Page 33 of My French Love Affair

He leans in even further, his voice dipping into something low and smooth.

"That you have my full attention."

"Oh,please,” I scoff, barely resisting the urge to laugh in his face.

"What?" He lifts a brow, swirling his drink like we’re having some casual, sophisticated conversation and not a post-daiquiri disaster standoff. "If you ask me, it seems like you love arguing with me."

"No," I say firmly. "The only thing I would love to do isleave. Right now. Except…”

Shit.

Why am I still here?!

“...I’m still waiting for you to fix this mess."

"Ah. Of course. The expensive bikini." He pretends to contemplate for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. "No worries. I will replace it."

Oh.

Well.

That was surprisingly easy.

"Damn right, you will. Especially since you’ve ruined my entire evening."

"Where did you buy it?" he asks.

I pause.

Double shit.

"...Selfridges."

"Ah. London," he hums.

"Obviously." I take a leaf out of Leah’s book and toss my blonde hair over my shoulder, like I’ve just made the most obviousstatement in the world.

"And what brand?"

I hesitate. Again.

His smirk flickers, like he knows what’s coming. My mouth opens and closes.

Why the hell can’t I think of a single swimwear brand sold in Selfridges?!

I spend half my life in that department store, and now, when itactuallymatters, my brain decides to shut down.

The seconds tick on, and I accept defeat, mumbling under my breath.

"What was that?" he asks, tilting his head.

I scowl at him.

"I... made it. It’smine."

He laughs.

Fullylaughs.

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