The Paris Apartment Novels & Stories

Alex: “[The Elysian Residences] — 3-bedroom apartment available for rent. Fully furnished with appliances. Close to subway. Move-in ready. Price negotiable.” The caption was followed by nine stunning images of a sleek, modern apartment, perfectly staged with elegant furniture and tasteful decor. The aesthetic was minimalist yet chic—clean lines, muted colors, and large windows that allowed plenty of natural light. Emily stared at the pictures, the luxurious interiors stirring a sense of longing in her chest.

She nodded and said, "I do know. But—" "So, you knowingly rented this 3,000-square-foot apartment from your husband's younger brother for only 300 dollars despite knowing that the price was ridiculously low and unreasonable. "Also, this apartment is registered under Caroline Whitaker's name, not Samuel Tucker." Misty couldn't answer him anymore. The police officer finished his questioning and recorded a few notes down. Samuel then stepped forward with a fawning smile and said, "Officer, Caroline and I are legally married. This apartment was left to her by her parents, which means that this is our joint property. Surely it's perfectly reasonable for me to rent it out to others, right?"

He sounded genuinely happy for me, and the pride in his voice warmed my heart. For so many years, I wondered what it would feel like to have a brother. Now I know. It's having someone call simply to ask how your day went. I still haven't gotten used to this new life. Father rented an incredibly luxurious apartment for me here in Paris. Calling it an apartment hardly does it justice—it feels more like a private residence. Every room is elegantly furnished, the kitchen is larger than the entire flat I used to share with Mitch, and the view of the city is breathtaking.

When the new intern, Felix Madden, hears that I'm going back to my hometown for the Thanksgiving weekend and won't be home in my fully paid-off luxury lakeview apartment, he goes out of his way to cozy up to me. "Come on, Carl. Your place is going to be empty anyway. Why not let my parents stay there for a few days during the holiday? It'll save them the cost of paying for a hotel," Felix says. Worried that my belongings might be tampered with, I politely turn him down. His expression darkens slightly, and he mutters under his breath, "Fine. If you won't lend it to me, I'll find my own way." I don't think much of it at the time. Then, on the first day of the holiday, the property manage

I grabbed my jacket. "Come on, let's go to the apartment." We soon arrived at the neighborhood. The door to the apartment I had carefully renovated was wide open. Bertha was directing several workers as they carried out the furniture I had bought. She said, "Be careful. Everything's expensive. They'll sell for a lot." When she saw me, she smiled smugly. "Well, well. If it isn't Ms. Shaw. Here you see your unit? Too bad for you. This place belongs to the Carters now."

He didn’t want anything in his face to reveal the surprise he was planning for her. They left early the next morning, driving to Athens and then flying on to Paris; they were in Lucette ’s apartment on the Île de la Cité by mid-afternoon. Ariston stood on the threshold of the living room and gazed at the picture window overlooking Paris, the twin towers of Notre-Dame visible in the distance.

He laughed, shaking his head as he waited for a response. I just stared at him blankly. Shaking myself off that memory, I got up, “No, mine are just Meeh! Surely not as cool as yours, anyway!” I could tell that he still wanted to venture more into that topic, but I was just not...ready. “I love this apartment more; it really suits you.” I inspected the French inspired large apartment complex. It was truly breath taking. I kid you not. Noah had truly found a gem, in this busy city filled with old monotonous white looking buildings they called modern.

**Six months later - Paris** The apartment was tiny. A fifth-floor walk-up in the Marais district with a window that looked out at other windows and a bathroom so small I had to turn sideways to use the sink. Nothing like the Moore mansion. Everything like freedom. I woke up at 5 AM to the sound of Clara’s alarm in the other room. We’d been sharing this shoebox for six months, working three jobs between us, barely scraping by. And I’d never been happier.

I am looking forward to finding out what I eat for breakfast when nobody is watching and what I watch on television when the remote is entirely mine and what the Paris morning looks like from a window that belongs to me. Small things. Enormous things, actually. My mother has helped me find the apartment online, a third floor walk-up in the eleventh arrondissement that the listing describes as cozy and characterful, which I know from experience means small and in need of attention, but the pictures show a window with a view of rooftops and that is enough for me right now.

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.