I took a deep breath and linked my fingers with Santino抯 even if I feared he抎 pull back. 揑抦 really sorry for your loss. And I抦 sorry that your sister抯 suffering because of it. Maybe being a nun will help her realize that it isn抰 her fault.?
揝he抯 not living. She抯 only existing. She should enjoy life, not beg for forgiveness for something that isn抰 her fault.?
I nodded. After that we sat in silence beside each other, our fingers still entwined. I would have leaned my head against Santino抯 shoulder, if I hadn抰 feared spooking him. I was content with holding his hand. It was more than I抎 dared hoping for. The sense of peace and contentment I felt being close to Santino in such an innocent way showed me that my heart still hadn抰 given up, even when my mind had settled for a fling.
Eventually Santino removed his hand and straightened, his expression becoming hard again. Our moment was over.
揥e should head home.?
Santino didn抰 say a word as we walked through the darkening streets. It was becoming increasingly cold now that the sun was gone.
My phone beeped and I glanced down.
Surprise widened my eyes.
Hey Anna, it抯 me Maurice. I抦 back in Paris and your brother told me you抮e there as well. Why don抰 we meet up? I don抰 like how our last encounter ended.
揥ho抯 it from??Santino asked.
揗aurice,?I said before I could think it through.
揟ell him no. No matter what he wants, the answer is no.?
I frowned at his commanding tone. 揗aybe he only wants to chat because you assaulted him last time.?
揌e better make sure I don抰 assault him again.?
揑抦 allowed to see boys. You heard what Mom said.?
揑 doubt your dad was involved in that decision.?
揥hat抯 really your problem, Santino? You say you don抰 want me but you don抰 want me to meet any other boys.?
揑抦 not a boy, Anna. The Maurice kid probably won抰 mind taking a bite off you even if the cake is promised to another, but I don抰 want a fucking bite. I抣l eat the cake.?
揟hat抯 ridiculous.?
揧ou won抰 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抰 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抎 moved in, she抎 set her sights on Santino, and he抎 immediately introduced me as his sister which had only fired up her interest.
揝antino,?she said in her heavy accent. 揑 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抰 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抎 rather bang some French wench than give us a try.
You抮e 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.
揗aybe you can come over later and help me with my window??
揙f course,?Santino said, and the way he said it and from the look in his eyes, I knew he was sexing her up. 揓ust 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.
揑f you think I抣l go to bed, while you go down fixing Mrs. French-Wench with dick, you抮e crazy.?
揊rench-Wench??
I stared.
揑t抯 late. Even my duties are over at some point. I抣l tuck you in and then I抦 free to do what I want.?
揊ine,?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抎 shared in the park, Santino抯 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抎 satisfy the French-Wench. He watched me as I headed into the bathroom to 揼et 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抎 enjoy the rest of the night with Maurice. I was done waiting for Santino to give in. I didn抰 know how much time I had in Paris, but what I knew was that my freedom had an expiration date, and I抎 make the most of it until then, with or without Santino抯 help.