Page 43 of My French Love Affair

I exhale sharply, tipping my water bottle back.

This party is already a nightmare, but ifshe’scoming, it’s about to get a whole lot more entertaining.

Chapter Fourteen

Poppy

If Monaco had a smell, it would be a mix of wealth, arrogance, and a disproportionate amount of expensive cologne.

That’s the exact combination of scents that greet me as we step through the grand entrance of Jacques’ so-called holiday home.

Except, it’s not a home. Not in the slightest.

It’s a literalpalace.

Shiny floors, a grand staircase that looks straight out of a movie set and chandeliers so big I’m convinced one wrong move would send them crashing down, killing us all in the process.

Fuck me.

I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain at the moment.

Outside, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifts from the sprawling terrace, where beautiful people lounge by an infinity pool that honestly might be bigger than the one at our hotel.

“Jesus Christ,” Jas mutters, looking around in awe. “Whatdoes this guydo?”

Emma raises a brow. “Besides fund Leah’s delusions?”

“Apparently,” I murmur, still trying to process how much money is in this house, “he’s in real estate.”

Jas scoffs. “Of course he is.”

Emma glances towards a floor-to-ceiling wine cabinet.

“You think if we take a bottle, we’d get arrested? Or do rich people just let other rich people take whatever they want?”

I don’t get a chance to answer because at that moment, a waiter appears and wordlessly hands us each a glass of champagne.

Jas takes hers without hesitation. “I could get used to this.”

I, however,dohesitate.

“I… don’t think we belong here.”

Emma huffs. “Babe. We are wearing designer dresses, sipping expensive champagne and standing in a mansion. Welooklike we belong.”

“Yeah, well. It still feels like at any moment, someone’s going to walk in here and ask if I work in catering,” I sigh, lifting my glass.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’resomuch fun at parties?” Jas says.

“Give her twenty minutes, three drinks, and some more French drama - she’ll be having the time of her life,” Emma grins.

I roll my eyes. “Why would there be -”

I stop, mid-sentence, because -of course.

Whywouldn’tthe universe want to personally torment metonight?

There, lounging far too casually against a sleek, white stone bar - drink in hand, and deep in conversation with a group of men dressed just as effortlessly expensive as he is - stands the new bane of my existence.

---