Chapter Sixty-Seven
Poppy
B y the time we reach Frederic’s hotel, my body is humming with exhaustion, my limbs heavy from a mixture of champagne, adrenaline, and the whirlwind of emotions from the long day we’ve had.
The doors slide open, and we step into the lobby, the grandeur of the place still enough to make my breath catch. It’s late - so late that the place is eerily quiet, the usual buzz of the staff reduced to only a few lingering employees behind the concierge desk.
Frederic doesn’t let go of my hand.
He’s been holding onto me the entire night, keeping me close, keeping me his . Through the celebrations, the flashing lights, the endless flutes of champagne - and the feeling of being alive in the way that only this city can provide.
Now, his grip tightens slightly as we step into the elevator, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I glance up at him, my chest warm, my heart full.
I should be exhausted.
But I can’t stop looking at him.
His hair is still slightly messy, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes my stomach flip. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing a sliver of golden skin, and he looks so fucking good that I almost can’t stand it.
I reach for him before I can even think better of it, my fingers smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, tracing slow, lazy patterns against his chest.
He exhales sharply, tilting his head down towards me.
“You’re insatiable, mon ange ,” he murmurs, his voice low, dark, teasing.
I smirk. “I think that’s your influence.”
The doors ping open, and he wastes no time leading me towards his suite.
The moment we step inside, he kicks the door shut behind us and pulls me in for a kiss - slow, deep and sensual.
It’s not the desperate, needy kind from earlier in the night - this is something else.
Something lingering, something steeped in satisfaction.
He just won Monaco.
And now, he has me .
We take our time. We celebrate.
Properly .
By the time we collapse into bed, tangled in the sheets, the night sky still glowing faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I feel it all catching up to me.
The champagne. The exhaustion. The weight of the day.
Frederic shifts, adjusting his arm beneath my head, keeping me close. I burrow into him instinctively, breathing in his scent, letting the warmth of him settle over me like a blanket .
He presses a lazy kiss to the top of my head.
“Still awake?” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
I nod, though my eyelids are heavy. “Mmm.”
His fingers trace slow, absent-minded patterns against my hip.
“Did you enjoy today?”
I let out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting my chin up so I can meet his gaze in the dim light.
“I bet on you, didn’t I?” I tease.
He grins, his expression smug, triumphant.
“Smart girl.”
I roll my eyes but snuggle closer, feeling my body sink deeper into the mattress, into him.
A comfortable silence falls between us, only the faint sound of the city outside filling the space, and I drift off with a small smile on my face.
* * *
A soft, lazy hum escapes me as I stir, my body stretching against the cool sheets, the warmth beside me grounding me in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
I blink my eyes open, slowly, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains of Frederic’s suite.
It takes a second for everything to settle back in.
The race. The celebrations. The way we fell into bed, exhausted and exhilarated, tangled in one another.
I turn my head, my gaze landing on the clock on the bedside table .
11:00 a.m.
I groan lightly, pressing my face into the pillow.
"We slept so late."
Beside me, Frederic shifts, his body warm and solid, his arm tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against my bare shoulder. “We needed it.”
I barely have a chance to respond before he presses a soft, lingering kiss to my skin.
It’s different from usual.
Not rough, not urgent, not filled with the desperate hunger that usually consumes us.
It’s slow. Deliberate .
And my stomach twists in a way I’m not expecting.
I turn my head slightly, my heart stuttering as he moves above me, rolling his body over mine and pressing me deeper into the soft mattress as his weight settles between my thighs.
He’s watching me - his blue eyes dark and searching, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. His fingers trail over my jaw, then down my throat, a featherlight touch that sends a shiver rippling through me.
I open my mouth to say something - maybe tease him, maybe tell him he’s acting unusually soft this morning - but then he kisses me.
And just like that, I lose the ability to speak.
It’s deep, slow, and utterly devastating.
Not just a kiss, but something more. Something that has my entire body melting into him, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.
Frederic groans softly, his body shifting as he rolls his hips in a deep, lazy stroke that has my entire world spinning.
“ Oh ,” I gasp against his lips, my thighs instinctively tightening around his hips as he slides inside.
His answering smirk is soft but knowing, his breath mingling with mine.
“Feel good, mon ange ?”
I don’t answer. I can’t .
