Page 9 of Sparks Fly
As soon as that thought slips into my head, I shake it back out.Idiot.He isn’t going to change his mind.
He dumped you.
Left you crumpled on the floor and didn’t look back.
The realisation has me rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin a little higher.
I will not let a man ruin this for me, I have already shed far too many tears over a broken heart. It was time for a new adventure, one without him in it.
Let’s be honest, I knew it was a lie as soon as I thought about it. I knew all too well I would be curled up in my bed tonight crying.
But it’s a process.
I’ll get over it.
Handing my passport over, the young man gives me a tight smile before stamping the page and passing it back through the small gap.
I nod and slip my passport into my bag as I make my way to the baggage belt. The airport is quiet, and I am not waiting long when I see my cream suitcase moving towards me. Reaching for it, I lug it forward, but the wheel gets caught, pulling me around with it.
“Shit,” I call out.
Of course, in true romance style fashion, the guy from the plane swoops in to save the day.
I half laugh, half want to cry as I stand, hands on my hips and cheeks pink.
“Here we go.” he smiles at me as he wheels my bastard suitcase towards me.
“Thank you,” I mouth then drop my eyes to the floor. I feel so embarrassed.
“Not a problem,” he says casually.
I lift my head and give him a smile before he turns on his heel, but not before saluting me off his temple. A soft giggle escapes before I duck my head down and make my way through the airport.
I am greetedby a suited and booted man, holding my name on a sign.
“Hi,” I say softly as he takes my case from me and begins to wheel it. “Bonjour?” I furrow my brow as he continues to walk out of the airport and places my case in the back of his blacked-out car.
He slips his sunglasses down his nose and his green eyes land on mine.
“Welcome to Monaco.” He smiles, his French accent strong as he opens my door and I duck into the back of the car.
Once we’re on our way, I pull my phone out and text Nora to let her know that I am safe in the back of the car and on the way to the apartments.
She replies back instantly telling me to call her when I get there.
I agree.
Opening my camera, I begin to take in the scenery as we drive from Nice airport to where Nora has arranged for me to stay. The location of which I am still unaware of.
She has planned everything—all I had to do was pack a case which I had already done and show up, which I also done.
The drive isn’t long, but I was grateful when the car slowed outside a large apartment block in the Fontvieille area. My heartskips a beat or two. Of course, she had to book in the same area where Royce stays.
I swallow down the nerves as the driver opens my door, and as I step out, the doorman walks over, giving me a soft nod.
Glancing up at the stunning building, beautiful architecture clings to the outside of the building, sash wooden windows, finished in a yellow-cream render.
They talk in French. I try and listen and internally kick myself that I didn’t pay more attention in my French lessons back in secondary school.
