All Roads Lead Home ✓

29 | DESPERATE MEASURES

When the woman returned, she set a silver tray on a small ottoman.

Zoya passed the paper and took her first bite. After nothing but peanut butter and crackers, the pastry shocked her taste buds. As she ate, Mrs. Angier studied the application.

"So, I see you have no credit cards. No bank account. No job. No references. No former employment. You list a previous landlady—deceased. Your parents, as well."

She looked up at Zoya as if waiting for an explanation.

And she had none. At least nothing she could share. Setting the tray back on the ottoman, Zoya finished her juice, then cleared her throat. "I don't have any pets. I don't party. I'm not messy. I can pay six months' rent in advance, if you'll accept cash."

Lacing her fingers together, Mrs. Angier shouldered back in her chair. "With no employment record, I'm forced to wonder where your money comes from."

"I inherited it." The look in the woman's eyes said she was about to send Zoya packing, but she couldn't let that happen. This was perfect. "I just want a nice quiet place to concentrate on painting."

That got her attention with renewed interest. "You're an artist?"

"Struggling."

"Do you have anything I may see?"

"Just some sketches."

"Show me."

Zoya unzipped her bag, removed the pad, and handed it over. At first, she turned the pages quickly, then slower. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she held the pad for Zoya to see. "This man. Your lover? Oui?"

In her excitement, Zoya had forgotten to take that picture out. Roman. Every inch of him. Some more important than others. "Yes."

She raised a brow. "Ah. More than that. You are in love with him. Oui?"

Zoya's throat thickened. She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"But he doesn't love you?"

This wasn't going the way Zoya had planned. The last thing she wanted was to look at the sketches of Roman and remember how it felt to run her hands over his beautiful body. She hung her head and bit back tears. "No."

Delphine shook her head. ''Men give us their cocks, and we give them our hearts. He is the real reason you want solitude. To heal your broken heart. Oui?''

Zoya nodded again.

''When can you move in ?''

"Now. This bag is all I have."

Mrs. Angier passed the pad to Zoya and motioned for her to follow. "I'll show you the place and if you like it, then it's yours."

Zoya couldn't help but smile. Everything was finally going her way. As soon as she began to paint, she'd forget all about Roman and the rest of her problems.

Her new landlady spoke over her shoulder. "Where are your painting supplies?"

"I don't have any. Maybe you can point me to the nearest supply store."

"Not necessary. I have many you can have." She held up her hands. "I cannot paint any longer." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. "After my husband died, I didn't have it in me anymore. He was my muse."

Inside the apartment, Zoya turned in a circle. The online pictures didn't do the place justice. Everything was pristine. Gleaming countertops. Spotless white cabinets. Stainless appliances. Her heart sped up. Eight months here would be a dream come true. Natural light poured through the windows. She couldn't wait to get started on her first canvas.