‘You will have to do that alone; I have to meet Émile. But you must think about Bastien. There are many women who would like to take your place in his bed.’
‘He was in my bed, actually,’ she replied, playfully eyeing Océanè over the rim of her cup.
‘You know what I mean.’ Océanè raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘You can be too hard, Amélie. Too independent.’ It always amused Amelia that Océanè called her by the French version of her name when she was being serious. ‘One day, you will push a man too far away and he will not bother coming back.’
Not if he’s the right man, Amelia thought, but didn’t bother saying so. She hadn’t planned on sleeping with Bastien last night and it had been a moment of weakness she was paying for this morning. She hoped that by spinelessly hiding out until he’d left, she’d avoid an embarrassing situation.
‘You have a great business, yes?’ Océanè said. ‘You have a great apartment, yes? But you are never alone. Always you are with friends. A person cannot exist without love. Eventually, you will have to let someone into your heart. Why not Bastien?’
Feeling the prickle of embarrassment inch its way over her skin, Amelia pulled her compact from her handbag and topped up her red lipstick. She’d been without love all her life, since her parents’ deaths but she couldn’t face talking to Océanè about that now. ‘I’ve done fine without a man so far,’ she said light-heartedly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
After they had finished their coffees and talked about their plans for the rest of the weekend, Océanè left and Amelia took another walk around the flea market. Temptation sat on her shoulder and whispered into her ear as her eyes fell on different objects that would suit her already overflowing apartment. Some of her clients liked a minimalist style, but when Amelia saw something she wanted, it was almost impossible to resist. As a result, her small flat was now packed with possessions and her wardrobe overflowing with clothes.
Amelia haggled with a vendor to buy an ornate perfume bottle – a finishing touch for the Montmartre apartment – and a vintage copper milk jug for her own place. She’d find somewhere for it to go later. Maybe the bathroom? And made her way back to the Metro.
As she climbed the steps from the Metro station, the cold, fresh air blew through the elaborate dark-green metal bars and under the glass ceiling. The station design was so iconic she had a picture of one in the living room of her apartment. She’d bought it shortly after moving in all those years ago, and though it had been fairly inexpensive, it was still one of her most prized possessions.
Her apartment in Saint Germain was in a typical eighteenth-century block with white shutters and decorative ironwork across the windows. On hot summer days she would cast the windows open and let the light flood her apartment. As she stepped inside the communal hallway, she gathered her post and made her way upstairs. An envelope postmarked from England caught her eye and her lungs turned to stone. It had a company name she didn’t recognise. Even worse, the town it came from was dangerously close to Meadowbank; the tiny village she’d grown up in with Great-Aunt Vera who had begrudgingly taken her in after her parents had died.
Curiosity almost forced her to open it there and then, but Amelia valued her privacy and continued upstairs. She pressed the key into the lock, hoping once more that Bastien had left by now. She really didn’t fancy talking to him. He’d try to convince her to spend the rest of the day with him and all she wanted was to nap on the sofa as the soft breeze blew over her.
With a gentle push, the door opened and all was quiet inside. No sounds of snoring, no sounds of movement, and sighing with relief, Amelia advanced down the hall and into the open-plan living room and kitchen, anchoring the milk jug under her arm so she could see the envelope again. It nestled among bills, inviting Amelia to ignore everything else and tear it open without any further delay.
‘Good morning, ma chérie.’
Glancing up, her eyes fell on Bastien, lying naked on her kitchen counter, one leg bent, the other outstretched and all of him on display. The copper milk jug fell from underneath her arm, landing on the floor with a deafening clatter. Bastien wobbled precariously and almost toppled forward onto the floor. His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself. Amelia nearly dropped the pretty perfume bottle as well, but somehow managed to keep hold of it. She gazed around as if it might help her understand why he’d chosen the kitchen as the best location for his seduction.
‘Bastien!’ Her neck grew hot. ‘What are you … umm—’ So much for avoiding an embarrassing situation. Amelia decided the best thing was to pretend everything was perfectly normal, which was a bit of a stretch but doable if she kept her eyes only on his face. ‘Wh – what are you still doing here?’
‘I am waiting for you,’ he replied, regaining his balance and lowering his voice to nothing more than a seductive grumble. In the current circumstances, it didn’t really work. Bastien pinned her with his eyes, and his gaze never shifted. Of all the things she thought she might face if Bastien were still here this morning, she wasn’t quite prepared for him to be naked and spread-eagled in her kitchen, and she found herself momentarily lost for words.
Amelia placed the perfume bottle on the counter, thanking the Lord it was still intact. Unsure what else to say, she stammered, ‘I’m, umm, I’m a bit busy today, Bastien. Sorry.’
‘Too busy for love?’
The sound of the L word twice in one day stiffened her shoulders as another image of Adam shot into her brain. Bastien gave her puppy-dog eyes and Amelia’s headache intensified. How on earth was she supposed to remove him from her kitchen? It wasn’t like she could grab a fish slice and prise him off the counter. ‘Bastien, can you please put your pants on and maybe umm, get your bits off my worktop?’
He didn’t move. ‘Do I not tempt you? Come now.’ He held out his hand to her but all Amelia could do was rub her forehead.
‘Bastien, please, pants on.’
‘Let us spend the day together.’
Amelia sighed and pressed her hand harder onto her head. This was exactly why relationships weren’t a good idea. She should never have let her guard down and shared that second bottle of wine. ‘Bastien, you’re a very nice man and I had a great time last night, but I really can’t see you today. Please, I really need you to go.’
‘But—’
‘No, Bastien.’
Sheepishly, he moved. She guessed the kitchen counter had been too cold to sit on for long because his pants were lying on the floor by her feet. He must have decided to forgo them only at the very last moment for full-on seduction. At least he was committed. Amelia picked them up using the tips of her fingers and handed them to him as Bastien’s skin made a horrible squeaking sound as he pushed himself down from the counter. It looked like she’d be spending the afternoon disinfecting the kitchen before she cooked anything and seeing as his pants had been on the floor, she would have to wash that as well.
‘You really want me to go?’ Bastien tried one more time, attempting to impart some lust into his voice.
‘Yes, please. I’m sorry, but I really have work to do.’
‘But it is Saturday.’
The letter again caught her attention and curiosity built but as much as she wanted to know its contents, she couldn’t open it with Bastien around. Frowning as she placed the letters on the counter, she turned away from him and went to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, hoping he’d get the hint that it was