She talks about herself nonstop, does little to confront her one-time cheating husband, encourages the advances of someone she's known(and instantly disliked) for like 2 days and then gets everything she's wanted done for her automatically + receives praise for a job she hardly did. This would be okay if she actually did her job, but nooo, April only does 3 things: Read the diary, burp champagne and cheese (seriously why the fucking CONSTANT mention of her burping? EXPLAIN)and pursue the only viable male around Luc.

April is supposed to evaluate the furniture for this abandoned apartment in Paris for it to be auctioned and all she does is get hung up on the original apartment owner's private diaries. April: As usual, a shitty protagonist with non-existent character depth selfish in 900 different ways and bitchy about it. Based on historical events, Michelle Gable's A Paris Apartment will entertain and inspire, as readers embrace the struggles and successes of two very unforgettable women. Whether accompanied by croissants or champagne, this delectable debut novel depicts the Paris of the Belle Epoque and the present day with vibrant and stunning allure. When the things she left bubbling back home begin to boil over, and Parisian delicacies beyond flaky pâtisseries tempt her better judgment, April knows that both she and Marthe deserve happy finales. Having left behind in the States a cheating husband, a family crisis about to erupt, and a career she's been using as the crutch to simply get by, she feels compelled to sort out her own life too. As she digs into Marthe's life, April can't help but take a deeper look into her own.

With the help of a salty (and annoyingly sexy) Parisian solicitor and the courtesan's private diaries, April tries to uncover the many secrets buried in the apartment. It's about discovering two women, actually.

It's about discovering the story behind this charismatic woman. Suddenly April's quest is no longer about the bureaux plats and Louis-style armchairs that will fetch millions at auction. These documents reveal that she was more than a renowned courtesan with enviable decolletage. And then there are letters and journals written by the very woman in the painting, Marthe de Florian. First, there's a portrait by one of the masters of the Belle Epoque, Giovanni Boldini. Beneath the cobwebs and stale perfumed air is a goldmine, and not because of the actual gold (or painted ostrich eggs or mounted rhinoceros horns or bronze bathtub). Once in France, April quickly learns the apartment is not merely some rich hoarder's repository. When April Vogt's boss tells her about an apartment in the ninth arrondissement that has been discovered after being shuttered for the past seventy years, the Sotheby's continental furniture specialist does not hear the words “dust” or “rats” or “decrepit.” She hears Paris.

The paris apartment a novel book review