“It’s dark.”
I shoot him a mockingly concerned look. “Are you scared of the dark?”
“I don’t like the idea of you riding the Métro home alone at this time,” he says, ignoring my taunt.
Will you come with me?
I don’t want to appear too eager, so I begin, “We aren’t supposed to?—”
“Fuck that.” He hails a passing cab.
We both get in.
He turns to me. “Your address.”
I give the driver my address, and the taxi peels out down the street. Antoine’s hand finds mine in the dark cabin. He strokes it in a way that holds an unambiguous promise of all the wonderful things he’s planning to do to me. Instantly, I’m lightheaded.
A tiny part of my brain wonders why he skipped the conventional “your place or mine?”
But I’m already too aroused and too thrilled at the prospect of another night in his arms to dwell on such a minor thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ANTOINE
Yann’s place in Moulindor is tiny. Well, notliterally. It’s probably three times as big as Laura’s ridiculously diminutive Parisian studio apartment. I’d say it’s in the same ballpark as Laura’s parents’ place on rue Belleville. This seems to be the norm for a middle-class French home, which is in stark contrast to the average Evorian home that’s twice as large. Then again, I don’t know why I’m surprised. Our salaries are much higher, and our taxes much lower.
But hey, one doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Having Laura meet my family at Henri’s château on the hill outside the village would’ve blown my cover. Yann, who was briefed by MESS a few weeks ago, kindly lent us his apartment for this charade. A real home is more authentic and believable than a furnished rental could ever be, and I’m truly grateful for Yann’s generosity.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I say to Laura, leaving her on the couch surrounded by the TV crew.
When I peek into the minuscule kitchen, Henri is standing in the middle, peering into a cabinet. Gigi leans over his shoulder to whisper directions that seem to make him only more confused.
“Was it on the left or the right?” Henri asks her.
Gigi hesitates. “Didn’t he say he keeps the plates in the drawer below?”
Henri opens the drawer, revealing a jumble of mismatched dishes.
“Ah, yes, of course.” He rolls his eyes. “Who doesn’t store plates in a drawer?”
I suppress a smile as I return to Laura’s side. The TV crew angle their cameras to catch our every move.
“Your brother’s apartment is great,” Laura says. “Cozy and spacious.”
I do my best to sound earnest. “It is, isn’t it? And it’s sunny, too.”
“Is your place also sunny or is it on the darker side?” she asks.
Ha ha, I see what you did here.“It’s a little darker.”
Laura is itching to check out my fictional living quarters and tattoo parlor in the 18th. But I have yet to extend an invitation.
All in good time, sweet cheeks!
I haven’t been given the green light yet. The apartment is right above the parlor that MESS found for me. After signing the lease agreement, the agent in charge realized he’d been duped. Both the apartment and the parlor turned out to be so squalid that the team cleaning them up had to be given extra time.
