Page 37 of My French Love Affair

"Enemies to lovers.Classic," Jas snickers.

I lift my head just enough to glare at them.

"It is not enemies to anything. It’sjustenemies."

Emma and Jas just laugh, completely unconvinced, and somehow, IknowI’m never going to hear the end of this.

Chapter Eleven

Poppy

Just like that, my night is over.

Leah is still nowhere to be found, having disappeared with her multi-millionaire hours ago. Emma sends a quick text in our group chat to check in with her. We all share locations, but it still feels like common courtesy to know what your friend is up to when she runs off with a man twice her age.

Leah’s response comes almost instantly.

I’m fine! Having a GREAT time.

The three of us collectively wince at the winking emoji she puts on the end of her message.

“Great,” Jas mutters, shoving her phone back into her bag. “That’s a mental image I didnotneed.”

Emma sighs. “I already know she’s going to come back tomorrow saying she’s in love.”

“We should charge her for emotional labour,” Jas comments dryly.

“Can we go back to our room before I think about any of thistoo much?” I groan.

Emma nods, finishing off her drink.

“Sounds like a plan. Hotel, shower, and a full reset. Let’s go.”

* * *

We make our way out of the beach club, the cool night air a welcome relief after hours of sun, sweat and overpriced cocktails.

My sheer sarong clings uncomfortably to my still-sticky skin, and the faint scent of strawberry daiquiri lingers like an unwanted memory. I hate the thought of getting into a taxi like this, but there’s equally not a chance I’m walking back to the hotel in these heels.

Jas yawns as we step into a waiting car.

“I swear, if Leah actually marries this man, I’m going to need some kind of compensation. This is too much for my brain to process,” she comments.

Emma snorts. “Leah could spend three hours with a man and decide she wants to take his last name. Remember the banker in Mykonos?”

“The vegan DJ in Tulum?” Jas adds.

“The firefighter-turned-crypto-bro in Ibiza?” I mutter.

There’s a brief silence before we all groan at the memories.

“At this point, she should be payingusfor emotional labour,” Jas comments.

I sigh, rubbing my temples.

“My head hurts.”

“Aww, poor Poppy,” Emma coos. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain French stranger occupying too much space in your brain, would it?”

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