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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014
Copyright © Aimee Duffy 2014
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Aimee Duffy asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © August 2014
ISBN:9780008106287
Version 2014-07-22
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Paris really was the city of romance and Ciara was reminded of it every stinking second.
âYouâre messing with our karma, Cia,â Elle said, but despite the words her friend didnât look annoyed with her. Her eyes were almost as sad as Ciara felt.
âIâm sorry. No more moping, I promise.â She sipped at the red wine theyâd ordered in a small bar not far from the designer shops both Gem and Elle had dragged her around.
Beneath the table were all her friendsâ bags with so many new clothes that they were going to have to pay another excess weight fee at the airport when they left for their next stop.
âYou know the best way to get over a guy is to get under another,â Gem pointed out. âWeâre going to the club tonight. Maybe weâll meet a trio of gorgeous Frenchmen.â
Ciara forced a smile, feigning excitement. Elleâs sharp look told her it was a wasted effort. After a few tears had appeared when they got to Miami International, her friends hadnât taken her gaze off her since. Pretending to sleep for the whole flight just to get the attention off her hadnât worked. It just made them more determined to cheer her up.
âI donât think thatâs what she needs, Gem.â Elle reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of notes, then left them on the table. âBut I have an idea.â
âOh hell, what now?â Her mind was too busy churning through the possibilities that she didnât even moan at Elle for paying the bill.
âWhere are we going?â Gem asked when Elle picked up her bags.
âYouâll see. I didnât waste all that effort getting us into Le Baron for Ciara to wear a face like that all night.â
âThanks Elle,â she murmured dryly. Then something clicked. âWait, isnât that the private club the Russian mafia lords drink in?â
Sheâd googled the night life in Paris before her shopping trip in Miami to try and figure out what to buy with her vouchers, and La Baron was one of the clubs she remembered, just not for the right reasons.
Elle laughed. âIt used to be, but itâs under new management now. Relax.â
âSo why did it take so much effort to get in?â she asked as they started off down the street.
âBecause itâs private. And exclusive. I want to go. Obviously.â
There really was no stopping her friend when the chin tilt appeared so she sighed and gave in for the moment. It didnât take Elle long until they got to their destination and Ciara couldnât stop her chin from dropping. Two windows showcasing sleek, black dresses would have been enough to stop her in her tracks, but above that and the door a black metal balcony with gold letters stunned her.
Elle was taking them to Givenchy, knowing how much Ciara loved the black dress she borrowed from Elle for a spring dance a few years before. But this was just cruel. Taking her to a shop that she couldnât even afford a scarf in.
âCome on,â Elle said, pulling her toward the door.
âI canât go in there.â Ciara tried to wrestle her arm back.
âYouâre going alright. Gem, get her other arm!â
They had such a tight hold on her that struggling wasnât just humiliating in front of all the passers by, but totally pointless. Strong-arming her into the shop canât have been easy with her wriggling and the bags they were already carrying, but they did a better job than she could have.
âI hate you for this! Both of you!â she hissed, closing her eyes to make it hurt less. If she saw any of the dresses, the accessories, sheâd be saying âbye, byeâ to the rest of her money.