The Paris Apartment: A Novel Novels & Stories

Genevieve’s POV I had learned how to disappear the hard way. Money went first. Then names. Then the foolish belief that anyone would come looking to save me. By the time the morning light leaked through the blinds of my apartment on the outskirts of Paris—far from the city’s polished streets and watched corners—I was already awake. The neighborhood stirred slowly, delivery trucks rattling past shuttered shops, voices muted and uncurious. It was the kind of place people passed through, not a place anyone bothered to remember.

It has a huge tub in one corner that we have used a lot; inbuilt jacuzzi and the shower is big enough for us both to shower and have a lot of fun in here together. I love our whole apartment. It’s in the sixteenth district, a chic part of Paris, surrounded by money and gorgeous buildings and Arry did really good in finding us both a pretty large, yet modern apartment, penthouse. He’s a born New Yorker and likes to stay up high.

Yes, it's time we hear some good news. In Paris, the late afternoon air was quiet. Chloe moved quickly, a scarf covering her head, her eyes watching every face and shadow. She followed the address she had memorized to a narrow alley in Montmartre, where the buildings appeared old and timeworn, the air heavy. She stopped in front of a worn-down apartment building, its paint chipped, windows cracked. The place seemed lifeless.

5 years later Paris, France. The lights in the condominium automatically switches on as Mia walks in through the front door. She shrugs off her snow-covered coat and places it on the hangar next to the door, removing her boots to walk barefooted across the brown fur rug to the kitchen cabinet just as the heater automatically comes on too. “Please, be careful not to get snow on my rug,” she says to Andrew who walks into the apartment after her. “It’s new and I’ll love to keep it that way”.

A Quiet Place in the Storm Rissa’s POV The French Quarter never truly sleeps. Even this late into the night, the streets breathe with music and movement. Jazz drifts from open bar doors. Laughter echoes off old brick buildings. Neon lights flicker across narrow sidewalks where tourists and locals blend into a restless tide of humanity. No one notices us. That is the point. Mark walks beside me down a dim hallway that smells faintly of old wood and coffee. The apartment building is tucked between a bookstore and a narrow restaurant that spills warm yellow light onto the street.

‘Now I can let my casual staff go,’ she thought gladly as her little pub only made enough to support her and didn’t really allow for extra hands. “This is you,” Jenna said, showing Paris the guest room of her two-bedroom apartment that was in the flat block above her little pub. “Thank you,” Paris said and walked into the room that looked like it could do with a makeover. “I will bring you some bedsheets,” Jenna said, looking at the bed, which didn’t have any sheets on. Jenna was quick to return with the bed sheets and she got butterflies when her hands brushed over Paris' when she handed him the bedsheets. Paris picked up on her uneasiness and mistook it for her feeling uncomfortable with a

CHAPTER FIVE AVA Paris swallowed me whole. The apartment was small. It was a one bedroom apartment with a kitchen the size of a closet, windows that looked out onto a narrow street in the Marais. But it was mine. Paid for by a man I barely knew, in a city where no one knew my name. For the first month, I barely left. I slept. I cried. I stared at walls and let the grief consume me in waves. Some days I couldn't move, other days I paced for hours, replaying every moment, every betrayal and every lie I'd been too blind to see.

The apartment sat above a bookshop on a narrow street in the 11th, nothing grand about it, nothing designed for tourists, which was exactly right for both of them. "There are twenty-two stairs," Isla announced, halfway up on the first evening, one hand braced against the wall. "I counted." "You could have told me that before I let the movers unload the crib on the fourth floor." "It was a discovery in progress." Paris in February wasn't performing for anyone — grey sky, cold air, the city just being itself in winter light, and Isla loved it immediately, standing at the kitchen window that first morning looking down at the street below.

“If you don’t want me here, then pick up your fucking phone.” “I don’t have to do anything, Adrien.” It was nearly two in the morning, but the City of Lights still had people on every corner, riding their bikes to the opposite side of town or smoking in the cafés downstairs. Au Pied de Cochon was right near my apartment, one of the few restaurants in Paris that basically never locked their doors or turned off their lights because it was open almost twenty-four hours. I’d eaten there a couple times after my shift, but mostly just to wind down with a cigarette.

Lana's Point of view The first raindrops fell as soon as we stepped out onto the patio. They appeared uncertain because they were slender and icy. They rapped on the glass and stone, a silent warning that Paris was about to be hit by a storm. The city lights appeared hazy, like little lights in the dark, due to the rain. I shuddered, my hair wet and plastered to my forehead. Not entirely due to the cold. due of the tension. from him.Adrian, who was silent and composed, approached me beside me. We stood at the Seine's brink, his dark, sharp coat brushing against me. The taste of rain and the scent of moist dirt were carried by the wind as it passed past us. Everything in me told me to stay ev