Chapter Sixty-Eight
Poppy
T he airport is bustling with travelers, the sounds of rolling suitcases and boarding announcements filling the space.
But despite the noise, despite the chaos, all I can focus on is him .
Frederic stands beside me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his gaze fixed on me like he’s committing every last detail to memory.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening, because leaving him hurts .
More than I ever thought it would.
The girls are chattering around me, but their voices feel distant.
"I cannot believe I wasted my time on that assehole," Leah huffs, crossing her arms. “I could have found an entirely different billionaire instead of that broke fraud.”
"Don’t worry, babe,” Emma says as she waves a dismissive hand. “There’s always next year."
Jas smirks knowingly, her eyes flicking between me and Frederic. “Some of us don’t need next year.”
I shoot her a look, but she only raises an eyebrow in return. I have no time to retaliate, because Frederic shifts, stepping closer, his presence warm and steady.
"You’ll call me when you’re home?" His voice is low, for my ears only.
I nod, my throat feeling tight.
" I promise ."
He studies me for a moment, as if he doesn’t quite believe I’ll follow through. Then, his lips quirk into a smirk.
"Okay. I’ll be waiting."
I swallow, wanting to say something - anything - to make this easier, to make leaving him easier.
But before I can, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, sleek box.
His final gift.
I hesitate before taking it, my pulse roaring in my ears as I pop it open.
My breath catches.
Inside, nestled against black velvet, is a delicate gold necklace. And hanging at the centre -
A single gold letter.
F .
My chest clenches, my fingers tightening around the box.
I glance up at him, speechless. "Freddie -"
"It’s just something to remind you," he murmurs, brushing his knuckles against my jaw. "No matter where you are, you’re mine , Poppy. As much as I am yours. "
The words land heavily between us, filled with a weight that makes my heart ache.
I exhale sharply, overwhelmed with emotion, and before I can overthink it, I throw my arms around him, burying my face into his shoulder. He exhales softly, wrapping his arms around me in return, holding me against him like he never wants to let go.
And fuck , I don’t want him to.
I pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.
His thumb skims over my cheek, and then, without hesitation, he leans in and kisses me - slow and deep, his lips moving against mine in a way that makes me want to forget about my flight, forget about everything but this.
Emma clears her throat, loudly.
“Hate to break up the romance, but if we don’t go now, we’ll actually miss our flight.”
Reluctantly, I pull away, inhaling sharply. I glance at Frederic one last time, his expression unreadable, but there’s something soft behind his eyes - something almost vulnerable.
"I’ll message you when I land," I tell him.
He nods, his fingers brushing against mine. "Safe flight, mon ange ."
And with that, I turn, my heart heavy, and follow the girls toward security.
As we move through the airport, Monaco disappearing behind us, I reach up, unclasp the necklace, and fasten it around my neck.
I press my fingers lightly over the golden F , exhaling deeply .
Because somehow, despite leaving Monaco - despite leaving him -
He still feels closer than ever.
* * *
London feels different.
The air is cooler, the skyline familiar, the streets bustling in the way they always are. But something about it all feels… off. Like I’ve left a part of myself behind somewhere between the towering buildings of Monaco, the sparkling harbor, the electric roar of the racetrack.
Somewhere between him.
It’s been two days since I landed. Two days since I hugged my parents, since I unpacked my bags, since I curled up in my own bed for the first time in weeks.
Two days since I last saw him.
I’ve spoken to him, of course. He called the moment I got home, his voice smooth and teasing as he asked if I was wearing his necklace.
( I haven’t taken it off. )
We’ve been texting constantly - flirty, playful messages mixed with deeper conversations. He’s told me he misses me. That Monaco feels quiet without me. That he’s counting down the days until he can see me again.
And I -
Well.
I miss him too. More than I should.
More than I know what to do with.
I sigh, running my fingers over the golden F resting against my collarbone as I stare out my bedroom window, the city skyline glowing against the dusk.
Then, my phone buzzes.
My stomach flutters instinctively as I grab it, already knowing who it is before I even check.
Frederic.
Open your front door.
I blink, my heart skipping.
Wait. What?
Frowning, I shove my phone into my pocket and hurry downstairs, my pulse hammering as I unlock the door and pull it open.
And then -
I freeze.
Because there he is.
Frederic Moreau, standing on my doorstep, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, hands tucked into his pockets, a slow, knowing smirk playing at his lips.
My breath catches.
“You -” My voice is hoarse, my brain struggling to process what’s happening. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
"I told you London isn’t far.”
I blink. “I -”
“And I was right, of course. Took me less than two hours.” He steps closer, tilting his head. “Was that too long for you, mon ange? ”
My lips part, but nothing comes out.
Because - what?!
He came here. To me.
Just like that.
I stare at him, my chest tight, my fingers gripping the doorframe like I need something to hold onto.
“I told you,” he murmurs, reaching out, his fingers brushing against my waist. “This isn’t over. Not even close.”
I exhale sharply, my pulse roaring, my heart stumbling over itself as I finally, finally give in.
To him. To this.
To whatever the hell this is.
With a breathless laugh, I throw my arms around him, burying my face into his shoulder as he catches me with ease, his arms tightening around me like he has no plans of ever letting go.
And maybe -
Maybe he won’t.
Maybe this isn’t just a summer fling, or a whirlwind romance, or a stolen moment lost to time.
Maybe this is the start of something real.
Something impossible.
Something like forever.