The Paris Apartment Novels & Stories

This was interesting. We arrived at Paris's place and she smiled at me, "since you have like 3 weeks back you might as well stay with me. You can visit your apartment and see how it is holding up. The guys you rented it to are taking good care of it." "with the help of Paris of course. She might have threatened them and told them if they were to mess up your place they won't be able to rent anywhere.. Let alone buy their own property." We all laughed as Paris directed me to my old bedroom. I put my bag there and smiled at how nice it smelled.

He sets her bags on the bed, and she moves to reach into her purse for a tip. He shakes his hands, “Non, non, mademoiselle. Uhm . . . enjoy Paris.” He touches the brim of his hat and disappears down the stairs once more, leaving her alone in her Paris apartment. Despite the tiny size, she squeals and spin in place, ungracefully knocking into the iron-framed bed that’s somewhere between a twin and a full size but looks comfortable and fluffy with quilts. “Ouch,” Monica mutters to the empty room. Beyond that, there’s a small desk with a stool tucked under it, a cooking area with a single electric eye, which is below a shelf that contains two place settings of white porcelain dishes and a coff

Logan Paris’s apartment was as opulent as ever, with its pristine white walls, expansive glass windows, and a sweeping view of the ocean. She greeted me at the door, her expression bright and deceptively warm. "Logan," she purred, leaning in for an air kiss. "To what do I owe this surprise? You never drop by unannounced." I brushed past her into the living room, my jaw tight. "We need to talk." Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t miss a beat. She closed the door behind me and sauntered over to a plush armchair, gesturing for me to sit as if this were a casual visit.

I collapsed against him, my sobs muffled into his chest, and he held me tighter, rocking me gently as Paris city blurred past the window. *** The new place Edward arranged wasn’t a hotel. It was a serene apartment overlooking the Seine and Eiffel Tower, sleek and quiet, guarded by men I didn’t know but trusted only because he did. Once the door shut behind us, the silence pressed in again. I stood in the middle of the living room, my hands shaking, staring at the glittering Eiffel Tower in the distance. Edward came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his lips pressing into the crown of my head.

“Would you stop, please? I mean… What are you going to do next? What are you going to do now that you’ve got your life back?” He shrugged, even as his thoughts flew to the apartment he’d rented in the Marais district across the river, the most fashionable district in Paris, famous for old-world charm, narrow cobblestone streets, hidden courtyards, and tranquil gardens, a multitude of mansions called ‘hôtels particuliers’, and a thriving gallery and cafe culture. His sister hadn’t seen it yet. It had been hell holding her off, and he would have to tell her his plans soon, but Fabien wasn’t ready for her disapproval yet. He was still coming to terms with his own audacity himself.

It has a very modern style with huge windows along one side. “It’s in the Triangle d’Or area of Paris, on Avenue Montaigne in the prestigious Haussmannian building. Four bedrooms, air-conditioned, recently renovated with new marble countertops.” Lenora reads off the information with a game show host flair. I hold up the key, looking at it like it's the most wonderous thing in the world, and murmur out loud. “H-he got me an apartment in Paris?” “Yep. He signed the final paperwork last week. Happy Birthday, Kas!” Lenora squeals.

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.

Jessica showed the message to nobody that night. Not immediately. She sat alone in her apartment staring at the address. Reading it. Then reading it again. A narrow street in the older part of Paris. An area filled with antique shops, private clubs, and buildings that looked ordinary from the outside and impossibly expensive within. The sort of place wealthy people disappeared into. The sort of place nobody questioned. The sort of place Laurent would feel comfortable. That thought alone made her uneasy. The second line troubled her even more.

I have things to tell you and they require your face. I called her immediately. While plugging in my earbuds. She picked up looking like she had already been awake for hours, which for a Saturday meant she either had news or drama, and with Josie those two categories overlapped significantly. "Finally," she said. "Okay. I need to tell you about this apartment." "What apartment?" "The one I've been looking at. In Montmartre." She flipped her camera to show me a listing on her laptop, a top floor flat with slanted ceilings and a view that was doing considerable work. "Tell me this isn't perfect."

When they do notice me it’s the wrong way, like they’re examining a fruit they’re not sure is ripe enough. All the women are so ridiculously well dressed that I don’t even stand out there. I’m almost sure someone called me tacky yesterday. If my French was better I would totally have confronted them. The apartment Hendrik found me is in the Marais. He described it as charming. Apparently I’m not so great at English either, because it is most certainly not what I would picture when someone says a place is charming. The unit is on the fourth floor of a building with no lift and a staircase apparently designed for a smaller species of human.