Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
But I checked the screen—and it was Bastien.
You haven’t been at work.
The rush of passion I felt for him was dulled by my sadness. I’ve been off. That was a lie. I’d called in sick because I didn’t want to wait on people with a fake smile plastered to my face. The burglary had had no effect on my well-being, but this divorce had stripped me to the bone.
You okay, sweetheart?
How did he know? How could he possibly read my misery through a text? Why do you ask that?
Because I can tell you aren’t yourself.
I stared at his message over and over, unable to understand how he could read me so well. How he seemed to know me so thoroughly when he was still a stranger. When he was just a man who kept my bed warm and chased away the loneliness. I never responded to the message, unsure how to do so. Most of the friends I had were friends with Adrien, and while they thought he was an asshole for what he did, they all agreed I should give him another chance because he loved me. So I stood on the mound of my principles alone.
Let’s get a drink.
I’m not in the mood…but thank you. I set my phone aside then looked at the rain again, watched it hit the window and streak down. There was a heaviness to my heart, an anchor that would make it sink to the bottom of the river and remain there forever. I hadn’t felt this bad since the day I’d moved out of the house. Adrien had let me go, but he must have suspected it was temporary at the time.
Thirty minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door.
My eyes turned to the hallway, unsure who would come to my door when I was on the top floor and Adrien just let himself inside whenever he felt like. It might be a solicitor, so I stayed on the couch and waited for them to go away.
Then the door opened, and Bastien appeared in my apartment.
I was in shock, so I just stared, unable to believe this gorgeous man had just let himself into my apartment like he had the key. He had a paper bag with him, and he placed it on the dining table without explanation. He was in sweatpants, sneakers, and a long-sleeved shirt, looking like a regular guy rather than someone who was insanely rich.
There were a lot of rich people in Paris. It was one of the most expensive cities in the world, so it was full of people who made their millions in all sorts of ways. Bastien was young, so I should be surprised by his hundred-million-euro house by the Seine, but somehow, I wasn’t.
He took a seat beside me on the couch, his arm resting over the back, leaving a foot of space between us. Then he stared at me, not seeming to care that I looked like shit after sitting on that couch for days, watching the world pass me by like I was no longer a part of it.
He continued to stare.
I stared back, and with every passing second, I felt better. Like the light from his eyes somehow healed me. I didn’t ask why he was there, didn’t ask how he’d gotten into the apartment, didn’t ask all the normal questions I would have asked someone else. When Adrien broke in to my apartment, it made me so angry. But with Bastien, I didn’t care.
He hadn’t blinked since he sat down, looking at me with such intensity it seemed like he might kiss me, even though I knew he wouldn’t.
I cleared my throat. “What’s in the bag?”
“Those pancakes you like.”
My eyes softened at the unexpected gesture, a gesture that a man like him seemed incapable of making. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” His fingers rested on the back of the couch, close enough they could touch my hair if they wanted, but they stayed put. “We can talk about it or not talk about it. I’m here either way.”
“I don’t understand…” I remembered our first conversation in that bar, remembered looking into those startling blue eyes like it had just happened. The way his voice had sounded over the quiet noise of the piano, his confident aura. “You aren’t a nice guy, but you’re being awfully nice to me.”
He didn’t say anything to that, just continued to stare at me like I’d never said anything.
I didn’t dig deeper. “He hurt me first, but I still hate hurting him.”
He watched me in silence.
“I’m not the one who cheated, but somehow I feel like the bad guy.”
He didn’t give advice or cast judgment. Just sat there and listened.
“He kept asking who you are.”
“Tell him.”
“You don’t need the drama in your life.”