“And you will still need a fashion house,” he countered.
“Well, yes.” Celine scrunched her brows at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Wait for me at the end of the street, while I get out of this dress. My car is parked there,” he said, biting down on the grin. “You will see what I mean.”
• • •
Celine’s foot tapped a rhythmic, if not annoyed, beat on the steaming sidewalk.
It was still April, but the doily-patterned shade of trees offered no respite from the stifling, noon sun. Bastien’s red convertible was parked a few steps away, a bright cherry in a row of black cars, only Celine had no idea how to pull the roof up. So, sweating, she waited.
Thirty minutes later, a pair of brazen footsteps halted in front of her.
“What was the purpose of this?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
Bastien ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the strands, more than they already were. Which wasn’t anything new, though it defeated the whole purpose of asking her to go ahead so he could get ready. Knowing him, Celine would boldly bet hundreds that he’d run into a little distraction named Elana prior to coming here—hence the delay.
Her irritation flared up.
“Oh, you’re so dramatic,” he said, carelessly throwing an arm around her shoulder and ushering her to the car.
Celine stumbled forward. “You would be too, if you were stewing for half an hour,” she said, pulling down her cloche hat.
If she were honest, the sun had little to do with her fretfulness. With her birthday drawing closer, Madame LeBeau had been haranguing Celine for days now, and sadly, Rue Cambon had become one of her favourite haunts for shopping. Every silhouette that had passed by in the last thirty minutes had looked familiar, giving Celine a near heart failure.
“A little sun never hurt anyone, baby vamp. But I suppose youvampiresprefer sticking to the shade?”
“Yes, we actually do,” Celine deadpanned, lowering her head. “Now, what were you going to show me?”
Bastien opened the door for her. “It’s a surprise.”
Rolling her eyes, she slid into the passenger seat with little persuasion, desperate to feel the wind on her skin once they started driving. The leather was hot against her bare arms. Bastien took off his jacket, tossing it on the backseat, and flicked open a few buttons on his shirt.
It wasn’t until he entered from the other side, working the ignition key in silence, that it hit her: it was going to be just the two of them inside the car.
Celine dragged her gaze away, sitting rigidly in her seat. She couldn’t avoid looking at him in here like she had done all morning for fear that her gaze would immediately find his lips. Twelve hours hadn’t passed yet since their kiss, and she hadn’t been able to forget it as quickly as Bastien seemed to. Simply the idea of him standing there, in the same space as her, sent heatwaves all throughout her body.
Celine tugged at her dress that had already started sticking to her skin. Why weren’t they moving?
At her side Bastien was taking his sweet time, lighting a cigarette.
“Absolutely not!” Reaching over, she plucked it from his lips.
“What gives? Jacques already knows about the contest.”
“My mother doesn’t.”
Bastien produced a warped grumble as she flung his cigarette onto the street. Celine rummaged in her purse, pulling out a wrappedmarron glacé. “Here.”
“That does nothing to satisfy me, Celine.”
“Fine,” Celine huffed, already placing the glazed chestnut back in her purse, when—
“Wait,” he sighed, parting his lips.
“I am notfeedingit to you.”
“I need to keep my hands on the wheel.”
