“What?” Bastien drawled at last. He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. Chances were, Anaïs had learned everything by now. Even if Celine hadn’t told her, his sister always found a way.
“You do know,” she started, swaying back and forth on her feet. She looked like an evil Alice from Wonderland, but instead of the blue dress and white frock, she was wearing one of Celine’s designs—a slightly more conservative version of her customary flapper cuts. “You don’t have to stand out here like a punished puppy, Bas. Pouting does not become you.”
“I was notpouting.” Though he supposed he did look like a puppy: standing behind the glass doors, hidden behind the potted ferns, waiting for someone—Celine—to come outside and keep him company.
Mon Dieu, maybe I am that far gone.
Surely, Bastien Ménard couldn’t be pining after a girl like this. It was beneath him.
“Yes, you were,” she said, pointing a finger at his lips. “Riiiiiiighthere.” She reached out her hand slowly to poke his cheek when Bastien whacked it away. He glared.
“If you’re intent on annoying someone, there is a whole room full of people over there.” He nodded at the celebrations commencing on the other side of the glass pane. “Have a pick at them. I am not in the mood tonight.”
Anaïs gave ahmmof contemplation. He did not like the sound of it. His sister’s hazel eyes were twinkling with barely repressed glee. “Now that you mention,” she said, “are you planning an intervention?”
“What?”
“Kidnapping then? Dramatically kissing her in front of everyone? I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here just to stare longingly at her all night long, without uttering a single word.”
So, she knew.
“That is none of your business, Anaïs.” Wanting to get rid of her, Bastien gave her a little shove between her shoulder blades. “You can head back inside now.”
Anaïs didn’t move. She gripped his lapels instead, and dragged Bastien down to eye level. “Listen,” she warned. There was none of that mischief in her voice anymore. He sensed a little shiver of unease travel down his spine. “You may be my brother, but Celine is my best friend. I know there is very little I can say that you will actually listen to, but if you do anything—anything—to put her on that list of women you’ve treated like garbage, I will make sure that the next time you are mentioned in those scandal columns it will be when they lament the untimely andverypainful loss of your manhood. Understood?”
Bastien swallowed uncomfortably at the insinuation and tried to release himself from Anaïs’s grasp.How did she get all that in one single breath?
“Worry not,” he sniffled, straightening his lapels. “I’m not standing out here hatching an evil plan. At any rate, I’m not wearing the right suit for that.” Anaïs rolled her eyes. “Celine can make her own choices, there’s no need for an advocate. I’m simply waiting.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Now leave.”
“Do you like her?” She asked abruptly. “Or is it just some weird fascination because she’s taken up with Jacques, no less, and you want to prove something?”
Bastien ground his teeth as he stared at his sister until he felt one of his molars move. That’s what he had been trying to rack his brain over all night, and he still didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t know, but it has nothing to do with Jacques anymore.”
“Because if you do like her—”
“I don’t wish to talk about this.” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall once more, intent on ignoring anything else that came out of his sister’s lips.
“Alright,” Anaïs drawled, lifting a shoulder innocently as she unlatched the balcony door and stepped inside. “But you might want to join us at some point. Celine said the cake would be to die for.”
• • •
Celine continued to zone out, focusing on a pale petal that had fluttered away from the flower arrangements and had dropped on the floor. It seemed to her as if not a single minute had passed since her mother had left her. Across the room, through the balcony doors, she glanced at the geranium bushes in the courtyard swaying gently in the breeze. She longed to be in their place, to feel that breeze on her face and her arms; to be outside, away from the clinking of cocktail glasses and porcelain plates and elegant silver spoons. Instead she stood there, caught in the silence of her own mind, while the party resumed on full around her: the appetiser trays were being emptied and refilled just as quickly, the gift pile kept growing, and Celine found herself sinking deeper and deeper into a nervous breakdown with every second that ticked closer to the candle-blowing.
Jacques would then get on one knee; everyone’s eyes would be on them—onher—anticipating the answer. And Celine would say—
“Cheer up. According to what your mother was whispering earlier, you have three more hours to decide.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked. Anaïs had sprang up on her unannounced, standing there all Cassandra-like. She was framed by the vine and cherry blossom wreaths Madame LeBeau had ordered for the hall, dazzling in the dress Celine hadmade for her tonight. She had picked a beautiful apricot fabric from the ones Adalene Reneau had stored in her studio, which Celine had immediately thought was made for Anaïs.
“Do I look that terrified?” she asked, checking herself. “Is something out of place?”
There were too many people in the room, too many eyes on her, and too many mouths that would talk afterwards. And maybe paranoia was making her antsier, but she felt as though they were all tossing glances over their shoulders, squinting at her, then resuming their whispering.
