“Beyond! All the fundraising with Peyton’s mum paid off. Of course she was a total sideshow, done up in this tight dress and five-inch heels and over-the-top makeup like she was competing with Peyton for Prom Queen and acting insane, tellingpeople what to do and where to go—but I have to hand it to her, she pulled it off.”
“And you and Max?”
“Max got all dressed up in this awesome tux with velvet lapels—they lookedSo. Hot. My dress matched perfectly. We rocked the look. When we got to the dock, waiters gave out these mocktails with pomegranate seeds floating up and down. Then the cruise left, and dinner was amazing and my centerpieces were on point and there was a band for dancing after … And the fireworks! They went off over the harbor, and Max kissed me and said I was the best kisser ever. Me! Wish you’d been there.”
Sabine felt sick to her stomach. She’d made the wrong choice. She should have gone to prom.
Aubin drove a car out of the garage. Red. Shiny. Cute. Sabine rolled her eyes. Perfect. She had to be squished into the smallest of cars on the planet with Aubin. Could she bail? He rolled down the passenger window, leaned over, and looked at her.
“What are you making there?”
“Nothing,” she said, shoving her tiny book into her bag. “And you don’t have to do this.”
“My uncle is not happy when I don’t do what he says.”
“Gotta go, Willa.”
“Where?” asked Willa, “and who are you talking to? I haven’t even heard about France!”
“Call you later.”
“What? No! Tell me now—”
Sabine hung up and got in. Aubin shifted into first and sped down the driveway.
“Stop!” yelled Sabine.
He braked suddenly. She lurched forward.
“Why?” he asked mischievously. “I’m a very good driver.”
“I’d like to make it back alive, so slow the hell down.”
“Easy, it was just a joke. I’ll be good.” He checked for oncoming traffic, turned onto the main road and drove reasonably.
How would she survive this guy?Say something. Anything.“I didn’t know anyone still drove standard.” There. Talk about driving.
“Here everyone knows how,” he said. “Don’t you?”
“No, ’cause it’s not the eighties and why would I bother?”
“Because it’s more fun. And most car rental places in Europe give you a manual—it is not your choice. And you never know when you might be trapped somewhere with only a manual car, and you have to take charge. When you took your license, they didn’t offer this?”
Sabine paused.
“Oh,” he said, smiling again. “Do you not have your license?” He was intolerable.
“I was too busy with school.”
She didn’t have her license because they didn’t own a car. You could get anywhere in Toronto by bike or public transport. Plus, who’d pay for lessons, gas, insurance, parking?
“Well, then you should not judge those who know how to drive manual.”
“I was not judging. I was asking.”
She looked out her window to take it down a notch, and he drove them to a nearby town called Bourmont-entre-Meuse-et-Mouzon.
“Come,” he said, and before she could even react, he was out and heading up the road. So she got out too and followed him to the town’s old church. It was beautiful, a clock high in its tower, stone pillars, an archway, and faded, light blue front doors. Temporary metal fencing and red and white tape barred the entrance.
