A Woman Like Her by Marc Levy

A Woman Like Her

A Woman Like Her by Marc Levy
English | 2020 | General Fiction/Classics | ePUB | 5.5 MB

An unexpected love story from Marc Levy, international bestselling author of The Last of the Stanfields, and the most widely read French author in the world.

It’s been five years since fate upended resilient Chloe Bronstein’s world. While she may be living with her father, and her acting career has taken a decidedly unexpected turn, she’s alive. And she’s intrigued by Sanji, the charming new elevator operator in her quaint Manhattan apartment building. There’s just something about the Mumbai-born, Oxford-educated, thoroughly modern elevator man that doesn’t quite add up.

Sanji is dazzled by Chloe. They have so much in common: Both defiant. Both independent. Both determined to live by their own rules. But there’s one thing about Sanji that Chloe doesn’t know. Yet.
However hesitant Chloe and Sanji’s burgeoning romance is—complicated by family, friends, neighbors, and the past—it also awakens them to life’s limitless possibilities.

The Air India flight landed on the tarmac at JFK. Sanji got up, grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment, and rushed to the Jetway, thrilled to be the first one off the plane. He strode quickly through the airport and, a bit out of breath, entered the large space where the immigration officers were lined up in their booths. An unfriendly officer questioned him about his reasons for visiting New York. Sanji answered that he was on a research trip and showed him the letter from his aunt vouching for his ability to support himself. The officer ignored Sanji’s letter, gave a cursory glance at the visa in his passport, and then lifted his head to examine Sanji. For Sanji, like any foreigner, a moment of uncertainty ensued. Would he be singled out for his appearance, led into an interrogation room, and sent back home for any number of reasons? The officer finally stamped his passport, scribbled the date by which he had to leave the United States, and told him to move along.

Sanji picked up his suitcase from the carousel, passed through customs, and walked to the area where limousine drivers were waiting. He spotted his name on a sign. The driver relieved him of his luggage and escorted him to the car.

The black limo moved along the Long Island Expressway, weaving through the swiftly flowing traffic as night fell. The seat was soft, and Sanji, tired from the trip, felt like drifting off to sleep. The driver made this impossible by starting up a conversation as the skyscrapers of Manhattan materialized in the distance.

“Business or pleasure?”

“Why not both?” Sanji answered.

“Bridge or tunnel?”

“Sorry?”

“This is a limo, not a helicopter, so you have to choose one or the other.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Forget it, I’m gonna take the Queensboro Bridge, there’s a great view. You from India?”

“Mumbai.”

“Maybe you’ll end up driving, like me, that’s what most Indians do when they get here. Most drive yellow cabs, some drive for Uber, and a select few drive limousines like this one.”

Sanji looked at the medallion displayed in the car. The driver’s photo appeared alongside his name, Marius Zobonya, and his license number, 8451.

“Are there any Polish doctors, teachers, or engineers in New York?”

Marius scratched his chin.

“Not that I know of. But my wife’s physical therapist is Slovakian.”

“That’s good to hear. I hate driving.”

The driver left it at that. Sanji took out his cell phone and checked his messages. His time in New York was going to be very busy. He should probably get the family visit out of the way as soon as possible. In keeping with tradition, he needed to thank his aunt, who had so kindly written him a letter of reference. It had been especially kind, as he had never met her.

“How far are we from Harlem?” he asked.

“Harlem’s big. East or West?”

Sanji unfolded the letter and checked the address on the back of the envelope.

“225 East 118th Street.”

“Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Great, take me there. I’ll go to the Plaza afterward.”

The car headed up the FDR Drive along the East River and then the Harlem River and stopped in front of a seventies-era redbrick apartment building.

“Are you sure this is it?” asked Marius.

“Yes, why?”

Leave a Comment

%d bloggers like this: