Chapter Twenty
Poppy
I wake up to the sound of aggressive rustling and the distant clinking of coffee cups.
I groan, cracking one eye open, fully prepared to tell whoever is moving around to shut up - but then I remember where I am.
Monaco .
And then, after a few more seconds, the rest of it comes flooding back - particularly the events of last night.
Jacques’ ridiculous mansion. The dancing. The drinking.
The utter humiliation of discovering that the man I had been verbally sparring with for the last twenty-four hours is, in fact, a Formula One driver.
I groan again, louder this time, rolling onto my stomach and pressing my face into the pillow.
Nope . I’m not dealing with this today.
Unfortunately, the universe has other plans.
“Rise and shine, my loves!” Leah says in a sing-song voice, appearing out of nowhere with a suspicious amount of energy for someone who has been missing in action for most of this trip.
Jas groans from the other bed, and I crack my eye open just in time to witness her blindly reaching for a pillow and chucking it in Leah’s general direction.
“Get out.”
Leah dodges the pillow effortlessly, grinning as she slides into a chair by the table, which is now covered in a hotel-worthy breakfast spread - croissants, fresh fruit, juices, and, thank god , coffee.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I sit up, blinking blearily. “Shouldn’t you be living it up with your future husband?”
“Jacques has meetings this morning,” Leah says. “And - well. A little birdie texted me last night that I missed something very important.”
Emma - who is somehow already dressed and drinking coffee like she didn’t just dance the night away in the arms of a Swiss model - grins over her cup.
“Oh, believe me - you did.”
Leah beams. “Tell me everything .”
Em scoots onto the bed next to me, grinning far too much for my liking.
“Would you like to do the honours, Poppy?” she teases.
I scowl at her. “ No .”
Jas grins as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head.
“Oh, allow me, then.”
I watch and listen in horror as Jas and Emma tag-team the storytelling, dramatically reenacting last night’s entire sequence of events - starting from the bathroom collision, to the dance-floor ambush, to my absolutely iconic ( their words, not mine ) declaration that I wasn’t into tortured poets.
Leah is riveted, gasping in all the right places and grinning like she’s watching a live-action rom-com unfold before her eyes.
When they finally finish, she places her hand over her heart and exhales dramatically.
“This,” she says, clearly delighted, “is cinema.”
Emma nods. “I know.”
“It’s not cinema,” I groan, pressing my hands against my face. “I’m not interested in him. Not in the slightest.”
Leah smirks. “Mmmhmm.”
“Don’t you start, too,” I glare at her.
Jas, now sipping a cappuccino like this is a casual Monday morning discussion, hums.
“I think it’s time we do some research.”
Emma grins, already reaching to unplug her phone from the charging socket.
“Oh, you’re so right.”
“No.” I point at her. “Absolutely not .”
But it’s too late.
Leah grabs her phone, Jas leans forward, and within seconds, the three of them are deep into Google’s treasure trove of information on Frederic Moreau.
I sip my coffee, watching in silent horror as they scroll through page after page.
“Ooooh,” Emma says, delighted, “he’s twenty-six. I didn’t realise that.”
“Older man,” Jas muses. “Respectable . ”
“Six foot one - that’s tall for an F1 driver,” Leah grins.
“From northern France,” Emma adds, scrolling. “Not much personal info, though.”
Jas narrows her eyes at the screen. “Yeah. Weirdly private.”
I take an aggressive bite of my croissant.
“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t want people like you doing this exact thing.”
Leah ignores me as she clicks onto his Instagram.
“Oh, hello ,” she says, eyes twinkling as she scrolls through his perfectly curated feed.
Emma leans over her shoulder. “Tagged photos check?”
Leah nods and taps the tagged photos section. More photos appear - some with his team, some from racing weekends, some clearly from nights out, and Jas hums.
“Well, he looks very single.”
Leah sighs dramatically. “Tragic.”
“You should fix that,” Emma grins at me.
I almost choke on my coffee.
“Absolutely not.”
Leah grins at me, wiggling her brows.
“Come on, Poppy. He’s French. He’s charming. He’s insufferable in a way that’s clearly doing something to you.”
I glare at her. “The only thing he’s doing to me is ruining my life.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what this is,” Jas snorts.
Emma, still scrolling, pauses thoughtfully .
“Hm. This is weird. ”
I tense. “What?”
“It’s just that I’ve scrolled back, and he doesn’t seem to post much outside of racing stuff. And there’s, like… nothing about his family. No siblings. No old school photos. Just… cars .”
Leah pouts. “That’s boring.”
“I don’t know,” Emma shrugs. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s just private.”
“Or maybe,” Jas says, sipping her coffee, “he’s hiding something.”
Leah gasps, clearly loving the drama of it all.
I, however, am done with this conversation.
I grab my phone, slide out of bed, and head toward the sanctuary of the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Emma calls.
I glance back. “Somewhere where people aren’t investigating my alleged enemies-to-lovers situation, thank you very much.”
“ Alleged , huh?” Jas smirks.
I slam the bathroom door behind me.
* * *
After a day spent lounging at the pool, indulging in far too many expensive cocktails, and trying desperately to ignore the fact that my so-called friends are now obsessed with my alleged enemies-to-lovers situation ( which, for the record, is absolutely not a thing ), we finally get ready for our evening plans .
The casino.
A night for us - just the girls, just fun, just drama-free luxury.
And, thank goodness, no French menace in sight.
We should have been going here last night instead of heading to Jacques' party; but I suppose it all worked out in the end.
Emma perches on the edge of the bed, adjusting one of her earrings as I slide into my slinky black dress.
“You know,” she muses, tilting her head, “it feels suspicious that we haven’t seen him today.”
I pause mid-swipe of my lipstick, glaring at her reflection in the mirror.
“Don’t start.”
Jas grins from where she’s currently sprawled out on the chaise lounge.
“No, she’s right. It’s almost like he’s lurking. Waiting .”
“Can I get one day off?” I complain.
Leah stands in front of the floor-length mirror, smoothing down her satin gold gown.
“You did spend an awful lot of time insisting it was just enemies, not enemies-to-lovers,” she says.
“Which, honestly, is the most enemies-to-lovers thing you could say,” Em adds.
I throw a makeup brush at her, and Emma ducks, cackling.
“I hate all of you,” I declare, adjusting my dress and slipping into my heels. “Whatever romance books you’ve been reading are clearly messing with your head. This is my actual life , you know.”
Jas sighs, feigning disappointment .
“That’s a shame, because we love you, and we just want you to experience a little romance. Or, at the very least, a mildly inappropriate Monaco fling.”
“It would be very on-brand,” Leah nods.
“I don’t have a brand,” I snap.
“You do now,” Emma laughs.
I press my fingers against my temples.
“You realise we’re going to a casino, right? A place filled with actual billionaires and actual Monaco royalty. And yet somehow - somehow - the only person you care about is that asshole.”
Emma grins. “Yes.”
“Correct,” Jas nods.
Leah shrugs her shoulders. “We can multitask.”
I sigh deeply as I reach for my clutch.
“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 going anywhere .”
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.