Novel & Cerita The Paris Apartment

, they looked each other in the eyes, got up in a hurry and crossed the street, rang the doorbell and a lady came out and said to them, "Do you want to know about the apartment? -Do you want to know about the apartment? -Yes, yes, ma'am, if you can show it to us. -Yes, of course, come in. As they walked to the apartment, the lady asked them: -Who is the apartment for? -For both of us, we are both going to rent it. -How nice, because it has two bedrooms, do you have children? -No, no, we both study and work. -Do you like to have parties? -No, we don't have enough for that. -It was precisely what they were looking for, the windows overlooked a small terrace overlooking the street.

“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.

Even in these fleeting snapshots, Paris had an undeniable romance to it. Our hotel—Le Grand Paris—was a magnificent historic building in what Scarlett informed me was "the absolute best part of the 8th arrondissement, darling, literally steps from everything important." The ornate façade was illuminated by tasteful lighting, highlighting the belle époque architecture and intricate stonework.

“Now rest. We’re almost at the apartment. It’s a nice place. Quiet. Good light for painting. You’ll like it.” The car pulled up to a modern building. Pierre helped me with my suitcase and showed me to the apartment. It was small but beautiful — a living area, a bedroom, and a studio space with big windows. “Get some sleep,” Pierre said at the door. “We’ll meet tomorrow afternoon. Call me if you need anything.” “I will,” I said. “Thank you again.” He nodded and left. I closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed, looking around. Paris. A new start.

As long as I had enough, that was all that mattered. Over the next few days, Julie and I visited several new developments and looked at a few high-end apartments, about 1,290 square feet each. The apartments were fully renovated, with floor-to-ceiling windows and access to a residents' clubhouse. Julie stood on the balcony of one of the model units, staring outside. Her eyes lit up for a moment, but her excitement didn't last for long. "What's up? You don't like this place?" She shook her head. "I do like it."