Page 40 of My French Love Affair

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, well. As long as you’re alive and haven’t been sold off to the highest bidder.”

“Of course not. Want to know something even better?”

“Better than you being sold at auction?” I deadpan.

Jas snorts out a laugh, but Leah ignores us both as she continues on.

“He’s throwing a party at his place tonight, and he’s invited all of us!"

Emma raises a brow. “Leah, we were meant to be going to the casino. It’s on the itinerary.”

Leah waves that off immediately.

“Oh,please.We’ve already done the casino, and we can do it again another night. We were only squeezing that in so soon for Poppy’s sake. Besides,” - she points at me - “you said that you don’t evenlikegambling.”

I hesitate.

“…Yeah. Well. That is true.”

“Okay,fine,” Emma sighs. “Fancy rich guy’s party instead of the casino. But if this turns out to be some terrible decision -”

“It won’t,” Leah assures us. “Trust me, this is going to beiconic.”

Chapter Thirteen

Frederic

This is going to be painful.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders back as I watch the staff scurry around me, setting up drinks, food, and - apparently - anentire fucking eventat my family’s home.

There are florists setting up arrangements, caterers unloading crates of expensive liquor, and a DJ testing sound levels out on the terrace.

I drag a hand down my face.

Jacques had practically begged me to host everyone here tonight, insisting that it was the perfect spot for a Grand Prix kick-off party.

I’d been reluctant. I’d almost said no.

But by the time Jacques had told me about it, the guest list had been finalised, the caterers had already been secured, and the so-called event of the week was already set in motion. He had no other venue in mind, because why would he, when he knew I’d cave in the end?

So, I relented. What fucking choice did I have?

I glance around at the familiar halls of my family’s Monacoestate. It’s not mine - not technically, anyway. It’s one of the many Moreau family homes; a sprawling, historic mansion tucked away in one of the city’s most elite neighbourhoods.

My parents rarely use it anymore. I come from a family that collects real estate the way others collect fine wine, and they have their main residences in Paris, London, Geneva, and New York.

It’s a good job, really. Because right now, my family’s home is being turned into a playground for Monaco’s elite - and Jacques’ latest batch of guests.

Heaven only knows if he’s actually paying for any of this.

The thought is enough to make my jaw tighten. It’s not that I can’t afford it - I’m more than good for it. Formula One pays well - very well, even - but honestly, most of my money comes from generational wealth. I was born into privilege, raised in it, so the cost isn’t the issue.

It’s the fuckingexpectation.

Because I know how Jacques operates. I know his tricks.

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