“Perfectly. You make your boss feel respected—not even attempting to get Yves interferes with your promotion, which you need. If you do contact Yves, you open a dialogue that could help you understand Sabine better in this moment. She must be enjoying her time with him, since she stayed longer than planned. Although it’s hurtful, perhaps there is an upside. And if Yves accepts, he will be in Toronto in September and will spend more time with Sabine. He might become meaningful in her life.”
Marlow’s eyes filled with tears. What Guillaume was saying made so much sense. He came over and wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m a shitty parent,” she said. “Person. A very shitty person.”
“You are not. These feelings are natural. But one thing I have learned from you over the, what, almost six weeks we have known each other? You are not afraid of hard work.”
She buried her face in his chest and had a little cry.
“How about I pour you a bath?”
“Will it have bubbles?”
“Am I a heretic? Of course there will be bubbles.”
Guillaume’s en suite bathroom was the size of their Toronto coach-house living room, with a large, modern, stand-alone bathtub, and a circular window that looked out to the hills. He poured lavender bubble bath into the tub, lit candles, and produced some salted caramel chocolate and Fortin’s best champagne, both of which he had snagged from the tasting room.
He then offered to wash her hair and took off his shirt so it wouldn’t get wet. She gazed at the world’s tautest six-pack, gobsmacked. Who had abs like that?
“I have to go home,” she blurted.
“Why?”
“First,” she said, “I really want to get into that tub, but I can’t focus. My mind is on a wayward daughter, a terrible boss, a permanent lack of funds, judgmental parents, and a sarcastic but adorable brother whose life is just as much of a shitshow—well, maybe not quite as much of a shitshow, but approaching it—as mine.”
“Sabine is not entirely wayward,” said Guillaume. “She is exploring. Getting to know her father, which she has a right to do.”
“I know. And if I stand in the way of that, I risk ruining our relationship.”
“Better Sabine do her exploring now than during university, when marks, life choices, and school fees are part of the picture. So you really won’t get into the bath?”
“I told Luc that you were into a situationship. He confirmed he wasn’t. Then I told him I might explore something with you. He said fine. So I have no idea what my problem is.”
“Neither do I.”
She eyed him. “Turn around,” she said.
He did. Almost trembling with nerves, she stepped out of her clothes and got in. The massive bubbles meant he could see nothing below her shoulders. “Just my hair. You’re just washing my hair.”
He pulled a stool to the side of the tub, poured warm water over her hair, lathered it up with shampoo, and massaged her scalp.May this never end.
“As for your terrible boss,” he said, “I admire your work ethic. I’ve watched you appear here every day to work for the festival. I’d kill to have an employee be as diligent, engaged, committed. Do you actually want Oscar’s old job?”
“I do and I don’t. I mean, barring other options. Maybe I’ll win the lottery and the job with your friend at Cannes will work out.”
“If it doesn’t, come work for me.”
She turned to stare at him.
“What? We need help.”
“With what?”
“Marketing. Coordination. If this deal works out with the States, we’ll need live events where our wine can be promoted. It would be like a festival industry office, but for oenophiles.”
“My parents would finally think I’d made something of myself,” she said.
“I identify with this problem of judgmental parents. Mine are, how do you say? ‘Snooty?’ Snooty aristocrats. Fourth generationvignerons. I cannot escape the desire to impress them. But I am never the perfect combination of old-world traditionalist and new-world opportunity seeker. We are not close. For example, I stillvouvoiethem, as if they were strangers or colleagues.”
