Page 100 of Closer

He shrugs. “Then why not just say French fries?”

Good god. I will likely strangle the life out of this man before we can make it to the delivery room, let alone forever.

He rings for room service and tells them he’ll pay extra to have it here in ten minutes. It comes in five. We eat, and with my belly full of overpriced processed foods, my eyes grow heavy and I settle into sleep. But it appears Levi is wide awake. He picks up his phone and dials a number. I yawn. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling Margaux.”

“Why?”

“To tell her to call in a construction crew to fix up the house. The baby needs a room.” He puts the phone on speaker so I can hear it ringing.

“It is the middle of the night, and the baby has a room at my parents’ apartment.”

He nods. “That he will use when we come to visit.”

“I am not leaving Paris.” I frown and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You want our kid growing up around paparazzi?”

“This is France, Levi, not Hollywood.”

“Yeah, and they’re vultures,” he says, growing more and more agitated. “They go where I go.”

I sit up and glare at him. “And that will be different at the chateau how?”

“For one, we have a big fuck-off fence.”

“That you crashed your car into.”

“That I will get fixed.” He holds a finger up as if to tell me to wait. I grit my teeth. We are together five minutes and already I want to kill him. I guess it must really be true love.

“Bonjour,” Levi says, once again hacking my native tongue to pieces with his terrible pronunciation.

“Who is this?” a man yells in French from the other line.

I hold my hand out. “Give me the phone.”

“Who the hell is this?” Levi says, ignoring me.

“C'est Gaétan, qui est à l'appareil?”

“Where is Margaux? Put Margaux on.”

“Je vais pas tarder à te mettre mon poing dans la gueule, mon garçon. Margaux, il y a un idiot au téléphone pour toi.”

It takes Margaux a beat to answer, and when she does, her voice is muddled with confusion and sleep. “Levi?”

“Who the hell was that?”

“That,” she chuckles, “was a true gentleman.”

“Chair guy from the flea market?”

“Oui.”

“Get the fuck out.” Levi slaps my arse in his enthusiasm, and I glare daggers. “You saucy little minx, Margaux.”

“Not that it isn’t nice to hear from you in the middle of the night,monsieur, but whatever could be so urgent that it could not wait until morning?”