Somuch classier.”

Jas snorts, shooting me a knowing look. “Enjoying yourself,girlfriend?”

I groan, burying my face in my hands.

After all, when I agreed to come on this trip just a few weeks ago, this wasnotwhat I’d expected.

* * *

I have no idea how much time passes by. All I know is that I’m still reeling from hearing Frederic call me his girlfriend on live TV as we stay in the Paddock Lounge, watching reruns of the race, of his victory, and of the subsequent celebration.

But I can’t focus. Not really.

Not when that word keeps echoing in my head, looping overand over, refusing to settle.

Frederic Moreau - cocky, insufferable, dominant Frederic - called me hisgirlfriend.

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