Page 260 of My French Love Affair

By the time we collapse into bed, tangled in the sheets, the night sky still glowing faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I feel it all catching up to me.

The champagne. The exhaustion. The weight of the day.

Frederic shifts, adjusting his arm beneath my head, keeping me close. I burrow into him instinctively, breathing in his scent, letting the warmth of him settle over me like a blanket.

He presses a lazy kiss to the top of my head.

“Still awake?” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

I nod, though my eyelids are heavy. “Mmm.”

His fingers trace slow, absent-minded patterns against my hip.

“Did you enjoy today?”

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting my chin up so I can meet his gaze in the dim light.

“I bet on you, didn’t I?” I tease.

He grins, his expression smug, triumphant.

“Smart girl.”

I roll my eyes but snuggle closer, feeling my body sink deeper into the mattress, into him.

A comfortable silence falls between us, only the faint sound of the city outside filling the space, and I drift off with a small smile on my face.

* * *

A soft, lazy hum escapes me as I stir, my body stretching against the cool sheets, the warmth beside me grounding me in a way that makes my stomach flutter.

I blink my eyes open, slowly, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains of Frederic’s suite.

It takes a second for everything to settle back in.

The race. The celebrations. The way we fell into bed, exhausted and exhilarated, tangled in one another.

I turn my head, my gaze landing on the clock on the bedside table.

11:00 a.m.

I groan lightly, pressing my face into the pillow.

"We sleptsolate."

Beside me, Frederic shifts, his body warm and solid, his arm tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against my bare shoulder. “We needed it.”

I barely have a chance to respond before he presses a soft, lingering kiss to my skin.

It’s different from usual.

Not rough, not urgent, not filled with the desperate hunger that usually consumes us.

It’s slow.Deliberate.

And my stomach twists in a way I’m not expecting.

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