Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Frederic shifts beside me, his arm tightening slightly, his lips brushing lazily against the bare skin of my shoulder.
"Good afternoon, mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the way his deep, raspy voice curls through me before I whisper back.
"Afternoon."
He kisses my shoulder again, then my neck, then my jaw; his lips warm and lingering over my skin.
Then, before I can brace myself, he rolls me beneath him, settling between my thighs.
I gasp, my body still sore, still sensitive; but when his mouth finds mine, when his hands grip my hips and his breath mixes with mine, I forget everything else.
And this time, when he makes love to me, it’s even softer than before.
Like he’s trying to make me remember this.
Like he knows this might be the last time.
We’re still tangled together in bed when he orders room service, pulling the sheets lazily over both of us as he speaks in smooth, fluent French to the concierge.
I watch him, my cheek resting against his bare shoulder, my fingers tracing absent patterns over his chest.
He catches me looking and smirks.
"Lunch in bed. Apparently, that’s a thing.”
I laugh softly, the sound a little strained, but I don’t think he notices.
It’s only when the food arrives, when we’re both sitting up and eating pastries straight from the tray, that he pauses.
“What’s wrong?”
I freeze.
My heart lurches, my stomach twisting.
“I -” I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m so happy.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“You forget,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles lightly over my cheek. “I can read you like a book.”
I exhale, my throat tightening, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
“It’s just… the girls and I are leaving in a few days,” I admit softly, keeping my gaze trained on my lap. “And I don’t… I don’t know what that means for us.”
For a long moment, there’s only silence.
And then Frederic sighs, setting his coffee down before shifting so he’s facing me fully.
“Poppy,” he says gently, tilting my chin up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “London isn’t far.”
I swallow. “I know, but -”
“I can visit. Often.” His lips twitch, like this is the simplest thing in the world. “And why can’t you visit me here?”
I blink at him, processing, my heart hammering wildly.
“I do have a home in Monaco, you know.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then I remember -
The villa.
No, the palace, even; the one I first stepped into at the beginning of this trip.
His family home.
“You mean -”
“I mean, I have properties across Europe,” he says, reaching for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “And there’s no reason I can’t invest in a place in London, too. In fact, my parents already have a home that they spend time in there. I'm sure I can find somewhere in between.”
I’m stunned.
Completely speechless.
“Besides,” he continues smoothly, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, “we haven’t even figured out what your plans are yet.”
I take a shaky breath, my mind spinning.
“I… I have one more year of university,” I say slowly, my voice feeling small in comparison to the weight of this conversation. “Then I want to work in fashion. Maybe secure an internship somewhere, or even -” I hesitate. “Even start up a brand of my own.”
His eyes gleam with interest.
“A brand?” I nod, and he tilts his head. “Tell me more.”
I chew on my lip, debating, before finally pulling out my phone and opening up my socials.
I don’t normally show people this. Not in real life.
But something about Frederic makes me want to.
He watches as I scroll through my feed, where I’ve been posting my designs, sketches, and content of me wearing my own pieces.
“I’ve been really into this sort of… I call it ‘old-money’ aesthetic,” I explain, my fingers brushing over the screen. “I love classic silhouettes and timeless cuts. Effortless luxury. But there’s this real gap between having those quality pieces at affordable prices. So… That’s kind of what I’m trying to do.”
I glance up, expecting him to nod politely, maybe feign interest.
But instead, he smirks.
My brows knit together. “What?”
“I’ve already looked at all of this, mon ange.”
I blink. “You -”
“I’ve done my research.”
Warmth floods my chest, a slow, dizzying realization settling in.
He’s been paying attention.
He’s always been paying attention.
"You did research on me?"
My voice is teasing, but there’s an undeniable tremor beneath it.
His smirk deepens, and he leans back against the pillows, stretching his arms behind his head like he hasn’t just completely wrecked me with that revelation.
"Of course I did," he says smoothly. "You think I’d get involved with a woman without knowing everything I can about her?"
I narrow my eyes. "Everything?"
Frederic’s gaze flickers with amusement. "Well, not everything. Yet."
I roll my eyes, but I can’t fight the heat rushing through me.