Page 48 of My French Love Affair

“You guys go ahead,” I say, already taking a step back. “I’ll catch up in a minute. I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, easy,” Leah says, waving a directive hand. “You’re going to go down the hall, take a right, then left, and then it’s thethird door on the right.”

I stare at her, genuinely impressed.

“Leah. You’ve been hereone night.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I adapt.”

“More like you imprinted,” Jas snorts.

The three of them continue on, chattering as they disappear into another ridiculously extravagant wing of the house.

I exhale, glad for the brief escape, and start in the direction Leah pointed me towards.

Chapter Fifteen

Poppy

Within minutes, I realise I’m completely lost.

Why would anything be simple in a house this size?

I slow my steps, my heels clicking against the marble floors as I take in my surroundings.

The hallway I’ve ended up in is eerily quiet, the kind of space that feels untouched, as though it exists simply to… well,exist, rather than to serve any real function.

Large, imposing paintings line the walls - pieces of art that look insanely expensive, even to my untrained eye.

I linger for a moment, studying the nearest one.

It’s a striking oil painting, all dark hues and dramatic brushstrokes, the kind of thing you’d find in a real gallery or museum rather than someone’s home.

For some reason, it unnerves me.

Maybe it’s the eyes, as they follow me no matter which way I tilt my head.

Or maybe it’s just the lingering awareness in my chest. Thenagging sense that somewhere in this house,he’sstill here.

I shake the thought away and keep moving.

Eventually, I find the bathroom.

It’s exactly as excessive as the rest of the house - all gold fixtures, marble countertops and a mirror so large it probably requires a dedicated cleaning team.

I do what I came to do (veryquickly, because I refuse to let my bladder linger in luxury), wash my hands, smooth my dress down, and open the door -

Only to walk straight into a solid wall of muscle.

I stumble as a result, nearly face-planting into the very expensive-looking hallway.

Large, warm hands catch my arms, steadying me effortlessly, and before I even look up, I just know.

I swear I canfeelit.

That stupid, smug, arrogant presence that seems to thrive on throwing my night into chaos.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, gathering every ounce of patience I have left. Then, slowly - almostpainfully,even - I open them.

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