Page 46 of My French Love Affair

Emma barely has time to react before Leah throws her arms around her.

“I missed you,” Leah says dramatically, squeezing her tightly.

Jas, unimpressed, glances at her phone.

“Leah, you saw usthis morning.”

Leah waves a dismissive hand, finally releasing Emma.

“Technicalities,” she says before spinning around, eyes practically shining. “So. What do we think?”

She steps back, dramatically gesturing to herself as though she’s unveiling a masterpiece.

Emma smirks. “It’s giving a very rich man’s trophy wife.”

“Thank you,” Leah beams. “That’sexactlythe look I was going for.”

“Wait,” Jas says as she squints at the dress. “Is that…?”

Leah preens. “Mmmhm. Jacques took me shopping,again. It’s custom.”

“You went shoppingagain?” I exchange a look with Emma. “How on earth did either of you find the time?”

“It wasn’t just shopping, babe,” Leah sighs dreamily. “It was anexperience.”

“You worry me,” Emma says with a shake of her head.

Leah links her arms through ours as she starts guiding us across the terrace.

“Enough about me,” she grins. “Let me give you the tour.”

Jas frowns. “Leah. You don’t live here.”

“Details,” Leah says, waving her off as though the idea isabsurd. “Now come on - let me show you the east wing.”

“Ohgod,” Emma groans.

And with that, Leah drags us into the house as if she’s lived here for years, leading us through rooms we absolutely should not be in with the confidence of someone who owns the place.

She marches through the grand hallway, gesturing around like some sort of unhinged estate agent.

“Now, this is the main living room, which -obviously- is only for special guests.”

I blink at the wordmain, because if this is one of multiple living rooms, then I’m going to need to sit down and process.

It’s ridiculous. Huge glass windows stretch from floor to ceiling, revealing a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean. On top of that, the furniture looks so expensive that I’m afraid tobreathenear it - plush cream sofas that have clearly never been sat on by a single person in their lives, and a massive glass coffee table that holds zero practical items.

Just a single, perfectly curated stack of books that I justknowhave never been opened.

What a shame. What awaste.

“Wow,” Emma snorts, eyeing the book titles.

Jas tilts her head. “Do you think he even knows they’re here?”

“Of course not,” Leah frowns. “Those are just for aesthetic purposes.”

“Makes sense,” Emma nods sagely. “After all, nothing screams wealth like set dressing.”

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