1
Walking hand-in-hand with Omar as she descended the Plaza Athénée’s grand marble staircase felt surprisingly natural. Marielle expected to feel self-conscious or awkward, but it simply felt right.
The friends and coworkers gathered in the lobby waiting for them seemed unfazed by the sight. Then again, they’d all been predicting this for years. She and Omar were probably the only ones surprised by the development. She laughed at the thought.
“What?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.
“I was just thinking how surreal it is that we’re holding hands, walking down this staircase of this hotel in Paris, of all places.” She made a wide sweeping gesture with her free hand to point out the gold curved banisters and the plush red and white carpet.
“What has you buzzing? The hand-holding or the surroundings?”
“A little from column A, a little from column B.”
He smiled at her answer, and her heart smiled in return. She stretched onto her toes to kiss him softly.
Inevitably, this set off a chorus of hooting and catcalling from the lobby.
“Our friends are juvenile,” Omar said.
“We knew that, though.”
As they reached the lobby, a lilting soprano voice rang out from the seating area to the left of the stairs.
“Margaux! Oscar! Oh, it is you!”
It can’t be, Marielle thought, just as a mass of bouncing copper curls in a cloud of sweet perfume and champagne launched itself at her from the red sofa.
It was.
“Poppy? What are you doing here?”
Poppy Jones pulled her arms back and studied Marielle’s face. “I’m performing at Stade de France. You must’ve heard.”
“Uh, no, sorry. But that’s wonderful!” Marielle smiled broadly to make up for being out of the loop on all things Poppy.
“It really is. I have two back-to-back sold out shows. Second only to Beyoncé!”
“Wow,” Marielle said weakly.
Omar said nothing.
Way to let the desk jockey talk her way out of it, Khan.
Poppy scanned the lobby and pouted. Her full, pink-glossed lips shone under the lights of the massive chandelier. “But where’s Hanna?”
“Hanna,” Marielle repeated in a bid to buy time.
“Yeah, Hanna. Last seen on a wild jet ski adventure with you. You know, that Hanna.”
“Right.”
Before she could formulate a response, Poppy went on. “Idris was pissed. He sent his guys to look for her. I’ll bet those two are going to have a come to Jesus meeting once she’s back on the yacht.”
“Allah,” Omar finally spoke.
“Pardon?” Poppy asked.
“It’ll be a come to Allah meeting. I mean, probably.”
