Page 21 of The Butcher

My eyes turned to the hallway, unsure who would come to my door when I was on the top floor and Adrien just let himself inside whenever he felt like. It might be a solicitor, so I stayed on the couch and waited for them to go away.

Then the door opened, and Bastien appeared in my apartment.

I was in shock, so I just stared, unable to believe this gorgeous man had just let himself into my apartment like he had the key. He had a paper bag with him, and he placed it on the dining table without explanation. He was in sweatpants, sneakers, and a long-sleeved shirt, looking like a regular guy rather than someone who was insanely rich.

There were a lot of rich people in Paris. It was one of the most expensive cities in the world, so it was full of people who made their millions in all sorts of ways. Bastien was young, so I should be surprised by his hundred-million-euro house by the Seine, but somehow, I wasn’t.

He took a seat beside me on the couch, his arm resting over the back, leaving a foot of space between us. Then he stared at me, not seeming to care that I looked like shit after sitting on that couch for days, watching the world pass me by like I was no longer a part of it.

He continued to stare.

I stared back, and with every passing second, I felt better. Like the light from his eyes somehow healed me. I didn’t ask why he was there, didn’t ask how he’d gotten into the apartment, didn’task all the normal questions I would have asked someone else. When Adrien broke in to my apartment, it made me so angry. But with Bastien, I didn’t care.

He hadn’t blinked since he sat down, looking at me with such intensity it seemed like he might kiss me, even though I knew he wouldn’t.

I cleared my throat. “What’s in the bag?”

“Those pancakes you like.”

My eyes softened at the unexpected gesture, a gesture that a man like him seemed incapable of making. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” His fingers rested on the back of the couch, close enough they could touch my hair if they wanted, but they stayed put. “We can talk about it or not talk about it. I’m here either way.”

“I don’t understand…” I remembered our first conversation in that bar, remembered looking into those startling blue eyes like it had just happened. The way his voice had sounded over the quiet noise of the piano, his confident aura. “You aren’t a nice guy, but you’re being awfully nice to me.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just continued to stare at me like I’d never said anything.

I didn’t dig deeper. “He hurt me first, but I still hate hurting him.”

He watched me in silence.

“I’m not the one who cheated, but somehow I feel like the bad guy.”

He didn’t give advice or cast judgment. Just sat there and listened.

“He kept asking who you are.”

“Tell him.”

“You don’t need the drama in your life.”

“I’ll read him a chapter fromManhood,” he said. “He obviously hasn’t read it.”

“I’m really afraid he might try to kill you.”

He released a quiet chuckle. “That’d be fun to watch.”

I pulled my knees to my chest, circling my arms around them. “Everyone in our life is telling me to give him another chance. My friends are saying it was a mistake and he loves me. He keeps showing up at my apartment and fighting for me.”

His blue eyes turned serious as he stared at me, steady like a cliff that stood still when the waves broke against the stone. “You’re thinking about everyone else when you should be thinking about yourself. What do you want, sweetheart?”

My eyes flicked away, realizing he was right, that I was more concerned with everyone else. “What you said about trust being like broken glass, it’s really stuck with me. No matter how many times I sweep, I still step on shards that I missed.”

His eyes burned into my cheek, steady and true.

“What do you think?” I turned back to him.

He smirked. “You can’t trust my opinion, not when it’s so biased.”

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