C’est MOI. Madeline.

C’est MOI. Madeline.


Oh my God,  loves… Where have you been all of my life? This is going to be FANTASTIC.

I’m a bonafide grown-up now. Survived fifteen years of two straight lines and a decade of winter, snow and ice. Miss Clavel put me therapy for seven years, but guess what, Clavel. Last week I got a tiger tattoo on my stomach scar and am lounging on the rooftop of my orangerie, smoking a Gitanes AS WE SPEAK. Pooh pooh, you overbearing, ten-foot tall nun.

But back to me. I have two, perfect, French children that pick morels and play cache cache in the vineyards. They’re the product of one very scandalous trip to Biarritz, and a couple of naughty nights the Spanish embassy, and yes Pepito and I are together. Let me tell you, the little bull fighter is NOT a bad hat in bed. At all.

With the exception of that unfortunate incident with Lord Cucuface, my life has been absolutely amazing. We have so much to catch up on! At the chateau, we have visitors from two to MIDNIGHT. Come visit, loves. We will break our bread and drink our wine and go to bed. And have the best night ever.

xxx, Madeline


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