The echo of Grandma Hildegard’s heels in the stairwell hadn’t even fully faded when Lukas flung open the window, as if he were personally trying to beat the remaining lavender scent out into the open air. Lohmeyer the swan sat unmoved on the hob, while the burnt Maultaschen smouldered quietly beneath his glassy stare.
“Count the money!” Lukas barked, clapping his hands like the ringleader of a bank robbery crew after a successful heist. “We need to know whether the tulle terror and the jacket massacre were worth it!”
Mia finally freed herself from the remains of her dress—more like shedding a skin than undressing—and tossed the satin heap onto the floor. We emptied the envelopes onto the kitchen table. It was a colourful mix of fifties, twenties, and one suspiciously crumpled ten-euro note that had Uncle Herbert written all over it.
“Five hundred… eight hundred… one thousand two hundred…,” Mia murmured, her fingers flying over the notes. “Finn—we did it. Two thousand four hundred euros!”
“Two thousand four hundred!” I cheered, just about to jump for joy when the safety pins stabbed me painfully back into reality. “That covers the utilities, the portable toilets, and we even have something left over for—”
“—for bribing the pest controller Grandma Hildegard is going to send us?” Mia cut in, staring at the pile of cash. The joy on her face lasted exactly three seconds before it was replaced by pure panic. “Guys, she wants to see the accounts tomorrow. If she realises we used the family’s gift money to pay an electricity bill instead of going to Portugal, she’ll personally drag us to prison!”
Lukas grabbed a roll of duct tape that was still lying on the counter and stuck a strip under Lohmeyer the swan’s beak, as if to stop the bird from snitching.
“Plan B!” he announced. “We run. We take the money, pack Karl-Friedrich and the swan, and pile into the Corsa. We drive south until the lavender smell disappears and people stop asking us for a marriage certificate!”
“We can’t run, Lukas!” Mia shouted. “I have an exam in contract law next week! If I go into hiding now, my entire degree is pointless!”
“Contract law?” I looked at her. “Mia, we just broke an oral contract with fifty relatives! You’re the expert! Isn’t there some loophole? Something like ‘error due to swan-related trauma’?”
Mia stared at the heap of money. Then at me. And suddenly she started laughing. It was a hysterical laugh that grew louder and louder until she had to steady herself on the kitchen table. “Do you know what the best part is?” she gasped. “Grandma Hildegard slipped me something on her way out of the hall.”
She pulled a small yellow slip of paper from her sleeve. It was an official customs form, and on the back, in neat handwriting, it read:
“The Maultaschen were terrible, but the duct tape on the jacket was first-class. Be here tomorrow at ten. I’ve already prepared the accounts for you. Sometimes you have to smuggle to survive. P.S.: Tell Dr von Vogelstein to return the penguin costume. The cleaning was expensive.”
Silence fell over the kitchen. “She knew from the very beginning?” I whispered in disbelief.
“She’s a senior customs officer, Finn,” Mia said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “Nobody smuggles a wedding past Hildegard Schmidt.”
Lukas looked at the swan. “So… we don’t have to flee to Portugal?”
“So… does that mean we still have to share the lavender shower gel?” I asked hopefully.
Mia looked at me, and for the first time in two years of shared-flat history there was no irritation in her eyes—only something that almost looked like genuine affection. “We’ll see, Finn,” she said softly. “We’ll see.”