Page 71 of Je T'aime, Actually

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, genuinely happy to see her.

“Hey…” Kitty started, then paused, studying Monroe for a second. “You look nice. Are you going out?”

“I’m going for dinner, yes,” Monroe replied. At least, she hoped so. “How are you? How’s school?”

“Oh, it’s okay. We’re learning about kings and queens—and gory stuff.”

“That sounds fun.” Monroe chuckled.

“Yeah, it is. Benji said to tell you his team is in the cup next week.”

“Fantastic. I bet he’s excited.”

“Heis… I have to go and watch,” Kitty added, clearly unenthused. “I’ll have to take a book.”

“You could just cheer him on.”

“Then he’d think I like him.”

“You do like him.”

“But he doesn’t need toknowthat.”

Monroe laughed, her heart tugging with a familiar ache, that pang of missing everything. Had she made a mistake moving here, away from all of them?

Kitty glanced off-screen. “Coming!” she shouted, then turned back to Monroe. “Gotta go. I’m supposed to be in the bath.” She blew a kiss. “Bye!”

And then she was gone. The screen went dark.

As Monroe swigged down the last mouthful of her wine, the front door burst open. Chloé rushed in, speaking rapid French under her breath—far too fast for Monroe to catch as she stood to greet her.

She dropped her bag by the door, shrugged off her coat in a flurry of movement, and finally looked up.

“Je suis désolée,” her words faltered, “I got held up with—” She stopped, eyes widening as she trulysawMonroe. “Magnifique,” she whispered, breathless. “Give me ten minutes—and I’m sosorry to have made you wait. I do not deserve such a goddess on my arm.”

Monroe arched an eyebrow, lips curving. “Well…if you manage to get us to the restaurant and feed me a very expensive dinner, I might consider forgiving you.”

Chloé leant in and kissed her, slow and full of apology. “I really do not deserve you.”

The restaurant was swish. Monroe was impressed—almost as impressed as she’d been with how quickly Chloé had changed into a rather exquisite white satin fitted suit. Cinched at the waist, the jacket had a vibrant pink embroidered pattern, curling up one arm and sweeping over the shoulder and diagonally down her back. It was paired perfectly with white wide-legged trousers.

Her nearly black hair was worn down; a striking contrast, despite the slight greying at the sides that somehow made her even more distinguished.

“You look hot,” Monroe said again as they were led to their table.

“Pfft.” Chloé waved her off with a smile. “Compared to you, I am a mere peasant.”

Monroe laughed softly. “Then I guess I’ve got a thing for charming, sexy peasants.”

Chloé raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? So that is your type?”

“Apparently so.” Monroe grinned, leaning in. “But only the ones with killer cheekbones and excellent taste in suits.”

The maître d’ offered them a table and stepped back as Chloé pulled out a chair for Monroe. “Pour madame.”

Monroe smiled, eyes gleaming. “I don’t think it will ever not turn me on, hearing you speak French to me.”

“Ah, bien,” Chloé said, letting her hand drag slowly across the back of Monroe’s shoulders. “Then when we get home, I will happily indulge your little fantasy.”