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I nod. That’s what I needed to know.
“Zoe, please. Don’t make me put this coat on you. I want this day to be pleasant.”
Too late. Pleasant is no longer an option for us. Maybe he should’ve just given me to Alexis. It would’ve saved his future wife and me a lot of tears. Turning, I let him help me into the coat and stand obediently while he winds the scarf around my neck.
“That’s better,” he says with a soft smile.
I follow him to his car, but get in before he can get my door. I don’t ask where we’re going. For now, I simply go along. He follows the highway to the city and weaves his way through the narrow streets toward the center. Close to the old town, he parks. We make our way on foot through the pedestrian area until he stops in front of a beautiful, old building.
“This is it,” he says, looking up at the stone façade. “It dates from 1000 BC.”
I have no interest in the history of the building or why we’re here. The guards who followed check the street before he punches a code into the panel that opens the street door. We climb all four levels of a winding staircase to the top and exit in a long, narrow corridor with a red carpet and a carved wooden door at the end.
“Here,” he says in front of the door, handing me a key with a red ribbon tied through the hole in the top.
I take the cold metal, letting the silk ribbon slide through my fingers.
“Open it,” he says.
Inserting the key in the lock, I turn it like he’s told me.
“Go on,” he says, placing his palm on the small of my back. “Go inside.”
I open the door and step inside not because I want to, but to escape his touch. It smells of fresh paint. Pausing just inside the door, I look around. It’s a loft apartment, beautifully renovated to leave the antique stone walls bare. A round window with stained glass panels dominates the ocean-facing wall. It stretches all the way from the ceiling to the floor. The floors are polished stone. White mohair rugs are scattered around. All the furniture in the open-space living area is white—the leather sofas, the velvet armchair, the whitewashed table, and the renaissance chairs. Each chair is of a different style, covered with a different white fabric, the textures and weave patterns adding uniqueness while the white gives uniformity. Only the backs are upholstered with fabric portraying images of different flowers in creamy beige.
A wrought iron spiral staircase leads to an open landing with a desk and chair. A study. A bookshelf stretches from the floor of the lounge to the ceiling of the study. The shelves are filled with English and French books, the titles ranging from classics to modern fiction and non-fiction. My gaze falls on The History of Fashion from the Middle Ages. For easy access, a ladder on wheels is hooked to the top shelf. There’s a reclining chair and reading lamp under the stairs. Sofas and a low coffee table are arranged around a fireplace with carved flowers on the mantelpiece.
The kitchen takes up the right-hand side of the space. The cupboards are whitewashed and the appliances stainless steel. Through the glass panels on the doors, crockery in pink and gray are visible. Even the wine glasses are a deep pink with roses decorating the crystal stems. A huge bouquet of pink roses stands in an antique white vase on the island counter that serves as a more informal table with two tall chairs.
A door leads off to the right. My feet carry me there, compelling me to take it all in. It’s a bedroom. The king-size bed is covered with white linen and pink scatter cushions. The French doors open onto an ornate waist-high rail. The windows face the building opposite the narrow street. White organza curtains provide privacy.
A door leading from the bedroom gives access to a well-organized dressing room with ample cupboard space. Another door opens into a windowless bathroom with Harlequin white-and-black tiles and a skylight allowing natural light. There’s a spa bath like at Maxime’s house and a shower with double nozzles. The vanity area is spacious with a big mirror and a padded stool. The bedroom, dressing room, and bathroom run along the back of the kitchen. It’s huge. One room. For one person. Maybe for a partner who sleeps over on occasion. No rooms for children or visiting family.
Up to now, Maxime has let me take it all in silently, following quietly behind me. I catch his gaze when I turn to exit the bathroom.
His tone is eager. “There’s more. Come.”
He walks ahead of me to the French doors opening from the living area out to a terrace. We exit from the warm interior into the frosted winter air. My breath is a white puff as I exhale. A splash pool, Jacuzzi, and small summerhouse take up the ocean side. A vine creeps over the metal awning that will provide shade in summer. Potted olive trees frame the summer house and another stands next to a small garden table and two wrought iron chairs. Big pots with winter flowers are arranged around the space to form a terrace garden. A glass greenhouse filled with neatly arranged plants in terracotta pots is constructed on the left. I spot cherry tomatoes, chilies, carnivorous plants, and orchids through the glass.
