A polite way of sayingmake yourself scarce.
“I’ll leave you two,” Jacques said, getting the hint. He seemed more than relieved not to be dealing with Madame LeBeau’s hysterics.
Celine gaped at him. “But—”
Catching the rest of her words with a quick kiss, Jacques dipped into the crowd. Celine was left alone with her mother. “Traitor,” she called after him.
“Celine,” her mother hissed. She dug her nails into Celine’s back, the smile of pretence widening on her face as she silently urged her daughter to straighten up. “Do look more alive. How is everything going?”
The jewels around her mother’s neck had doubled in size tonight. She had let out a deafening shriek when she had discovered that a second wrinkle had manifested itself upon her neck. Celine had hoped the situation was dire enough—by her mother’s standards, at least—that she would postpone the party.
Alas, here they were.
“Superbly,” Celine replied drily. “You made sure of it.”
“You ought to thank me. You’ve been gone all week, where to, only God knows. I nearly sent out a search party yesterday.”
Nearly. Celine rolled her eyes. Any other day Madame LeBeau would have hardly cared.
“I was just out, maman.” Irritably, she tried to pry herself away, but her mother’s grip only tightened. “I am here now.”
Madame LeBeau jerked her closer. “Do not start with me tonight, Celine.” Even as she scowled, her smile never shifted. It was stitched on her face with pink thread, totally unmoving, barely showing the white of her teeth. “It is bad enough that you’ve been standing here, frowning all night. These guests are here to enjoy themselves, not wonder about your moods.” Madame LeBeau clicked her tongue, her expression softening a little. “At least the dress turned out beautiful.” She touched thefabric, a hint of awe shining in her eyes. “Remind me to send Madame Chanel a thank you card tomorrow.”
“I sure will,” Celine said through her teeth, taking a brief moment to bask in the praise. She had done her best to please both her mother and herself with the dress, taking some of the least lewd suggestions Bastien had offered. If only her mother knew…
Somewhere by the door a crowd of guests was laughing loudly.
“It’s your cousins from the south.” Madame LeBeau sighed. “Do greet them later, hmm?” She pushed her shoulders back, forcing Celine to do the same. “And smile, darling.Smile.”
Celine bared her teeth obediently, and held the expression until her mother departed waving at their cousins.
How many other events would she have to fake smiles for and create another version of herself to please everyone? The obedient daughter for her parents, the loving fiancée for Jacques, the cheerful relative for the rest of her family, the rebelliousGlamour Girlfor the magazines. She couldn’t keep up with all of them.
When would it ever be enough for her to be just Celine?
Once her mother was out of view, Celine dropped the illusive smile. All this pretence was becoming exhausting. Her cheeks hurt from trying to appear elated, her spine hurt from standing like a rod, her mind had turned numb from rotating between the same three phrases:Thank you for coming,andOh, you didn’t have to bring a gift,and her favourite,Let’s talk more later.
Even so, she remained where she stood: trapped in the middle of the room, grinning, simpering, beaming, no better than a boudoir doll inside a glass case.
• • •
Bastien leaned outside the balcony door, arms folded over his chest as he followed Celine sashay around the ballroom. She was wearing the dress he had seen her try on at the old house, except tonight it looked different—better, he thought. She was a sliver of midnight among all the flowers and the frill. A small smile appeared on his lips. He had thought his heart’s brief malfunction would have fixed itself by now. But there had been seconds—miserableseconds—when Celine had disappeared among the throng of guests and Bastien had felt his heart drop—until he had spotted her again and the room had turned bright once more.
Bastien checked himself.
He was being pathetic. It was all placebo. Juliana had said he was in love with Celine and he had run with it. For a little while, at least. He wasn’t as far gone as to not recognise all the scenarios that could play out tonight and how likely each of them were to happen. For example:
1. Celine would choose Jacques, only. Probability to happen: without a doubt.
2. Celine would choose Jacques and the studio. Probability to happen: signs point to yes.
3. Celine would choose Bastien. Probability to happen: do not count on it.
Even so, he refused to go in and influence her decision. If Celine wanted to reopen the studio with him, it had to be entirely on her own volition.
His eyes latched onto her again. And it seemed that Celine didn’t have only one admirer. For the past ten minutes, it had taken Bastien everything in his will power to keep ignoring the annoying presence of someone breathing too close to his ear.
He could sense Anaïs squinting at him. The party had yet to start properly and she was already up to mischief-making.
