‘Don’t your parents want you to get married? Mine do. They say that I should marry Émile and have children before they are too old to enjoy being with them. They say my eggs will die.’
‘Your eggs?’
‘Eggs,’ Océane said again, motioning to her lap. ‘Your parents do not worry about your eggs?’
A sharp pain shot into Amelia’s chest. ‘My parents are dead. They died when I was a child.’
Océane’s hand paused as she tore off a piece of croissant. ‘You have never told me that. We have been friends for a year and yet you make no mention of this. Why not?’
Amelia shrugged one shoulder. ‘It’s never come up before.’ She knew this was a lie and quickly changed the subject unsure why she had suddenly admitted it. Perhaps she was more tired than she realised. She’d been out with friends every night this week. Maybe a decent dinner cooked by herself – something easy with fresh ingredients from the market at the end of the street – and a quiet night in were in order. ‘Once we’re done here, I’d like to take another look around. I’m after some special pieces for an apartment I’m working on in Montmartre.’
‘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.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Océane raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘You can be too hard, Amélie. Too independent. One day, you will push a man too far away and he will not bother coming back.’
It always amused Amelia that Océane called her by the French version of her name when she was being serious, but whatever her thoughts on her relationship with men, she’d face that day when it came. ‘I have everything I need.’
‘You have a great business, yes. You have a great apartment, yes. But you are never alone. Always you are with friends. A person cannot exist on their own. Without love.’
Pulling her compact from her large handbag Amelia topped up her red lipstick seeing as so much of it had been left on the cup. It was a romantic notion, but not one she believed in. ‘I’ve done fine so far.’
After they had finished their coffees and talked about their plans for the rest of the weekend, Océane 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 look good in 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 she was decorating – and a 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 brought 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 either side of the windows and decorative ironwork across them. On hot summer days she would cast open the windows and let the light flood her apartment. As she stepped inside, she gathered her post and made her way 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 and 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 walked down the hall and into the open plan living room and kitchen, anchoring the milk jug under her arm so she could scan through the post. It was mostly bills as usual.
Glancing up her eyes fell on Bastien, lying naked on her kitchen counter. The copper milk jug fell from underneath her arm, landing on the floor with a deafening clatter, making him wobble precariously and almost fall to the floor. His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the counter as he steadied himself. Amelia nearly dropped the pretty perfume bottle as well but somehow managed to keep hold. She looked around as if it might help her understand why he’d chosen the kitchen to begin his seduction in.
‘Bastien. What are you still doing here?’
‘I am waiting for you,’ he replied, regaining his balance, his voice nothing more than a low seductive grumble. In the current circumstances, it didn’t really work. Now he’d pinned her with his eyes, his gaze never shifted from hers and though uninhibited last night, Amelia wasn’t quite prepared for a naked man to be spread-eagled in her kitchen and found herself momentarily lost for words.
She placed the perfume bottle on the counter. ‘I’m a bit busy today, Bastien. Sorry.’
‘Too busy for love?’
The sound of the L word twice in one day caused her to stiffen. He gave her puppy dog eyes and Amelia found her headache intensifying. ‘Bastien, can you please put your pants on and get your bits off my worktop?’
He didn’t move. ‘How can I tempt
