The Paris Apartment Novels & Stories

explained the man. Paris again looked at the door. She wasn't at the wrong apartment. "I'm sorry," she apologized as she walked away disappointed. "Probably the person who used to live here no longer dwells here for I have rented this apartment three weeks ago," said the man as Paris returned in the elevator. Paris cried. How could Greyson know that she truly loved him when he was no longer in New York?

Vienna’s POV The next day, after school, Zanele and I went apartment hunting. We zigzagged across half of Paris on foot and by metro, chasing down leads from listings that looked halfway decent. But each place we visited was another disappointment. One had black mold blooming behind the kitchen cabinets. Another had a ceiling so low I couldn’t stand upright in half the space. A third only had a grimy shared toilet that smelled like mildew and despair. "All of them are terrible," I muttered as we walked down yet another narrow stairwell. "And way overpriced."

Staring back at me were honey glazed, brown eyes. "To say that I've been getting along just fine would be a lie, it's been a little difficult trying to adjust to things but I'm slowly getting there," I replied, honestly. "I did happen to find a little apartment in Chartres and the neighborhood is quite lovely so that's been a positive." "Paris isn't that big of a city, you'll have many chances to get acquainted with everything when you're not racking yourself with the museum." He exclaimed, a very slight smile appearing on his face.

Levan pulled onto a patch of grass near the building we wanted. The four of us got out. Harper and I walked in front, with the two men following behind. We took the elevator to the sixteenth floor. Apartment 1603. Harper pressed the doorbell. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a young woman. She was thin to the point of frailty, like a paper doll. Though her skin was fair and her features delicate—she might have been beautiful once—a centipede-like scar ran down the left side of her face.

After placing my bag on the inside of the door leading to the main bedroom, he proceeded to give me a brief tour of the apartment. "Kitchen, living room, and office," he remarked hastily, without giving any of the rooms much of his attention. It was impossible for me to resist looking. I don't think I've ever been anyplace quite as nice as this before, with the possible exception of his flat in Paris. The floor was a neutral gray color and it was consistent throughout the entire floor plan, beginning in the exterior hallway.

If she had paid much attention to his profile she would have noticed that gender as he/him and not a her/she. "I am not like those girls and this doesn't change anything. I can't share my apartment with you." she said firmly rising to her feet. "You'll have to look for some place else, sorry for wasting your time and that's final." she walked out of the cafe with her bag slung over her shoulder. She opened the app as she walked on the street, tapping on the for rent button. She heaved out a sigh, turning her head backwards to glance at the sky, the clouds were getting darker and heavier. Great it was going to rain and she was without a roommate.

“This can’t be true. Isn’t Charlene a poor student? How could she afford it?” “That’s right. This apartment must belong to Jacob. He drives an expensive car, and he dresses in luxury brands. Jacob, hurry up and explain!” Jacob pursed his lips as sweat covered his forehead. Meanwhile, Prissy nudged him anxiously. “Jacob! It’s clearly written on the document that you gave me the apartment. Why is he saying that it belongs to Charlene?! Tell me now!” I sneered at Prissy as she stomped her foot, and I slowly said, “Obviously, that deed is fake!”

Three days had passed since Emilia had her public meltdown and fled to mommy's house with her tail between her legs. Three glorious days of silence from Mrs. High-and-Mighty Romano. And here I was, in my new beautiful Parisian house. The apartment was covered in a stunning cream and gold, with French windows that opened onto a tiny balcony overlooking the street. It was a courtesy of Jax. Istood watching the man himself sprawled across my velvet sofa like he owned the place.

, he asks after closing the door behind us. My small apartment is organized to the smallest detail, with a combination of colors and even the colorful sofa is no longer a nuisance and has become an attractive object in the midst of the darker furniture. But this is far from being the main reason for the surprise. New objects have been added to the decor. Nothing more than frames with the pictures of our first meeting towards the freedom of the empty and dark streets of Paris after a meal in a place where everything that is served can be questionable, except the feelings that our gazes fed to each other on the table during dinner. “ If you think of doing anything crazy, remember that you are

‘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