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)
The wine is delicious, the food is unreal, and just when I’m finally starting to relax, a server appears at our table, setting a fresh drink in front of me.
I frown. “I didn’t order this.”
“It’s from the gentleman over there,” the server smiles.
I follow his nod across the room, and sure enough, a very handsome man is seated at a nearby table, surrounded by a few friends. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and clean-cut, with tanned skin, sharp features and dark stubble along his jaw.
He lifts his glass toward me in a silent toast, his lips curling into an easy, confident smile.
Emma visibly perks up. Jas raises a brow.
And I…
I smile politely, nodding in acknowledgment as I reach for the drink, but even as I accept it, I know.
He’s not for me.
Emma gasps like I’ve just committed a mortal sin.
“You’re not going to go over there?”
I take a sip of my drink. “No.”
“Poppy.” She gawks at me. “Are you insane?!”
“I mean, he is gorgeous,” Jas smirks.
“And so are his friends,” Emma adds, blatantly glancing at the group. “Like, seriously gorgeous.”
I exhale through my nose, already tired of this conversation.
“I meant what I said when I got here. I’ve just gotten out of something with Noah - I’m not looking for anything.”
Jas hums, still watching the man before turning back to me with a lazy grin.
“Well, you’ve got to give him some credit. It takes balls to send you a drink.”
I frown, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, don’t be mad,” Emma laughs. “How many times do we have to tell you that your resting bitch face is strong enough to scare off even the toughest man?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you not to be so ridiculous?”
“She’s right,” Jas nods. “I bet he thought this could be his last night on earth.”
“You must realise you give off ‘approach me and suffer the consequences’ vibes,” Emma adds.
“Honestly? Kind of a power move,” Jas finishes.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but bite back a small smirk. I’m mostly just relieved that my hard-faced reputation remains.
“So? You’re really not interested?” Jas lifts a brow.
I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.”
Emma gives me an exaggerated look of disbelief.
“Oh, so you’re not interested at all - unless his name is Frederic.”
I choke on my drink at the sound of his name, and Jas bursts out laughing while Emma grins far too smugly.
“Grow up,” I mutter, setting my glass down and barely resisting the urge to throw it at her.
Out of pure curiosity - definitely not interest - I let my gaze flicker back toward the man across the room.
He’s still watching me.
But when I don’t hold his gaze - when I let my attention drift away, clearly signaling that I’m not interested - he takes the hint.
And just like that, he turns back to his friends.
No persistence. No arrogance. No chase.
Just quiet acceptance.
At least this one isn’t pushing it, I think absently, draining the rest of my drink.
If only all men could take a hint that easily.
* * *
By the time we make it back to the suite, the exhaustion of the day has fully settled in.
Jas immediately announces she’s taking a long shower - something about needing to shave everywhere - while Emma, still recovering from her chaotic night before, groans dramatically, declares herself officially deceased, and buries herself under the covers without another word.
Within minutes, her soft snores fill the room.
And just like that, I’m alone.
The suite is dark, the only glow coming from the city lights spilling in through the windows where the curtains remain undrawn. The muffled sounds of nightlife hum below, and I let out a slow breath as I push myself off the bed, drawn to the balcony.
Stepping outside, the warm night air greets me, thick with the scent of the sea. I lower myself into one of the sleek outdoor chairs, stretching my legs out as I take in the view.
Monaco sprawls before me. The city is alive and electric, and from up here, it looks almost like a painting - something too polished, too pristine to be real.
But my mind isn't on Monaco.
It’s on him.
Frederic Moreau.
Quick-witted, cocky and entirely too charming for his own good.
Smug, arrogant and handsome beyond reason.
Every moment with him plays on an endless loop in my mind, each one more vivid than the last.
His sharp, teasing remarks - each one crafted to push my buttons, to pull a reaction from me.
The way his blue eyes gleam with mischief, like he’s savouring every second of our back-and-forth, thriving off the challenge.
The way he watches me like he already knows what I’m going to do before I do it. Like he’s always three steps ahead, just waiting for me to catch up.
The way he smirks when I fight back when I meet his fire with my own.