“You think so?”
“Books say so. They even make enemies fall in love. I’m sure it is easier for friends.”
“But”—Celine pressed the heels of her palms so hard into her eyes that she started seeing stars—“it wasn’t supposed to happen with Bastien.”
“I told you, you can’t force it.” But Anaïs was still hesitating, puffing her cheeks and fidgeting with the frills on the pillowcase.
“I know that look,” Celine said. “Out with it.”
Anaïs lifted a pair of apologetic eyes to her. “The things they say about Bas,” she whispered, barely audible, as if her words were being drawn out against her will. And Celine knew that she had to prepare for great disappointment. “It's all true, Cel. I know he's my brother, but I've seen most of the people he's been with. Womenandmen. Back when Bastien still lived at the mansion, they would stumbled out into the corridor all giddy and flushed. It didn’t take much to guess what they had been doing, but whenever I’d ask him, he could scarcely remember their names. He might be serious about the studio, but love is something Bastien knows nothing about.”
Celine thought of Elana again. She wasn’t sure if Bastien loved her or not. He certainly spent a lot of time with her, even though he had no qualms about flirting with Coco, or Jeanne, or whoever landed in his field of vision.
What’s one girl for another?
Celine fell back into the pillows with a groan. “This whole love thing sucks!”
Anaïs’s hand rustled over the sheets, searching for Celine’s. Once she found it, she linked their fingers together.
“If it makes you feel any better, my own romantic ventures have failed miserably, too.”
Celine reached over with her other hand and gave Anaïs’s forehead a little flick. “Of course it doesn’t make me feel better. I want you to be happy, not suffer for love.”
“I don’t think anyone in love has ever been happy. Love is pain and all those poets are liars,” Anaïs grumped.
“You are such a cynic.” But she gave her a little nudge to keep talking. “Tell me about your impasse. It might not be as bad as you think.”
“You forget that not every Ménard is a smooth-talker like Bastien.”
Celine clicked her tongue. “That’s all in your head. You’ve charmed men into oblivion before.”
“Yes,men,” Anaïs grumbled. “Juliana is not as easily manipulated by my little hair twirls.”
Celine had only heard about Juliana from Anaïs’s accounts, which had been few. “What happened?”
“I went to Le Rat Mort the other night, the club where she performs. She was up on the stage and she was so beautiful…and then I left. I even lost my headband when I was pushing through the crowd, hiding from her.”
“What?” Celine sat upright. “Why didn’t you talk to her?”
“Because,” Anaïs kicked at the covers, “I can’t. Pépé would have a heart attack knowing I even went to that club. Let alone that I went there for a girl.” Tossing her head against the pillow, she sniffled. “Bastien has told me Juliana has an infamous reputation for liking girls but—I can’t let anyone find out about me. It’s best that I didn’t meet her. All those tedious promenades and dates with men would have been for nothing if another rumour caught on.”
Celine’s heart tightened at that look of complete heartache on Anaïs’s face. There were plenty of cafés in Pigalle where she would be in the right company, but not without the rumours thatwould follow her like a shadow. Paris might seem lenient, but their social circle was not.
Suddenly, Anaïs let out a bitter laugh. “My God, we are pathetic. One is in love with a philanderer, the other with a woman.”
A light passed through the window, reflecting across her eyes. For a brief second, pure sadness flood Anaïs’s hazel irises. Then the light was gone, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“What will you do about Juliana?” Celine asked, even though she knew the answer.
“I haven’t a clue,” Anaïs replied drowsily. “What will you do about Jacques?”
Celine sighed. “Let’s just run away together. You are a Ménard—my parents seem dead set on that. And I’m a woman—you are dead set onthat. We can live in a house of chocolate.”
“Sure, except there’s only one issue,” Anaïs yawned. She shifted closer, leaning her head on Celine’s shoulder. “I want to live in a house of cookies.”
“That’s fine too,” Celine mumbled sleepily and stared at the city lights playing on ceiling. Neither of them said another word, and for a while there was only the rustle of curtains and Anaïs’s steady breathing. Celine finally closed her eyes, allowing herself to be reeled off to another place.
• • •
