Before I can completely give in to the nerves, I force out an awkward greeting into the intercom. “Hi. Uh… Remi? It’s… It’s Sebastian Arnette.”
Brilliant. I sound like a complete idiot.
I try to get a grip, breathing in and out slowly, willing my heart to stop racing.
No reply, but then the door buzzes open with a metallic click that startles me slightly. I drag my suitcase into the narrow entrance, glance up, and let out a quiet, defeated sigh.
A steep spiral staircase coils above me. No lift.
Of course, there’s no lift.
I mutter something under my breath, but there’s no use complaining.
So I take a breath, square my shoulders, and start climbing, lugging my suitcase behind me, step by step.
CHAPTER 3
REMI
Right. Here we go, our guest has arrived.
And yeah, I can’t help smirking a little at the thought of our fancy pianist dragging himself and all his worldly belongings up that brutal spiral staircase.
If he’s expecting me to come down and give him a hand, he’s in for a disappointment.
From the few old photos Maddie showed me, Sebastian looked small and fine-boned, with a mop of black hair, tiny and fragile.
Unless he’s had some sort of dramatic transformation, he’ll probably reach our door half-dead.
Yeah, I know. Sometimes I’m a bit of a dick.
But honestly? He might as well get used to it.
If he’s planning to stay here, he should know what he’s dealing with, and not expect too much from me.
Maddie and I climb that cursed staircase every day, carrying groceries, laundry, whatever else life throws at us.
Not that I complain. It’s a small price to pay for the miracle of being able to afford a place in this neighbourhood at all.
A lift would be nice, sure. But we can live without one. For now.
Turns out Sebastian isn’t as feeble as I imagined, because barely two minutes after I buzz him in, the doorbell rings.
Great. I hate being caught off guard. For a second, I actually consider leaving him out there a bit longer, but even I’m not that much of a bastard.
I sigh, shake my head, grab the handle, and swing the door open.
He’s facing away from me, swaying slightly on the narrow landing, both hands gripping the handle of a massive,
Wait. Is that a pink suitcase?
Hot pink, actually.
I frown, thrown for a second.
Then he turns around, and my world flips upside down.
I find myself staring into the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. So green they stop me in my tracks. They’re set in a face that looks almost elfin: sharp, delicate jawline, black waves brushing just below it.
