Page 70 of My French Love Affair

“Let’s just get downstairs before I decide to change my flight and leave this country tonight.”

“Oh,please,” Emma says as she pats my arm, completely unbothered. You’re not goinganywhere.”

With that, we head out into the Monaco night, ready for a drama-free evening of elegance, excess, and perfectly curated chaos.

For once, I allow myself to believe it’ll actually stay that way.

Chapter Twenty-One

Poppy

The Monte Carlo casino is exactly what I expected.

Aridiculousdisplay of wealth.

Even before we step inside, the sheer extravagance is overwhelming.

The driveway alone is the size of a small airport runway, lit by elegant lanterns and lined with an army of valets in pristine uniforms.

A fleet of obscenely expensive luxury cars - Ferraris, Bugattis and Rolls-Royces - are being expertly parked and polished right outside, their owners stepping out in tailored suits and gowns that I’d happily bet are worth more than my university fees.

And as we step inside, it’s all gold accents, crystal chandeliers and people dripping in couture they probably only wear once.

Leah inhales deeply, sighing in absolute bliss.

“This,” she says, sweeping her arms dramatically, “is my true home.”

“Funny. I thought Jacques’ palace was your true home,” Jas smirks.

“I can have multiple homes, you know,” Leah responds.

Emma grins, slipping an arm through mine as we step towards the bar.

“Alright, ladies. Shall we get a drink before we gamble away our savings?”

“Correction,” Jas says, taking a seat. “We gamble awayPoppy’ssavings.”

I groan, already regretting my life choices. “I am not funding your rich girl fantasy.”

“Then what is the point of having you as a best friend?” Jas asks.

I nudge her with my hip, rolling my eyes as I grab the cocktail menu.

“If I wasn’t paying for your overpriced drinks, you’d miss me terribly.”

Jas smirks. “Possibly.”

Leah orders a martini, Emma gets a negroni, Jas opts for whiskey, and I settle on a French 75 - because if I’m going to commit to the theme of this trip, I may as well drink like a chic heiress.

The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and we make a toast.

To bad decisions, glamour, and a night without distractions.

And for the first time since I arrived in Monaco, my brain feels peacefully empty.

Here, there are no bright blue eyes, no infuriating smirks, and certainly no taunting words whispered just a little too close to my ear.

Tonight, it’s justus.

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