12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Duncan
H er place was fucking tiny . It reminded me of Emilia's loft in San Francisco before Damian had made it bigger by buying the loft next door.
Elsa's place had a small kitchen, little bedroom, and miniscule bathroom.
I ran a hand through my hair.
"Why do you have that bewildered look on your face?" Elsa asked as she chewed her bottom lip nervously and then added defensively, "I know it's nothing like your place and—"
"It's cozy, ma douce ," I cut in with a smile.
The line between cozy and claustrophobic was thin . But I wasn't lying. There was something serene about Elsa's apartment, almost unbearably so, compared to the vast, opulent space I was used to on Avenue Montaigne. Here, everything was intimate, close. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, potted plants, and eclectic trinkets that spoke of a life well-lived and well-loved.
The apartment had only one bedroom, just big enough for a queen-sized bed covered in a colorful patchwork quilt. I was used to sprawling out on a king-sized mattress, but here, space was at a premium. I opened the closet and found it packed with Elsa's clothes, leaving barely any room for my own. I chuckled to myself, realizing I'd have to make do with living out of a suitcase for a while.
The bathroom was another challenge—small, typically Parisian, with just enough room for a shower, a sink, and a toilet. I could barely turn around without knocking something over. It was a world away from the marble bathroom in my apartment, with its luxurious bathtub and separate shower.
I walked over to the balcony and looked out. Below, a narrow street buzzed with life—local shops and cafés lined the sidewalks, a world apart from the grand vistas of Avenue Montaigne. The sounds of the city here felt more intimate, more alive. The scent of freshly baked bread from the boulangerie downstairs mingled with the rich aroma of coffee and the occasional waft of crêpes or roasted chestnuts, creating a sensory experience that was unmistakably Parisian.
Despite all these differences, or perhaps because of them, I found myself unexpectedly at ease. The apartment, with its boho chic style, had a warmth and charm that my place didn’t.
Colorful rugs covered the wooden floors, and mismatched furniture created a sense of comfort rather than chaos. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, casting a soft, magical glow in the evenings. It was cluttered, yes, but in a way that felt alive and vibrant.
A sense of relaxation washed over me, surprising the hell out of me. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until I felt the knots in my shoulders start to loosen. There was something incredibly soothing about this space, something that made me feel more at home than I had in years.
Elsa bustled in from the kitchen, a smile on her face as she wiped her hands on a floral apron. "I know it's not what you're used to," she said, looking around the apartment with a touch of self-consciousness. "But I hope you can feel at ease here."
I came in from the narrow balcony and took her hands in mine. "It's different," I admitted. "But in a good way. I like it here, Elsa. I really do."
Her face lit up, and she leaned into me, her presence filling me with a sense of…homecoming?
"I'm so relieved and happy to hear you say that," she murmured. "I was worried it would be too much of a change for you."
I brushed my lips against her cheek. "I just want to live where you are."
She flushed. "I'll make dinner. Is there anything you don't eat?"
"I eat everything, ma chérie ." Especially your pussy.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. "Change isn't always bad," I said, realizing the truth of my words even as I spoke them, "Sometimes it's exactly what we need."
She smiled, and my heart stuttered.
Fuck, this woman showed emotion with her whole body. It was absolutely stunning to watch her. I wanted to fuck her into that Queen mattress now , but I also didn't want her to think all I wanted from her was sex.
"I need a shower," I mumbled, looking at the small duffel bag I'd brought along with me. Maybe I could squeeze in a suit or two into her closet, or I'd just have to wake and go to my place and then head to work.
"Towels are under the sink." When she left, she seemed giddy—way happier than she had been at my place. I wanted to always make her feel this way.
After she left, I sat down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The bustling sounds of the street below created a soothing backdrop and I felt a sense of contentment settle over me.
I took a shower and as I put on sweats and a t-shirt, I could hear Marvin Gaye singing about hearing it on the grapevine . Elsa liked to cook with the music on, I realized when I came into the open-plan living, kitchen, dining space to find her humming as she stirred something in the pot.
The smells were intoxicating, and my stomach growled in response.
She turned from the stove. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
"Sit." She pointed to her small round dining table with four chairs and a bouquet of wildflower in the center in an old-fashioned milk pail. She'd set the table with mismatched plates and colorful cotton napkins, and there was something whimsical about it like I was in French grandma's kitchen.
"I poured a nice Loire Cab Franc in the decanter." She raised a glass of red wine.
"You drinking?" I asked, curiously.
