In the 13th arrondissement of Paris, Quentin and Axelle's apartment looks like Ali Baba's cave.
Rollerblades, golf clubs, Pilates mats, potter's wheel and sewing machine pile up here and there.
A reflection of Axelle's overflowing and fleeting passions.
“She throws herself into every new fad, spending lavishly on equipment that will inexorably end up gathering dust,” smiles Quentin, 41 and owner of a construction company.
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Axelle, 37, should have been by her side on the sofa that day, but she forgot, or found something more important to do.
A habit at home, according to Quentin.
She never came to the restaurant where the parents of her future husband were waiting for her, for their first meeting.
Conversely, the day Quentin was fired by his boss, she called in sick at work, packed their bags and took him away for ten days in New Zealand, the country where he had always dreamed of going...
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