Let me set the scene: I thought we were going to Blagnac.
After a lovely long weekend at the farm with a pre birthday meal on the Sunday mixed in with the unwind and casual chaos my rugby mates are famous for, I was expecting to head back to Blighty. So when we took a slightly suspicious turn away from the usual route, I turned to Flo with a look that said, “Ou est-ce-qu’on va?”
Just a cheeky grin. That’s all I got. That trademark, maddeningly smug grin that says “you’ll see.”
Fast forward to the evening and there we were, standing in the golden-lit entrance of the Hotel Athénée, one of my all-time favourites. Plush. Understated. Sexy, in a completely Parisian kind of way. At that point I thought, right, this is the surprise. Dinner, maybe? Bit of fizz? Oh no. Things were only just getting started.
While I was busy being thrilled and confused and trying to look like I belonged in the lobby rather than accidentally wandered in from Roissy, they handed me a key to our suite where, inside the wardrobe of the room hung a black cocktail dress from Chloé that looked like it had been designed for me. On the shelf alongside, in its own velvet box, was a pearl and diamond choker set with matching drop earrings. I just stood there blinking like I’d been handed a tiara and a direct line to Gerard Butler.
It was giving me Pretty Woman crossed with Sex And The City. It was saying: “You’re worth it”. It was making me wonder how on earth did I end up with these guys?
Dinner at the hotel was divine: attentive and entertaining staff, laughter, and wine that definitely didn’t come with a screw top. And just when I thought the night had reached its peak, dessert walked in. Literally. Two of the other lads had flown up after training, grinning, carrying profiteroles and bearing hugs.
Cue a few tears…
But here’s the thing: beneath all the sparkle, the pearls, and the polished elegance, it was the kindness that undid me. The way they’d thought it all through. The effort, the secrecy, the care. No strings, no expectation, no performative declarations; just three musketeers and my bodyguard deciding that I deserved a night where I felt cared for and spoilt.
Not for what I do. Not for being strong, or funny, or dependable. But just… for being me. We don’t always get those moments, do we? The ones that gently tap your heart and whisper, “You’re loved. No conditions. No catch”.
So this post is for you, my absolute legends. You know who you are. For every inside joke, every stealthy plan, every unspoken bit of “famille”. For making me feel like special for the night, thank you. And for choosing the loan of a choker set instead of a tiara (correct call, by the way), it was perfect!
Merci
Your very spoilt Fifolle xxxx
