“I’m sorry,” said Sabine. “I took you for granted. All your hard work. Lying about seeing my dad, staying in Paris when you didn’t know where I was … it was really not good.”
“You’re allowed to have a father, as bad as he is at that job,” said Marlow. “Have you heard from him since he ditched you at the passport office?”
“Nope,” said Sabine. “But seriously. This whole thing is my fault. If I’d just chosen a university, you wouldn’t have been so stressed at our sushi dinner, you wouldn’t have had most of the bubbly yourself, and you wouldn’t have drunk-bought a one-euro old house in France.”
“I did that,” said Marlow, “because I hate my job.”
“But you’re trying to get a promotion. Doesn’t that mean more of the same?”
“Yes, but I need it in case I can’t sell this house. And maybe to prove to myself that Iamgood enough for Oscar’s job—or maybe to prove that to my parents? Not sure. Anyway. I need a big-ass solution, and soon, if I’m going to get out alive.”
The group emerged from the abbey. Aubin made eye contact with Sabine. She waved.
“You like him,” said Marlow.
Sabine nodded. “I’ll tell you one thing I regret. I regret, a little, not going to my formal.”
“What! I even bought you a ticket!”
“I told you not to do that!”
“So sue me.”
“If I’d gone with Aubin, I might’ve worn a dress and a dumb corsage that matched his cummerbund. And gone on a stupid cruise and kissed under fireworks that matched the napkins.”
Marlow nodded. “Even just to see how Rachelle, Imperial Goddess of Fundraising, could waste all that money. That in itself would’ve been a spectacle. How much did she raise again?”
“Tons,” said Sabine. “She’s super connected and knew people who had things to sell in the auction.”
Marlow looked up into the giant sky of stars, mulling something over.
“What are you thinking, Mum? You look like you’re dreaming up something.”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure yet,” said Marlow. “But I might have an idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sabine looked at all those assembled and thought,this is a bigger crowd than the Mirabelle square has seen all summer.Marlow, Noah, Guillaume, Luc, Aubin, Lali, and Fedir sitting on the stone wall, Yakiv kicking a ball against the post office door. Even Pierre—Luc’s hunky cousin who ran Voyages Celeste and owned the rust-bucket minibus.
She held out her cell phone, on speaker, so everyone could hear Willa.
“How many people are listening?” she asked from Toronto.
“Nine—if you count Yakiv, ten,” said Sabine. “We’re on an urgent mission.”
“My favorite kind,” said Willa.
“So we’re all here in the Mirabelle square—” said Sabine.
“I can’t believe this is the only place you get Wi-Fi,” said Noah.
“It’s not the only place,” said Sabine. “You can get it down in the Nenier lot, too. We’re here because we want to throw a fundraiser for everyone’s back taxes. And because you were on Peyton and Rachelle’s prom committee, we figured you could be our advisor.”
“Sort of like the Q to our James Bond,” said Noah. “The Alfred to our Batman.”
Pierre looked at him, eyes twinkling. “The Charlie to our Angels,” he said. “The Starsky to our Hutch.”
Noah eyed him back and burst out laughing. Pierre followed suit, and neither of them seemed to mind that everyone else found it only mildly funny.
