Her eyes met his. “Oui.”
They turned their conversation away from the war, and for the remainder of the meal they discussed fond prewar memories. He learned that Celeste was raised in a prosperous Parisian family, given her private schooling and holidays in Switzerland and the French Riviera. Although he was cautious with revealing details of his military experience, he told her about his childhood, his chemistry studies at Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, and hisvater’s expectations that he would join the family ink and dye business after the war.
“You will have a burgeoning career when you go home,” Celeste said.
“Ja.” Bruno finished his wine. “But I wish I could do something else with my life.”
“Like what?”
“I’d prefer any profession that does not work with chemicals,” he said, his head buzzing from alcohol. “If I had it to do over again, I would have loved to have studied art or literature at the university. It would have compelled me to pursue a life of my own, rather than follow in the footsteps of myvater.”
“It’s never too late to take a different path.”
“True. However, I’ve done things that cannot be changed, things that will forever couple me to—”War atrocities.He refilled his glass and took a long gulp.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me,” she said. “Maybe you could write your fiancée about it.”
He shook his head.
“I understand.” She gently touched his sleeve. “Sometimes, it’s okay to keep a secret.”
Bruno’s skin prickled.
She removed her hand and poured wine into his glass. “Secrets are not lies.”
His pulse quickened. “I suppose you’re right.”
Celeste’s lips formed a flirtatious smile. She crossed her legs; the hem of her skirt rose, revealing a bare calf.
His eyes wandered.
She lowered her voice. “Maybe you don’t have to give up what you need in order to have what you want.”
He swallowed.
She ran a finger over the rim of her glass.
Bruno, his conscience clashing with his desire, forced himself to drain his drink and stand. “I should go.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, tucking strands of hair behind her ear.
“Ja,” he said. “Dankefor the food and conversation.”
She stood. “You are quite welcome.”
“Good night, Celeste.”
“Sleep well,monsieur.”
Alone in his room, Bruno’s pain and loneliness swelled. Despite the risk that his conversation with Celeste could lead to something he would regret, he wished he would have stayed with her. Part of him felt guilty for divulging things that he hadn’t revealed to Anna in his letters.It’s easy to speak with Celeste because there’s no risk of her rejecting me because of my role in the Disinfection Unit,he rationalized in his head. The wine that he’d drunk exacerbated his craving for solace. Unable to sleep, he lit a candle and sat in a chair. But as minutes passed his restlessness spiraled.
A knock came from the door.
“Come in,” he said, standing.
Celeste, carrying a stack of folded clothing, entered the room. “I saw light coming from under your door. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” he said.
