My coeur stopped. Vraiment. I fell to the sofa immobile. It was true. The love of ma vie, François Hollande, the Président de France, had another amour of his vie. He had been photographed visiting his mistress Julie Gayet in the milieu of the nuit. I could not bouge pas. I was struck as if by lightning. How could he have faired this to moi comme he had done to Ségolène Royal, his femme? And how could une autre femme steal mon homme? I had penser that it was only moi who faired that kind of chose.

For trois long jours, I hovered entre sleeping and waking, mais François ignored me totalement. I was distraught, beyond mots. Sauf que these ones. My blood pressure fell to zero. And then to below zero. It was toucher et aller whether I would survive. The caretaker couple who looked after François et moi at the Elysée Palais were in déluges de larmes.

Quelque chose had changer in our relationship. I had sensed cela for some time. Peut-être it had started when he had offrired his support for Ségolène Royal dans les elections de 2012. I had begged and begged him not to do that and il m’a promis qu’il wouldn’t. “Si tu m’aimes,” je had dit, “tu will tell le monde qu’elle est une useless bitch.” Et he had promised me qu’il fera. Mais il était un mentant bastard so j’ai tweeté mon support for Ségolène’s rival. Tant pis. Poir quelque raison, François a perdu son rag over that.

En verité, François avait changed long avant that. He is un homme très shallow who trouve it très difficile to exprimer son sentiments. Moi, meanwhile, was an ordinary femme who had worked her way up from the bainlieues to devenir one of the most powerful women in French journalism, écrirant les photo captions pour les célébrités. François couldn’t cope with the intensité of my amour et mon besoin pour lui.

Did I mention mes parents habiter dans les banlieues et que cette homme-mangeuse Julie avait un château? Je ne dire plus mais vous can dessiner your own conclusions about juste comme un materialist étoile-fucker François really est. Enfin, as I drifted dans and hors de consciousness on the Louis XV chaise longue, my tête literally spinning avec l’énormité de mon betrayal, mes pensées went back to my trois sons qui je had oublier pretty damn vite le moment François had held me in his bras dans les jardins de Limoges et kissed moi comme j’ai had never been baissered before. “J’adore Le Piat d’Or,” il a dit. “I want you, I need you, you are the lumière de ma vie.” Je touched his lips avec mon finger. “Tu had me at Président.”

Until that moment, it had never occurred to me in all the longues tête-a-tête candlelit dinners que François et moi had enjoyed over plusieurs années, que nous might have une affaire. I had been une femme très, très contente avec un dull mari whose nom I can’t souvenir et François had been devoted to Ségolène. It was Ségolène who changed tout çela quand she accused nous of having un morceau sur le coté. Bof! Il était comme une bulbe de lumière avait exploder dans nos têtes. Apres ça, nous sommes at it comme lapins in between having des conversations très serieux about le futur de la French socialist party.

Lentement, ma sanité returned. Rien pouvait prendre away the ardeur et douceur de quoi moi et François had once had. C’était la notre pour l’éternité. Je resolved to tirer moi-même ensemble. Je went for long runs in which my muscles bruléed pour essayer d’oublir comme François had snubbed me by not inviting moi to dîner avec Barack Obama et forçant moi de rester inside to écouter ses vieux Carla Bruni CDs.

“Tu will be tout droit,” mes amis said. “François n’est pas worth it. Il est just un troisième rate politician qui toujours faire qu’il wants et is turning la belle France aux chiens.” Et maintenant, while tout le monde connaît quel miserable fuckwit François est avec des grands problèmes de commitment phobia who has been dumpered par Julie, je suis rebuilding ma vie. Un moment, s’il vous plaît. François est texting moi. “Où did you hide mes valises?” he asked. Typiquement François! Il toujours speak en code. He loves me. I adore him aussi.

Digested read, digested: Moulins et Boon avec la première femme.