“Sorry, and who are you?” I asked, my voice going up at least three octaves.

He reached over and massaged my left shoulder. “Anya, my fiancée. I wanted to tell you, but, you know, you’ve been here . . .”

My eyebrows practically jumped off my face. “Your fiancée? Rhys, I saw you right before I left, and I’ve only been in France for like a month. You met someone you want to spend the rest of your life with in the last four weeks?!” I spoke like she wasn’t standing in front of me.

He tightened his grip around her. “When you know you know, and as soon as I saw her on TikTok, I knew.”

“You met her on TikTok? He met you on TikTok?” I bounced my gaze back and forth between them, unable to digest what he was saying.

“Anya’s a huge influencer. She has like over eight million followers.”

“It’s actually ten, sweetie,” she said, correcting him as she puckered her lips into her compact and slathered on a fresh coat of gloss.

My head was spinning. Engaged? Engaged to be married? Rhys had been categorically clear that he wanted to focus his energies on his burgeoning acting career and felt anything that distracted him from that pursuit was now a waste of time. So how did marriage fare in that equation?

“I thought you didn’t want to get married. I thought you were all about your career right now?”

“I guess I changed my mind. I mean, when you meet the one, I guess you do just know,” he said while gazing at Anya, oblivious to how it would hit me . . . throwing it out there as if he were talking about switching deodorant brands or the type of milk he preferred in his latte. “Anyway, what’s new with you? In Paris for work? Can’t say I’ve seen your name in the trade papers lately.”

“Um no, just here for a few days on holiday,” I offered.

He pushed his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is . . . you look good, P.”

P?! Don’t you “P” me!

“Rhys, we were together forever. You didn’t think I maybe deserved a phone call or even a text to tell me that you’re engaged to be married?”

“I figured you’d heard about it on one site or another. It was reported in Us Weekly, People, the Daily Mail, TMZ, Page Six,” he said, rattling off the usual list of suspects. “I mean, you’d have to have been living under a rock not to know.”

Maubec wasn’t a rock, exactly, but he was right, I’d more or less tuned out the outside world these last couple of weeks. And it’s not that I wanted him back, but was I that easy to get over? So easy that he found a fiancée in thirty days? Even those folks on 90 Day Fiancé took a full ninety days!

“Well,” I said, choking back the tears forming, “I guess congratulations are in order, then.”

I swallowed the lump now lodged in my throat, and my hands trembled as my eyes finally peeled themselves from Rhys and scanned the room to still see a flurry of hotel guests, workers, and worst of all Elliott filming the entire, god-awful, humiliating exchange.

“Aww, Plumster, that means a lot. Are you here through the weekend? We just flew in from Venice. The new Tarantino film I’m in premiered at the festival, so the hotel’s throwing a little soirée to celebrate the movie and our engagement. You should come.”

If he wasn’t careful, I was gonna toss his ass in a Plumster. And his big film at the festival? He had like three lines in the movie!

“Yes, please do come,” Anya added.

“I can’t, I have dinner plans with a friend.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” he said, “the party’s at L’Orangerie, and it starts at nine.”

“L’Orangerie? The Michelin-starred restaurant?”

“Grey Goose L’Orange is sponsoring the party, so . . . ,” Anya chimed in.

“Your party has a corporate sponsor?”

“Quite a few, actually. Caudalie, Air France, Evian. Grey Goose’s the main one, though. The swag’s gonna be insaaaaanne.” He tilted his head toward the elevator banks. “We should get going, Anya’s glam squad’s waiting for us upstairs. Think about coming to the party, you and your friend, if you want,” he said with a nod toward Elliott. “Just text me beforehand, so I can make sure your names are on the list. It’s going to be pretty exclusive.” Rhys leaned in and gave me a European kiss, one on each cheek. “It was good to see you, P.”

Exclusive?! You were Brian Braunpheiffer before you met me!

“Yeah, you too,” I muttered as the man I never thought would be such a stranger walked away. A few seconds later, Elliott approached me from behind.

“Hey, you okay? You look white as a sheet. Who was that guy?” he asked.

I gave him a once-over, the skin in my face pulsing with a mixture of anger and adrenaline. “Did you film that?”

He looked up. “What?”

“That whole exchange? Me and Rhys? Did you film us? Our conversation? Isn’t that just the kind of gotcha moment you people dream about?!”

“You people? Yeah, I filmed it. I’ve been filming everything all day. What’s your problem?!” He set his camera on the ground and stood up straight, his enormous frame towering over me.

I narrowed my eyes on him. “Who knew I was coming to Paris?”

“What are you talking about? Everyone who works on the show knew we were coming to Paris. What does that have to do with anything?”

“So you’re telling me I’m supposed to just believe it’s one big coincidence—that my ex-boyfriend’s staying at the exact same hotel on the exact same weekend as I am in Paris out of the blue?”

“I don’t know? You tell me,” Elliott said. “I’m half expecting a swarm of paparazzi to jump out of those potted plants across the room any minute now.”

I reeled back like I’d been slapped. “Wait, you think I staged this?” I couldn’t even process the lunacy of his accusation. “You know what, Elliott, screw you!” I turned and ran down the hall to the elevators.

“Oh, that’s real mature, Plum,” Elliott called after me.

I frantically pressed the down button over and over until the bell finally chimed, and I threw myself inside. When the double doors slid open again, I was immediately hit with the overwhelming floral fragrance of creams, serums, and aromatherapy candles wafting in from the spa. The smell, combined with my pounding heart, made me feel like I could pass out at any moment. I stumbled out of the elevator and onto the cream-colored tufted sofa in the middle of the spa’s waiting area.

“Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle,” one of the spa employees called as she came rushing over. “Tout va bien?”

I nodded. “I’m okay. I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

The spa employee clapped her hands together. “Nadine, un verre d’eau, tout de suite!”

A younger woman came speeding over with a glass of cucumber water and a cold towel.

She placed the towel on my forehead, then urged me to take a few slow sips of the water and lie down.

“Oh my God, Plum, what happened?” Kate exclaimed. She sprinted toward me, barely noticing her robe flapping open in the wind.

“I just ran into Rhys in the hotel lobby,” I panted.

She tightened the tie on her robe. “Rhys? Rhys Braun? What the hell is he doing here?”

I propped up on my elbows. “Celebrating his engagement. Did you know he was engaged?”