Chapter 12
Her jaw dropped, and she found herself staring at Gina.
“Wait, it’s called Hotel de France?” she asked. “That feels so…silly? I don’t know.”
“No sillier than Mall of America,” Lilly interjected.
“That’s an excellent point. Consider me corrected,” Sylvie said.
Fiona stepped around them to pour coffee from the pot into each of their cups. “So, hang on—you’re going away? When did this happen?”
Sylvie’s stomach clenched. “Yeah, just for a few days, though. Remember when you found me in Gina’s office after the funeral? Well, I was having a moment. Everything was so overwhelming that day, and I kind of…snapped.”
“That was you snapping?” Fiona asked, eyebrows rising. “Good Lord, if only that’s what snapping looked like for the rest of us!”
The four women laughed awkwardly, but Sylvie knew Fiona was making an actual effort.
“Sorry to spring it on you. I honestly forgot about it with all the lawyer stuff going on,” she said. “And I was clearly lacking faith in my travel guru. I didn’t think you’d get anything sorted out so quickly. I thought I’d have at least a week to own up to it.”
Gina’s smile faltered. “Ah, well…then I might just be a victim of my own success.”
“What does that mean?”
“The flights are tomorrow,” she said quickly.
Her jaw dropped again—this time infused with panic rather than wonder. “I’m sorry, but what?Tomorrow? I can’t leave in a day! That’s—no, that’s…what? No, I mean, I’m sorry, that’s just so soon! That’s like…twenty-four hours. That’stomorrow!”
Gina’s cheeks turned pink, even against her heavily tanned face, and Sylvie felt herself growing embarrassed.
“I’m sorry; you said to book it and go ahead,” Gina replied. “And this deal was just too good to pass up. Compared to the normal price, you’re basically getting the flights for freeandan upgraded room. I guess we’re just lucky that Americans don’t need a visa for Martinique!”
The woman was clearly trying to save face, and Sylvie would’velovedto let her, but the panic was well and truly flowing now.
“Martinique?”
“Yeah, that’s what the island is called,” Gina said, looking slightly confused.
“Okay, but why wouldn’t I need a visa to go to an island off the coast of France?” Sylvie asked flatly, growing more concerned by the look on Gina’s face. “I thought everyone needed a visa to visit Europe, regardless of where you’re from.”
“Um…” Gina hesitated. “Martinique isn’t off the coast of France.”
Sylvie shook her head in disbelief. “What do you mean? Of course it is! Off the south coast, like…Mediterranean France.” From the wide-eyed stares coming from all three women, she knew she sounded as absurd as she felt.
“It’s an overseas territory of France,” Gina said slowly. “In the Caribbean.”
Lilly raised her hand. “But also, Aunt Sylv, you know they speak French in a ton of places thataren’tFrance, right?”
“Canada doesn’t count!” Sylvie exploded.
Trying to cover a snort of laughter, Lilly continued, “I think they do, but I mean, like, they speak French in a bunch of countries in Africa, too.”
She knew her niece was trying to help, but her breathing was coming fast and hard, and her heart had begun to race. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wanted to pinch herself. “I can’t go,” she said. “Ican’t.”
“Why?” Fiona asked. “You were fine with the idea a minute ago.”
“There’s a big difference betweenFrance, where I know at least vaguely what to expect, and an island in the middle of nowhere! I don’t knowanythingabout it!”
Gina looked like she was going to cry, too, and Sylvie took a deep breath.