All I can do is cling to him, lost in the slow, sensual rhythm he sets, every deep stroke unravelling me, pulling me apart piece by piece.
His forehead presses against mine, his lips brushing my jaw, my cheek, my temple. His hands roam over my body, skimming my sides, gripping my hips, holding me like I’m something precious.
It’s overwhelming. Almost too much.
My nails rake lightly down his back, and he shudders, groaning against my lips. He buries his face in my neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my pulse, his breath uneven.
“You drive me crazy, chérie .”
His pace remains steady, taking his time with each roll of his hips - like he has all the time in the world, like he’s trying to make me feel every inch of him, every single moment of this.
This is so much more than just sex.
It’s…
I don’t let myself name it. I just feel it .
And the way he moves, the way he touches me, the way he holds me as I fall apart beneath him, as I cry out his name against his lips - I know he feels it too.
And after, when the last waves of pleasure fade, when my breath is still unsteady and my body is still trembling from the intensity of it all, he doesn’t let me go.
Instead, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, holding me close.
And for the first time, I let him.
* * *
I wake to warmth.
To steady, rhythmic breathing.
To the heavy weight of Frederic’s arm draped across my waist, his fingers curled loosely around my hip, holding me against him even in sleep.
I blink slowly, adjusting to the early afternoon light filtering through the curtains, the soft, muted glow illuminating the suite in a way that makes everything feel dreamlike.
For a moment, I let myself stay here. Wrapped up in him, in this moment, in the lingering heat between us from last night - and this morning.
My entire body still thrums with the way he touched me, the way he made love to me so slowly, so intentionally , as if every movement, every kiss, every whispered breath between us meant something.
As if I meant something.
The thought settles heavily in my chest, pressing against my ribs, making it harder to breathe.
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, raspyvoice 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.
"That’s… weirdly intense of you. "
"It’s smart of me," he corrects. "You’re talented. Your designs are impressive. You have an actual brand forming here, and I’d be an idiot not to notice."
I shake my head, still trying to wrap my mind around this.
"And what exactly do you plan to do with all this… research ?"
"Simple," he says, reaching for his coffee. "I plan to make sure we work."
I freeze.
The words land heavily between us, filling every space, settling into my skin like a promise.
He takes a sip of his coffee, completely unbothered - completely confident , as if what he just said isn’t causing me to have a full-on internal meltdown.
"You’re serious?" I finally manage.
His brow lifts slightly, like the question is offensive. "Obviously."
I inhale sharply, trying to steady myself, but it’s impossible when he’s looking at me like that - all cool confidence, all absolute certainty.
"But… how?" I ask, gesturing vaguely between us. " This - your life, my life - it’s not exactly simple, Frederic."
He sets his coffee down and leans in, his eyes locked onto mine.
"It’s not complicated, either."
I scoff. "You fly across the world every other week."
"Exactly. I'm used to the travel." His lips twitch. "Besides, you only have one year left of university, and then - well, who knows. But, again: London isn’t far. "
I chew on the inside of my cheek, hesitant. "What about your schedule?"
Frederic shrugs. "It’s demanding, yes. But I have time between races. I have breaks. And I always have Monaco."
I raise a brow. " Your Monaco, you mean?"
"Well, my family's Monaco. But yes. You could visit whenever you wanted."
I let out a slow breath, staring down at the breakfast tray between us, trying to make sense of this - of us .
"I don’t know," I murmur, toying with the corner of my napkin. "It’s just… a lot."
A warm hand covers mine, stilling my movements.
I look up.
His expression is softer now, a rare vulnerability seeping through the usual arrogance.
"You do want this, don’t you?"
I suck in a sharp breath. "I…"
Yes.
The answer is right there, lodged in my throat, desperate to escape.
But I hesitate.
Because saying it means admitting that this isn’t just some summer fling. That it isn’t just a game.
That whatever this is, it’s already deeper than I ever meant for it to be.
Frederic watches me closely, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, waiting .
And then, finally, I nod.
" Yes ."
His grip tightens slightly, his smirk returning.
" Good . Because I don’t intend to let you slip away that easily, mon ange ."
I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. "You’re impossible."
"And yet, you love it."
I roll my eyes, but my heart is hammering too hard, my stomach twisting too much to argue.
Because he’s right.
I do .