Page 90 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“You know what the princess of Caperna is doing?”

“Me and my friends are fans,” he says, pulling up his phone. “Look.”

Sure enough, he has several sites and apps, most of them centered on discussing the comings and goings of Princess Ruby. I never would have imagined someone in France to be obsessed with the royal family of a tiny country off the coast of California, yet here we are.

“Anyway,” he says, pocketing his phone, “shall we look at the empty apartment?”

“Yes, let’s.”

We walk up three flights of stairs because, in Antoine’s words, “the elevator is unreliable, but that is part of its charm, no?”

Antoine unlocks a door at the end of the hall.

Calling the apartment “small” would be generous.

“Well? What do you think?” Antoine focuses on me instead of the mouse-sized apartment, clearly eager for my reaction.

I’m sweating from the walk up those stairs. The air is cramped and humid. I doubt this place has air conditioning—most apartments don’t, especially in older buildings like this one.

While the apartment is small, it’s also clean and tidy. It comes furnished, and while the furniture is old, it’s been taken care of and cleaned.

I just can’t picture myself living here.

“It’s a nice place,” I say.

He sighs. “You do not seem happy with it. You can be honest with me, Evelyn.”

“There is nothing wrong with it,” I say, “except maybe that the elevator doesn’t work and there’s no air conditioning.”

“You Americans and your air conditioning,” he says with a smile.

I smile back, but it feels brittle and strained.

“You have had your heart broken recently, yes?” His deep blue eyes seem to see through me.

“Yes,” I agree.

“So you are not interested in creating a new relationship,” he guesses.

“That’s right.”

Sighing, he leans against the wall. “That is always my luck. But I am sorry for your broken heart. If you stay in Paris, we will be friends.”

“Yes,” I say. “We’ll be friends.”

“Our parents will be most disappointed.”

“Is your mother single?” I ask. “Maybe they can date each other and stop trying to set us up.”

He laughs. “She is single. Maybe it will happen.”

“Should we go on a date, so they think that their attempt to set us up worked?”

“Non,” he says, with emphasis. “Why would we do that?”

“To keep them happy.”

He gives me an incredulous look. “Why would a false connection make either of them happy? Don’t parents want their children to be happy, first?”

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