She shook her head. "A sip to make sure it wasn’t bad. I'm cooking with it," she explained.
I poured myself some wine and sat down, watching her. "What are we eating?"
"Nothing special. Just coq au vin with mashed potatoes."
"Nice," I murmured. There was something so domestic about this; middle class and domestic. The Duncan Archer I thought I was would have wanted to run but Elsa's husband was happy to sit here and watch his pregnant wife putter around the kitchen.
She brought along a colorful salad bowl and served them on small plates. "The coq au vin needs just a little more time."
In the bowl, was a simple salad, lettuce, tomatoes, and some feta tossed with a lemon vinaigrette dressing.
It tasted fucking awesome, fresh, and crisp.
"You eat like this every day?" I asked, spearing a cherry tomato.
"Sometimes, I just have a salad with grilled fish, chicken, or steak." She looked nervous, and I knew she was wondering if I was truly okay being here or just saying it to keep the peace.
I put my hand on hers. "Your home is lovely, Elsa."
"Really?"
"Really," I assured her.
She swallowed. "I feel like I'm forcing you to be here. I…we can stay at your place and—"
"But you don't like it."
She shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Duncan. It's so nice, don't get me wrong, but it's not who I am. There's just so much change in my life that I need to keep myself grounded."
"And it's easier for you to get to work as well." Her business was downstairs. Talk about a short commute.
She nodded.
I was an ass for not having thought of her travel time to Délices d'Elsa from my apartment. How had she gotten to work during the week I’d abandoned her? She didn't have a car. Did she take the metro? Damn it!
"What time do you open Délices d'Elsa in the morning?"
"Six thirty, but I get there around four to start baking." She looked at her wristwatch and rose.
"Four? That's the middle of the night," I growled.
She chuckled. "I know, but that's the life of a baker. In my defense, I'm asleep by nine at the latest."
"Not a party animal?"
"Not in the least. On the days Thierry opens, I sometimes go out with Angelique and other friends the evening before. They all live in the apartment building."
I quirked an eyebrow. "This Angelique is the—"
"Yes. She's the escort who you had booked that night."
She took our empty salad plates away and left them in the sink. She didn't have a dishwasher, I noted.
She arranged mashed potatoes on the plates and added pieces of chicken cooked in red wine on top of it. She wiped her hands on her apron and then, from a small glass bowl, sprinkled chopped parsley on the plate. She set the plate in front of me.
"Fucking hell, baby, you can cook," I exclaimed after the first few bites. I'd eaten at restaurants around the world. I appreciated good food, and still, this simple French country dish was spectacular.
She glowed at the praise. "I'm so happy you like my food."
I stroked her cheek with a finger. "I like a lot of things about you, Elsa."
She blushed, and my dick went from half to full mast.
"Ah, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon at two. Would you…ah—"
"Yes." I gripped her hand then. "Yes, please ."
"Okay." Her face was bright like I'd given her a Chanel necklace.
"We can go together," I quickly said. "Do you have Wi-Fi?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Here? No. The apartment is too old for that sort of thing. We're lucky to have electricity and plumbing."
"Shit," I muttered.
She gently punched me in the shoulder. "Yes, we have Wi-Fi. Just because this isn't Avenue Montaigne doesn't mean it's uncivilized. Amazon even delivers here."
I took the fist she struck me with and kissed it. "I'll work from here in the morning, and then we can go together."
"You can work at Délices d'Elsa if you like. Lots of people do that. We have Wi-Fi there, too."
There was mischief in her eyes, and it warmed my heart. I had thought I'd screwed it up with her, but she was still here, still joking with me, still mine .
I looked at her stomach and felt a wave of possessiveness. "May I…ah…touch—"
She took my hand and placed it on her rounded belly. "You don't have to ask. This is our baby."
I cupped her stomach, feeling a tenderness that was unfamiliar course through me. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"
"I don't care," she whispered, affected by my touch. We were both vibrating with sexual tension and a need to move forward and see if we could make this strange marriage work. "We can find out tomorrow."
I looked at her. "What?"
She nodded brightly. "It's when they'll do an ultrasound. They wanted to do it last time, but the machine was having problems. This time, we can know. Do you want to know?"
"Fuck yeah." I stroked her stomach. "I want a girl as pretty as you, as kind, generous, and loving."
I cupped her breast, and she moaned. "Tell me you want me." I wasn't above begging.
" Oui ," she whimpered when I squeezed a nipple between my thumb and forefinger.