My phone beeped and I glanced down.
Surprise widened my eyes.
Hey Anna, it’s me Maurice. I’m back in Paris and your brother told me you’re there as well. Why don’t we meet up? I don’t like how our last encounter ended.
“Who’s it from?” Santino asked.
“Maurice,” I said before I could think it through.
“Tell him no. No matter what he wants, the answer is no.”
I frowned at his commanding tone. “Maybe he only wants to chat because you assaulted him last time.”
“He better make sure I don’t assault him again.”
“I’m allowed to see boys. You heard what Mom said.”
“I doubt your dad was involved in that decision.”
“What’s really your problem, Santino? You say you don’t want me but you don’t want me to meet any other boys.”
“I’m not a boy, Anna. The Maurice kid probably won’t mind taking a bite off you even if the cake is promised to another, but I don’t want a fucking bite. I’ll eat the cake.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You won’t meet Maurice. End of story.”
I glared but he ignored me and opened the front door of our apartment building while he held my sewing machine under his other arm.
Our ascend was stopped by our neighbor from below. She was a married woman in her early forties, with two kids, and a husband who worked on an oil rig. Like many French moms, she didn’t look like one. She was always impeccably dressed, had a slim figure and a flirty smile that was completely inappropriate for a married woman.
Since we’d moved in, she’d set her sights on Santino, and he’d immediately introduced me as his sister which had only fired up her interest.
“Santino,” she said in her heavy accent. “I need your help.”
And we both knew with what she needed help. Your husband being gone for six months at a time probably made you particularly horny.
Santino didn’t miss a beat as he leaned against the wall and gave her a slow, dirty smile.
Jealousy burned through me.
It was almost as if he was trying to cancel out our meaningful conversation with a meaningless fuck. I hated this, hated that he’d rather bang some French wench than give us a try.
You’re going to marry.
We could have something special for a little while. That was better than never having something special. And even if it was only sex.
“Maybe you can come over later and help me with my window?”
“Of course,” Santino said, and the way he said it and from the look in his eyes, I knew he was sexing her up. “Just let me take my little sister and her sewing machine up to the apartment.”
I stalked up to the next floor and went into our apartment. Santino followed shortly after.
“If you think I’ll go to bed, while you go down fixing Mrs. French-Wench with dick, you’re crazy.”
“French-Wench?”
I stared.
“It’s late. Even my duties are over at some point. I’ll tuck you in and then I’m free to do what I want.”
“Fine,” I said with a slim smile. I stormed into my room and threw the door shut, not caring how childish that made me look. After the moment we’d shared in the park, Santino’s flirting with that woman hurt even more.
I texted Maurice the second I was alone in my room.
Do you have time to meet me now?
Sure. How about we meet at the Seine?
Deal. Give me thirty minutes.
I grabbed my nightgown and left my room. Santino leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking an espresso, probably for a little extra energy so he’d satisfy the French-Wench. He watched me as I headed into the bathroom to “get ready for bed.” I turned on the water, but instead of starting my nighttime routine, I refreshed my makeup to look presentable for my meeting with Maurice. If Santino had fun with French-Wench, I’d enjoy the rest of the night with Maurice. I was done waiting for Santino to give in. I didn’t know how much time I had in Paris, but what I knew was that my freedom had an expiration date, and I’d make the most of it until then, with or without Santino’s help.
I listened to the front door open and click shut, then the sound of the lock. I couldn’t believe his audacity.
Maybe he’d promised Dad to keep me away from all fun, but I wouldn’t let myself be locked in. I waited a bit more before I opened the door a gap and peeked out. Santino was definitely gone.
He probably thought a locked front door would stop me. With a brother like Leonas, lock-picking was an easy feat.
Armed with a hairpin, I started working on the lock. After a bit of fumbling, the lock eventually clicked. Again I carefully opened the door and peeked out, then listened for voices from downstairs. The hallway was silent, so Santino was already inside French-Wench’s apartment.