His Forbidden Obsession: Tempting The Devil I Can't Have

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN FATE HATES YOU

ISABELLA

"You're not coming, are you?"

Camille's voice cracked through my phone speaker, equal parts accusation and disappointment. I shifted the device against my ear, staring at the suitcase on my bed. It was half-packed, like my commitment to this trip.

"Of course I'm coming. The flight's tomorrow."

"You've been saying that for three weeks. Every time I call, you're 'definitely coming,' but your suitcase looks like it's been in the same spot since Tuesday."

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong.

"Julien thinks I shouldn't go."

"Julien." She said his name like it was a flavor she'd tried once and hated. "What does Julien think you'll miss? Another dinner where he answers emails under the table? A weekend where he 'accidentally' schedules golf with clients instead of your anniversary?"

"Camille-"

"No, listen to me." Her voice softened, losing its edge. "Izzy, when's the last time you did something just for you? Not for him, not for work, not because it was the practical choice. Something that made your chest feel light because you couldn't believe you got to be there?"

I glanced at my window. Paris stretched beyond it, gray and drizzly, beautiful in that scripted way that made you want to write sad poetry or drink expensive wine.

I'd lived here for six years, and I'd stopped noticing either.

"The Moreau beach house," she continued, "is stupidly beautiful. Like, annoyingly so. White cliffs, water so blue it looks fake, and sunsets that make you believe in God. And my father's never there, so we have the whole place to ourselves. Three months, Izzy. Just us, champagne, and absolutely no men telling us what we should want."

I almost laughed and almost said yes, then reality crept back in.

"I have deadlines. And Julien will be impossible when I get back-"

"Julien will be Julien whether you're gone for three days or three months. That man has the emotional temperature of a houseplant."

"Camille-"

"Isabella Laurent."

Okay.... She just called my full name.

"I love you. You're my person. But if you let that emotionally constipated architect talk you out of the best summer of your life, I will fly to Paris and pack your suitcase myself. And I will bring the embarrassing lingerie you hide in the back of your drawer."

"I don't have embarrassing lingerie."

"You will after I'm done shopping for you."

I pressed my palm against my forehead, but I was smiling. The part of me that wanted a new scenery was beginning to win.

"Three months is a long time."

"Three months is nothing. Three months is a blink. Three months from now, you'll be back in this apartment, staring at that same gray sky, wishing you'd said yes. Don't wish, Izzy. Just say yes."

Fuck it. I'm doing it.

"Yes," I whispered.

"What was that? I didn't catch it."

"Yes, you insufferable woman. I'll come."

She squealed like a child on Christmas