Chapter 14
Dinner was everything Poppy promised. Perfectly roasted chicken, heavenly pommes frites, and buttery wines served up by a friendly server in a warm, unpretentious bistro.
And for entertainment, they got to witness Poppy working Brad Hampton. She giggled at his jokes, stroked his arm, touched her forehead to his. The works. To anyone watching, they were a beautiful couple enjoying a romantic evening in Paris.
But to Marielle and Olivia, who were listening, it was anything but romantic.
“My old man kicked me out of the house,” Brad confided. “That’s why I decided to fly over here. Ditched my detail, too. Screw them, and screw him.”
“He didn’t ask you to leave permanently, did he?” Poppy’s eyes were wide with concern.
“No. But he’s all uptight because he has a very important meeting coming up. All hush hush. And when I asked him if it was the Mahmouds, he got pissed off and told me to mind my business.” Brad drained his glass, and Olivia immediately refilled it from the carafe on the table.
“So you think it is Idris and his dad?” Poppy asked.
“No, because they’ve come to the house plenty of times and he hasn’t acted like such a dick. Maybe Mahmoud and the investors? I dunno.” He gulped his new glass of wine in two swallows.
Marielle put her hand over the carafe, signaling for Olivia to wait. They didn’t need him passing out.
The gesture caught his attention and he squinted at her. “Hey, aren’t you Margaux?”
Marielle blinked innocently. “You must have me confused with someone. My name is Elle.”
“Huh.” He turned back to Poppy. “Doesn’t she look like that chick from the yacht? The one who Hanna took off with?”
Poppy pretended to study Marielle for a moment. “I guess I see a resemblance,” she said uncertainly. “But not a strong one.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Man, I heard Hanna’s father is super pissed at Idris for letting her bolt.” He paused and snaked his hand across the table to grab the wine. “Maybe that’s what the meeting’s about. My dad could be playing peacemaker between Mr. Ayari and Mr. Mahmoud.”
“Could be,” Poppy said agreeably.
Brad was slurring a bit now. “Or it’s something to do with his staff. He said he was gonna ‘clean house’ after some gala. I don’t know.”
Marielle stiffened. Cleaning house sounded ominous.
Poppy swung her foot under the table and drove her spiked heel into Marielle’s bare leg.
She yipped quietly.
“Brad, isn’t that your Secret Service detail coming this way? They do not look happy,” Poppy said.
Marielle stood, her heart pounding. Unless the agents were also blitzed, there was no way she’d be able to convince them they’d never seen her before.
She threw Poppy a desperate look. “I’m not feeling well. I need to get some air.”
“There’s a patio out back,” Poppy said.
She dropped her napkin on her chair and rushed away from the table as fast as her mermaid hem allowed.
Just as she slipped through the door, she caught sight of the two agents from the yacht, one White, one Black marching toward the table.
“Robbie, Pete!” Poppy enthused. “Pull up some chairs.”
“Sorry, Ms. Jones. We just need to collect Mr. Hampton and get him back to his hotel safely.”
Marielle pressed herself against the wall and caught her breath, then she stepped out onto the patio and looked out at the city.
Paris at night was magical. The Eiffel Tower lit up the sky in the distance.
The Seine reflected the lights of the bridges.
The breeze lifted her hair and carried the sound of laughter and music and the scent of lush flowers and savory herbs.
She thought about her grandmother’s apartment here in Paris and the cottage in the south of France.
Christmas breaks spent admiring the holiday lights in the shops in the city and summers spent reading in the garden in the country, eating fresh bread with cheese, watching the lavender sway in the breeze.
Her world would never be that simple again, she knew. But it was still beautiful and still worth protecting from all enemies, foreign and domestic.