“Because if I worry enough, it’s sure to help. That’s how the gods roll. They want you to twist and turn. That keeps the order of things.”
“This is about you being happy, nothing else. You know this saying, you have survived a hundred percent of your days? There’s no reason to think that today you will ruin your record.”
Yves, Sabine, and Aubin got home very late from Château Beaupré.
“Thank you. For everything,” said Sabine.
“My pleasure,” said Yves. “Tomorrow—I mean, today—I have meetings, so I’ll be out until after lunch. In between, I will research how long it takes to get you a French passport.”
“I can’t wait.”
She went to the bedroom. Aubin had already laid out his bedding on the floor and was lying there in nothing but boxers. The sight of him made her inhale sharply. She turned out the light, stripped down to her T-shirt and underwear, and got into bed.
“It was the most amazing day,” she whispered, “even if I have to keep lying to my mum. I feel like I’m getting to know my dad, and you, and, weirdly, me too. So I just need to keep going even if I don’t know how it’s going to turn out.”
He reached for her hand at the edge of the mattress. She interlocked her fingers in his. Touching him made her want more.
“Soon, you’ll be French,” he said, yawning. “And an artist living in a château.”
“I feel like there’s a way we could be together, even though I’d be outside of Paris.”
“Mmm.” He yawned again. “Me, too.” His hand slipped out of hers and flopped by his side. So nomorefor her tonight. But things were falling into place. Her eyes drifted closed, too.
Sabine and Aubin hung around the apartment all morning. He listened to music; she made a little book. They scrounged a breakfast of day-old baguette and Nutella. This eating chocolate on your morning toast thing was a fine idea. Aubin kiss-licked the Nutella from her lips.
“Nutella can’t go to the waste bin,” he said, grinning at her coyly.
She leaned over and kissed him longer, licking him at the last moment. “Look. You started a trend.”
Then her phone lit up. A text from Yves which read:
At my meetings but it’s a GO! Fastrack Passport possible. See you at one o’clock. Normally you need birth certificate, but I have mine—we can submit yours by mail later. Bring Canadian passport. Will text address. DON’T BE LATE.
“Oh my God,” said Sabine, holding up her phone for Aubin to read. “It’s happening!”
“Sabine la vraie française!”
“Sabine la pratiquement française!”she countered. “Sabine the Almost French” had a ring to it. “Let’s get organized. I have to find my passport.”
“One further minute to confirm this trend of licking Nutella off each other’s face?”
“Nope. We need to go make me a French citizen.”
Marlow woke up at eleven. She hadn’t slept like that in forever—she and Luc had stayed out late in Montsouris, drinking and talking with Camille. Across the gap between their houses, she could see Luc, still asleep, naked and perfect on top of his sheets. She threw a sandal out her window and it whacked him in the head.
“I love how you summon me. There are more creative ways.”
“You are delicious and astonishing,” she said, pulling on her jeans, “and it makes me want to come over there and have my way with you, but I have sworn off men. So get your glorious naked ass over here to help me clean up for Ruth. She’ll be here soon, and then I have to go work at Guillaume’s.”
“There is a very romantic invite buried in there, and I accept.”
“Correction: get your ass over here, but put it in pants first. I’ll get us a baguette.”
“I’m sorry you’ve sworn off men, because that does not help my plan to woo you. At least I can forego the duel with Guillaume at sunrise.”
“The sun was up hours ago. You missed your chance.”
Marlow walked through Mirabelle square toward the boulangerie. She got on themairie’s Wi-Fi and found an email from Estelle, Guillaume’s friend from Cannes, requesting her CV, and suggesting times for an interview.Wow. Then she ran into Lali and told her about Sabine sneaking off to Paris to see Yves, twenty thousand euros in back taxes, Ruth coming to sign paperwork but not knowing about said taxes, and sleeping with two men (but not, obviously, at the same time).
