“I thought you didn’t do portraits anymore.”
“I changed my mind.”
“What if I don’t like the result?”
“It’s not for you.”
She eyed him and thought about how easy it would be to go over there and get into his bed. She could find solace in his embrace, escape in the pleasure of being touched and held: a distraction from all the things crowding her brain. She could stop running around, stop overthinking things, and simply be.
“I could start right now,” he said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “I think I’m … going to sleep.”
“The door is unlocked if you change your mind.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sabine and Aubin shopped for second-hand clothing. They went to stores in the fourth and fiftharrondissements, including the Croix Rouge“vestiboutique,”and another store where they played music so loud Sabine could barely hear herself think, and there were giant bins of clothing labelled“vente au kilo,”from which they bought armfuls of clothes for ten euros.
Sabine scoured the “high fashion” section and picked clothes she would never have worn in Toronto. She found a changing room, and put on a faded Princess Leia T-shirt a couple of sizes too small so it exposed her midriff. Would she dare to wear it? Then she tried on zippered high-heel suede boots that fit perfectly.
She opened the curtain and struck a pose. He surveyed her outfit, from her boots to her T-shirt, and said nothing.
“You don’t like it?”
“I do. I really do. I think I like it too much.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’d like to go back to the apartment and hope your father’s not home.”
She squealed and jumped up and down. He danced to the blaring music and tried to entice her to do the same.
“No, no, I hate dancing in public!”
“Come, dance with me.”
“No, I don’t like people seeing me do something badly.”
So he stepped into the changing room with her, closed the curtain, and they danced in there, their own private tiny place in this bustling city on this crowded earth.
“You’re so much taller in those boots,” he said.
“I’m keeping them. Get used to it.”
“Oh, I could get used to it.”
“I need to change out of these things. You have to leave.”
“Do I?”
She opened the curtain and pushed him out, fighting the temptation to kiss him a million times instead.
On what seemed like her fiftieth trip down to the Nenier bins, Marlow finally saw Rémy’s Audi in the lot. Surprising—it was 7 PM. Normally there’d be no sight of Rémy at this hour. Filthy, hot, and sweaty, Marlow headed into thehôtel de ville.
In her perfect outfit, hair, and makeup, Rémy sifted through mail and eyed Marlow from behind the counter. “You have been cleaning up after the storm. How nice for Mirabelle.”
“It’s looking better than ever, if you ask me,” said Marlow. “You’d think a government worker would have shown up, but we never saw any. So we did it ourselves.” OK, fine. She was feeling a little passive aggressive.Stop it. Be quiet. Smile.
