Bastien’s earlier words were prodding at her, scraping and pinching in such an uncomfortable way that Celine couldn’t ignore.Grandfather wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.He never liked that my mother wanted to work, rather than be a useless socialite.Celine wanted to work, too. That was exactly what they were planning to do by reopening this studio. And neither of them had stopped for a second to consider what that meant outside their little bubble of fabric rolls and threads.
“My birthday is this Saturday,” she said softly. She kept her eyes trained on the sequins stitched throughout the fabric, though she had a feeling she was being observed. “Jacques will propose.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I…” she hesitated. They had been so elated moments ago, she hated even mentioning this. But one of them had to berealistic, and Celine who was used to having others plan her life out for her had learned to anticipate it. She had learned to think of every single outcome in advance and prepare for it. “I don’t think I can say yes to both you and him.”
To her surprise, Bastien nodded contentedly. “I’ll let my brother know he has been rejected then.”
“Bas,” she said sharply.
“Come on, baby vamp.” There was teasing amusement in his voice. He angled his head to look up at her. “I was only joking.”
Lying there, sprawled carelessly on the fabric, he extended his hand and nudged her chin with one slender finger. Celine chocked down a small cough, struggling to ignore the thoughts that poured in at the touch. His eyelids fluttered shut, long lashes brushing down his cheeks, and Celine couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Bastien that Elana and all those other girls saw, too. This soft-voiced, dreamy-eyed Bastien. He was playful all the time, but this felt different.
Celine pushed the thought away.
“It's not funny.” She jerked her head back, more rattled by his touch than the issue at hand. “Unless you wanting to reopen the studio is a joke too.”
He flinched. “It's not. I'm serious about this.”
“So am I.”
“Come on,” he said again. “I didn’t ask you to marry me, I just want us to work together.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?” Bastien huffed out, annoyed. “I’m not following.”
“Well, if your grandfather frowns upon the notion of a woman working, I think he might prefer you proposing over this.” Celine pushed off the floor to sit on her knees. Why couldn’t Bastien see this? She might be able to dodgeher mother’s demands once she married Jacques, but would that mean she’d have to heed Monsieur Ménard’s limitations instead? She looked down at the sequins, mindlessly driving the tip of her nail through the stitching, pulling it up and scrunching the fabric in the process. “It seems like your grandfather holds a strong leash on every member of his family. What will he say?”
“He can say whatever he wants. I’m going to chew through my leash,” Bastien declared, still looking up at her, only now his eyebrows had drawn together in a serious straight line. He sounded far from playful. “I couldn’t stop him from belittling my mother, but it’s different this time. We will get our fashion house, I promise.”
She had no doubt Bastien could be mutinous and wild; he was suffering the consequences of his mulishness right now. What she doubted washerability not to bend under pressure. Who was to say Celine wouldn’t willingly wear the leash? She might already have it on by agreeing to date Jacques.
“What about Jacques?” she asked, realising belatedly that Monsieur Ménard and her mother might not be the only people she had to worry about. Her skin prickled. “My heart almost gave out when I was telling him about the competition. What will he say about us working together?”
Bastien rolled onto his stomach and started prodding at the sequins, thinking. “Trust me when I say this, because I really,reallyhate saying this, but I think there might still be hope for my brother.”
“He’s not suffering from an irreparable disease for you to put it like that.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered in a sing-song lilt. “I’ve heard pompousness has become a fatal ailment nowadays.”
“Careful,” Celine mocked, “you might be its first victim.”
Bastien sneered at her but he did not argue. His expression had turned sober.
“Look,” he started, shifting to sit with a knee propped up, his elbow leaning upon it. “I won’t try to convince you, even though I have an artillery of ways to do so.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Celine murmured.
“But you have to choose what makesyouhappy, Celine. You shouldn’t feel obliged to fix your parents’ issues. Try as you might to convince me otherwise, I know that is the reason you and Jacques ended up together. Not love.”
“But my father needs the money. And the reputation that comes with your family’s name—”
“There are other ways. There arealwaysother ways. Your parents are simply choosing a shortcut.”
Anxiously, Celine brought her fingers to her lips, chewing on her nails. If there were other ways…wouldn’t her parents at least considered them?
